Leach hesitated. “I… er… I don’t normally indulge,” he said, peering into the bag. “It doesn’t set a very good example. But I must say they look tempting. It’s very kind of you. I… er…”
As he placed one of Paddington’s everlasting toffees into his mouth, Mr Leach’s voice trailed away and for the second time that morning his face took on a glazed expression.
“Grrrrrr,” he gurgled, pointing to his mouth. “Glug!”
Paddington peered at him with interest. “I hope you haven’t fractured one of your cusps now, Mr Leach,” he said anxiously.
Mr Leach glared at him for a moment and then staggered back into his surgery, clutching his jaw. Far from being fractured, his cusps gave the impression they were cemented together for all time, and the look on his face as he slammed the door boded ill for the next patient on his list that morning.
Paddington looked most upset. “I only thought he would like one to be going on with,” he exclaimed.
“Going on with is right,” said Mrs Bird grimly, as a series of muffled exclamations reached their ears. “By the sound of things it’ll be going on until this time next week.”
She held out her hand. “I know something else that’s due to be disposed of just as soon as we get home. We’ve had quite enough bear’s everlasting toffee for one day.”
Judy squeezed Paddington’s paw as they climbed into a taxi to take them home. “Never mind,” she whispered. “There can’t be too many bears who are able to say they’re having a gold tooth made for them.”
“I’ll tell you something else,” said Mrs Brown. “It’ll make you even more valuable than you are at the moment. While you have a gold tooth in your head you’ll never be completely without – whatever happens.”
Paddington digested this latest piece of information for a moment or two as he settled back in his seat. So much had happened that morning he felt he’d have a job to remember it all let alone put it down on a postcard when he next wrote to his Aunt Lucy in Peru. But all in all he was beginning to feel rather pleased at the way things had turned out and he felt sure she would be equally delighted by the news.
Mrs Bird glanced across at him with the suspicion of a twinkle in her eye. “If this morning’s events are anything to go by,” she said, “it strikes me that a tooth in the sink is worth two under the pillow any day of the week.”
Paddington nodded his agreement. “I think,” he announced at last, amid sighs of relief, “I’ll always have my old teeth disposed of in future.”
MRS BIRD HELD a large square of chequered cloth up to the light and examined it with an expert eye. “I must say, Paddington’s made a first-class job of it,” she declared approvingly.
“I’ve seen worse in some shops,” agreed Mrs Brown. “What is it?”
“I think he said it’s a tablecloth,” replied Mrs Bird. “But whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll come in very handy.”
Mrs Brown glanced up at the ceiling as a steady rhythmic clanking came from somewhere overhead. “At least we can leave him on his own for the day without worrying too much,” she said thankfully. “We may as well make the most of it. At the rate he’s going, that sewing machine won’t last much longer.”
Mrs Brown was never too happy about leaving Paddington on his own for too long. Things had a habit of going wrong – especially on days when he was at a loose end – but with Jonathan and Judy back at school after the Easter holiday it couldn’t always be avoided. It happened to be one of those days and she was most relieved to know he was occupied.
Paddington’s interest in sewing had been something of a nine-day wonder in the Brown household. It all came about when he lost his fifty pence a week bun money down a drain one morning as he was on his way to the baker’s to pick up his standing order.
The coin had slipped through a hole in one of his duffle coat pockets, and even the combined efforts of several passing dustmen and a road sweeper had failed to locate it.
Although Mr Brown took pity on him and replaced the money, Paddington had been upset for several days afterwards. He still felt he was going to be fifty pence short for the rest of his life and when some men arrived a few days later to swill out the drains, he gave them some very hard stares indeed.
It was Mr Gruber who finally took his mind off the matter. Mr Gruber kept an antique shop in the nearby Portobello Market and over the years he and Paddington had become firm friends. In fact, most mornings they shared some buns and a cup of cocoa for their elevenses.
One morning, shortly after his loss, Paddington arrived at the shop only to find a mysterious cloth-covered object standing on a table just inside the door.
At Mr Gruber’s bidding he lifted the cloth, and then nearly fell over backwards with surprise, for there, lo and behold, was a sewing machine. And even more exciting, on the side there was a label – with his name on it!
Mr Gruber waved Paddington’s thanks to one side. “We don’t want another day like ‘the one we don’t talk about’ in a hurry, Mr Brown,” he said, referring to ‘bunless’ Friday as they’d come to know it.
“I’m afraid it’s rather an old one,” he continued, as Paddington examined the machine with interest. “It came in a job lot I bought at a sale many years ago and it’s been lying under a chair at the back of my shop ever since. But there’s a book of instructions and it may do a turn if you want to go over some of your old seams.”
Paddington didn’t know what to say. Although Mrs Bird had unpicked the join on his duffle coat pocket and inserted a double-strength calico lining to make doubly sure for the future, he didn’t want to take any more chances and after thanking Mr Gruber very much, he hurried home with the present safely tucked away in his shopping basket on wheels.
Paddington had often watched Mrs Bird in action with her machine, and once she’d even let him turn the handle, but never in his wildest dreams had he pictured actually owning one himself.
Threading the needle by paw had been his biggest problem and the first time it had taken him the best part of a day, but once the cotton was safely through the eye of the needle there was no holding him and soon the steady clickety-clack of the machine had begun to echo round the house.
At first he’d contented himself with joining together some old bits of cloth Mrs Bird had found in her sewing box, but when these ran out he turned his attention to more ambitious things and really and truly he’d been most useful. A new tea towel for Mrs Bird; a set of curtains for Judy’s doll’s house; a bag for Jonathan’s cricket bat, and a smaller one for Mr Brown’s pipe; now the tablecloth – there seemed no end to his activities.
“Just so long as he doesn’t do anything nasty to his new eiderdown,” said Mrs Bird, as they went upstairs to give Paddington his instructions
