remark.
The headmaster jumped to his feet in alarm. “Are you all right, Mr Eustace?” he asked. “You seem to have gone quite pale.”
Looking at Mr Eustace, even his best friends would have had to admit that the headmaster’s remarks about his complexion were the understatement of the year. He looked positively green as he sat clutching his stomach. “That tin,” he moaned, “happens to belong to my biology class. It’s the one I keep my worms in!”
Paddington looked up from the stewpot. “Would anyone else like any seconds?” he asked hopefully.
The headmaster removed an invisible speck of dust from his lapel as he gathered his thoughts. It had taken him a long while to explain to the Browns all that had happened to Paddington at St Luke’s. It hadn’t been an easy task, particularly as he still wasn’t sure of all the facts himself.
“The long and short of it is,” he said, “we… er… that is, my colleagues and I, feel that until young Mr Brown has a proper school uniform he’d be much better off staying at home.”
“A school uniform?” broke in Mrs Brown. She looked at Paddington. “But we shall never get one to fit him.”
The headmaster gave a cough as he rose to his feet. “Er… exactly” he said. “I’ve had a word with the Inspector and in the circumstances he’s perfectly happy to take my advice. All in all I think it will be much the best thing.”
He paused at the door and looked back at Paddington with the suspicion of a twinkle in his eye. “I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know,” he said, “that your suspicions were ill-founded. Mr Eustace’s tin hadn’t fallen in the stew after all. We found it under the table. Both the worms and Mr Eustace are doing very well.
“I have a feeling,” he said, addressing Mrs Brown as he made to leave, “that in any case, there’s not much we at St Luke’s can teach bears.”
“I wonder what he meant by that last remark?” said Mrs Brown, when she came into the room after saying goodbye to the headmaster. “Have you any idea, Paddington?”
But Paddington had his eyes closed. One way and another it had been a tiring day at school and he wasn’t at all sorry to put his paws up.
Mrs Brown sighed. She sometimes wished it wasn’t quite so hard to tell what he was thinking.
“If you ask me,” said Mrs Bird, reading her thoughts, “it’s probably just as well. There’s no knowing what we might find out – especially when it comes to school-bears!”
Chapter Two PADDINGTON CLEANS UP
PADDINGTON PEERED THROUGH the letter box at number thirty-two Windsor Gardens with a look of surprise on his face.
In point of fact, he’d been watching out for the postman, but instead of the blue-grey uniform he’d hoped to see, Mr Curry, the Browns’ next-door neighbour had loomed into view. Mr Curry looked as if he was in a bad temper. He was never at his best in the morning, but even through the half-open flap it was plain to see he was in an even worse mood than usual. He was shaking a rug over the pavement, and from the cloud of dust surrounding him it looked as though he had been cleaning out his grate and had just had a nasty accident with the ashes.
The expression on his face boded ill for anyone who happened to come within his range of vision, and it was unfortunate that his gaze alighted on the Browns’ front door at the very moment when Paddington opened the letter box.
“Bear!” he bellowed. “How dare you spy on me like that? I’ve a very good mind to report you!”
Paddington let go of the flap as if it had been resting in hot coals, and gazed at the closed door with a very disappointed air indeed. Apart from an occasional catalogue, he didn’t get many letters, but all the same, he always looked forward to seeing the postman arrive, and he felt most aggrieved at being deprived of his morning’s treat, especially as he’d been half-expecting a postcard from his Aunt Lucy in Peru. Something she’d said when she’d last written had given him food for thought and he was anxiously awaiting the next instalment.
All the same, he knew better than to get on the wrong side of Mr Curry, so he decided to forget the matter and pay his daily visit to the nearby market in the Portobello Road instead.
A few minutes later, having taken his shopping basket on wheels from the cupboard under the stairs, he collected Mrs Bird’s shopping list, made sure the coast was clear, and set out on his journey.
Over the years, Paddington’s basket on wheels had become a familiar sight in the market, and it was often much admired by passers-by. Paddington took great care of it. He’d several times varnished the basketwork, and the wheels were kept so well oiled there was never a squeak. Earlier in the year, Mr Brown had bought him two new tyres, so all in all it still looked as good as new.
After he’d completed Mrs Bird’s shopping, Paddington called in at the bakers for his morning supply of buns. Then he carried on down the Portobello Road in order to visit the antique shop belonging to his friend, Mr Gruber.
Paddington liked visiting Mr Gruber. Apart from selling antiques, Mr Gruber possessed a large number of books, and although no one knew if he’d actually read them all, it certainly seemed as though he must have, for he was a mine of information on almost every subject one could think of.
When he arrived he found Mr Gruber sitting on the horsehair sofa just inside his shop, clutching a particularly large volume.
“You’ll never guess what today’s book is about, Mr Brown,” he said, holding it up for Paddington to see. “It’s called ‘Diseases of the Cocoa Bean’, and there are over seven hundred and fifty pages.”
Paddington’s face grew longer and longer as he listened to Mr Gruber recite from the long list of things that could happen to a cocoa bean before it actually reached the shops. He always rounded off his morning excursions with a visit to his friend, and Mr Gruber’s contribution to the meeting was a never-ending supply of cocoa, which he kept at the ready on a small stove at the back of the shop. It didn’t seem possible that this could ever come to an end.
“Perhaps we’d better get some more stocks in, Mr Gruber,” he exclaimed anxiously, when there was a gap in the conversation.
Mr Gruber smiled. “I don’t think there’s any risk of our going short yet awhile, Mr Brown,” he replied, as he busied himself at the stove. “But I think it does go to show how we tend to take things for granted. We very rarely get something for nothing in this world.”
Paddington looked slightly relieved at Mr Gruber’s reassuring words. All the same, it was noticeable that he sipped his cocoa even more slowly than usual, and when he’d finished he carefully wiped round his mug with the remains of a bun in order to make sure he wasn’t letting any go to waste.
Even after he’d
