at least once with a letter addressed to “P. Brown, Esq.”
Some of the catalogues were very good value indeed, full of pictures and drawings, and with quite a lot to read considering they were free and that Mrs Bird usually paid for the stamp.
Paddington kept them all in a cupboard beside his bed. There were a number on foreign travel – with pictures of far-away places in several colours; two or three on food; and one or two from some big London stores.
But the one which interested Paddington at the moment, and which was his favourite, showed a work-bench on the front cover and was headed DO IT YOURSELF. He became so absorbed in the booklet, which was a thick one full of diagrams, that he suddenly found to his surprise that he had put the pepper and salt into his cup of tea and the sugar into his boiled egg. But it made quite an interesting taste so he didn’t really mind and he concentrated on reading the catalogue over his toast and marmalade.
There was a particularly interesting section which caught his eye. It was headed DELIGHT YOUR FAMILY AND SURPRISE YOUR FRIENDS, and it was all about making a newspaper and magazine rack.
“All you need,” it said, “is a sheet of plywood, some nails and a kitchen table.”
Paddington wasn’t at all sure about using Mrs Bird’s kitchen table, but the night before, Mr Brown had rashly promised him a sheet of plywood that was standing in the shed, as well as some old nails in a jam-jar. And Mr Brown was always grumbling about not being able to find his newspapers; Paddington felt sure he would be very pleased if he had a rack for them.
He examined the drawings and pictures carefully and consulted the instructions several times. It didn’t say anything about bears in particular doing it themselves, but it did say it was suitable for anyone with a set of carpentry tools.
Paddington came to a decision. He hastily wrapped the remains of his breakfast in a handkerchief in case the sawing made him hungry. Then, having marked the chapter on magazine racks in his catalogue with a piece of marmalade peel, he hurried along to the bathroom for a quick wash.
Paddington wasn’t the sort of bear who believed in doing things unnecessarily and it wasn’t worth having a proper wash if he was going to get dirty again. After passing the face flannel over his whiskers a couple of times he made his way downstairs and went out into the garden.
The box of carpentry tools was standing in the middle of Mr Brown’s shed and Paddington spent several minutes investigating it. Although all the tools seemed rather large for a bear he soon decided he was very pleased with them. There was a hammer, a plane, three chisels, a large saw and a number of other things which he didn’t immediately recognise but which looked very interesting. The box was heavy and it took him some while to drag it outside into the garden. He had even more trouble with Mr Brown’s plywood, for it was a large sheet and there was a wind blowing. Each time he picked it up a gust of wind caught it and carried him farther and farther down the garden.
It was while he was trying to drag it back up again with the aid of a piece of rope that he heard a familiar voice calling his name. He looked round and saw Mr Curry, the Brown’s next-door neighbour, watching him over the fence. Mr Curry didn’t approve of bears and he usually viewed Paddington’s ‘goings on’ with suspicion.
“What are you doing, bear?” he growled.
“Do it yourself, Mr Curry,” said Paddington, peering out from behind the sheet of wood.
“What?” bellowed Mr Curry. “Don’t be impertinent, bear!”
“Oh, no,” said Paddington hastily, nearly dropping the sheet of plywood in his fright at the expression on Mr Curry’s face. “I didn’t mean you were to do it yourself, Mr Curry. I meant I’m going to do it myself. I’m making a magazine rack for Mr Brown.”
“A magazine rack?” repeated Mr Curry.
“Yes,” said Paddington importantly, and he began explaining to Mr Curry all about his new carpentry set.
As he listened to Paddington the expression on Mr Curry’s face gradually changed. Mr Curry had a reputation in the neighbourhood for meanness and he was always on the look-out in the hope of getting something for nothing. He was very keen on doing things himself, too, in order to save money, and he cast several envious glances at Paddington’s tool set.
“Hmm,” he said, when Paddington had finished. “And where are you going to make this magazine rack, bear? On the lawn?”
“Well,” said Paddington doubtfully, “It’s a bit difficult. It says in the instructions I’m supposed to have a kitchen table and Mrs Bird’s is full up.”
“Hmm,” said Mr Curry once again. “If I let you make me a magazine rack, bear, you can use my kitchen table.”
“Thank you very much, Mr Curry,” said Paddington. But he wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea or not and he looked at Mr Curry rather doubtfully. “That’s most kind of you.”
“I have to go out this morning,” said Mr Curry. “So you can have it ready for me when I get back.
“Mind you,” he added, as he reached over the fence to give Paddington a hand with the plywood, “I’m not having any sawdust over the kitchen floor. And mind you don’t scratch anything.”
The more he listened to Mr Curry talking the longer Paddington’s face grew and he was glad when at last he left to do his shopping.
But as Paddington set to work he soon forgot all about Mr Curry’s list of ‘don’t’s, for there were a number of important things to be done. First of all he took a pencil and ruler and carefully marked out the shape of the magazine rack on the sheet of plywood. Then he placed this on top of the kitchen table, ready to be sawn in two.
Paddington had never actually sawn anything before, but he’d often watched Mr Brown cutting up logs for the fire. From a safe distance it had always looked easy – but Paddington soon found it wasn’t easy at all. To start with, the plywood was bigger than the top of Mr Curry’s table. Being small, Paddington had to climb on top of it and several times it nearly tipped over when he stood too near the edge. Then he found that the saw, although it was nice and sharp, was so large he had to use both paws, which made things even more difficult. For the first few strokes it went through the wood like a knife through butter, but for some reason or other it gradually became harder and harder to use.
After sitting down for a short rest Paddington decided to try starting from the other end. But once again, for some strange reason, he found it much easier at the beginning. However, as he gave the last saw cut and scrambled clear he was pleased to see the two saw cuts met in the middle, dividing the sheet of plywood neatly in half.
It was then, as he reached up to take the newly sawn pieces of plywood down, that Paddington had his first shock of the morning.
There was a loud splintering noise and he dodged back just in time to avoid being hit by Mr Curry’s table as it suddenly parted in the middle and fell with a crash to the floor.
