lamely, as his wife dug him in the ribs.
“That’s not marmalade, Mr Brown,” explained Paddington. “That’s glue!”
“Glue!” repeated Mr Brown.”How on earth did you manage to get glue down your front?”
“I’m afraid I had a bit of trouble with my dicky,” explained Paddington. “It’s a bit difficult with paws and it kept rolling up, so I had to borrow some special glue from the carpenter’s shop.”
The Browns exchanged glances. “Well, they did say come as you like,” said Mr Brown.
“Quite right,” said Mrs Bird, as she followed Mr Brown into the ballroom. “And as no one here has ever met Beau Brummel, who are they to judge?”
“I think you look jolly smart anyway, Paddington,” said Judy, squeezing his paw as they made their way across the floor in the direction of the band.
Paddington was very keen on bands, especially when they played loudly, and the ship’s band, although it was only small, seemed unusually good value in this respect, particularly as several of the musicians had to play more than one instrument.
At the end of the first number he joined in the applause and then settled back in his seat as the leader, having bowed several times to the audience, raised his hand and signalled a fanfare on the trumpets to herald the arrival on stage of Bouncing Barry Baird, the Master of Ceremonies.
“Are you all right, Paddington?” asked Mrs Brown, as she saw him examining his paws with interest.
“I think so, thank you, Mrs Brown,” replied Paddington vaguely. “But I think something’s gone wrong with my claps.”
Mrs Brown opened her mouth but then, as the applause died down, decided against it. There were some things better not inquired in to, especially when they were to do with Paddington.
Up on the small stage Bouncing Barry Baird clasped the microphone as if it was a stick of rock and beamed at the audience. “Hallo! Hallo! Hallo!” he boomed. “How are all me old shipmates?”
“All right, thank you, Mr Baird,” exclaimed Paddington from his position in the front row, raising his hat politely.
Barry Baird seemed slightly taken aback at receiving a reply to his question. “I’ve got the bird before now,” he said, looking at Paddington’s costume, “but never quite so early in the act. I can see you’ve got your furbelows on, bear,” he continued, pointing towards Paddington. “In fact, come to think of it, you’ve even got fur below your furbelows!”
In the applause which followed, Paddington gave Barry Baird a particularly hard stare. Catching sight of it suddenly, Mr Baird hastily averted his eyes and went on with his act.
“What is it?” he asked. “What is it – and I’m offering no prizes for the answer – what is it that has a green head, six furry legs and one purple eye?
“I don’t know either, Mr Baird,” called out Paddington, who had seen Barry Baird’s act several times before on television, “but there’s one on your back!”
The applause which followed Paddington’s remark was even greater than it had been for Barry Baird and as it echoed round the ballroom the comedian put his hand over the microphone, leant over the footlights, and glared down at Paddington. “Barry Baird does the funnies here, bear,” he hissed.
“So much for wit and humour,” he announced, as he straightened up and showed a row of gleaming white teeth to the audience. “Now we come to the serious part of the show. The fastest act you’ve ever seen, ladies and gentlemen. Before your very eyes – no mirrors – no deception – before your very eyes I will remove the entire contents of the pockets belonging to any gentleman in the audience who cares to step up here – and he’ll never know it happened! Now come along, ladies and gentlemen, all I’m asking for is one volunteer…”
“Oh, crikey!” groaned Jonathan, as there was a sudden movement from the front row. “Trust Paddington!”
Barry Baird seemed to lose some of his bounce as Paddington climbed up on to the stage, but he quickly recovered himself.
“A big hand, ladies and gentlemen,” he boomed. “A big hand for this young bear gentleman who’s volunteered to have his pockets picked.”
“He’ll be lucky if he gets anything out of Paddington’s pockets,” murmured Mr Brown.
Barry Baird signalled to the band to start playing and then, talking all the while, he hovered round Paddington, his hands gliding up and down through the air like two serpents.
There was a gasp of amazement from the audience as he held up first a pencil then a notebook for them to see. Paddington himself looked as surprised as anyone for he hadn’t felt a thing.
Signalling to the band to play even faster, Barry Baird, his white teeth gleaming in the spotlight, circled the stage once more, waving his arms in time to the music.
Suddenly he stopped and the expression froze on his face as he slowly withdrew his hand from one of Paddington’s side pockets.
“Uggh!” he exclaimed before he could stop himself. “What have you got in there, bear?”
Paddington examined Barry Baird’s hand with interest as the music came to a stop. “I expect that’s a marmalade sandwich, Mr Baird,” he replied cheerfully. “I put it in there in case I had an emergency. I’m afraid it’s a bit squashed.”
Barry Baird, who looked as if he was about to have a bit of an emergency himself, stared at his hand for a moment as if he could hardly believe his eyes, and then gave a rather high-pitched laugh as he turned to face the audience.
“I’ve been in some jams before now,” he announced feebly, “but this is the first time I’ve ever been in a marmalade sandwich!”
Wiping his hands on a small square of silk which he withdrew from his top pocket Barry Baird mopped his brow and held up his hand for silence as he turned hurriedly to the next part of his act.
“I want everyone,” he announced, “to raise their hands above their heads and clasp them together.”
While the audience did as they were told, Barry Baird took a length of string from his pocket, tied a key to one end, and then set it in motion like a pendulum.
“Now,” he said as the main lights went dim again and the swinging key was illuminated by a single spotlight, “I want you all to watch this key carefully as it goes from left… to right… to left… to right… to left…” Barry Baird’s voice grew soft and caressing as the light went lower.
“I’ve seen this trick done before,” whispered Mr Brown with a chuckle. “You wait till they put the lights up again. There’s always some chap who can’t get his hands apart again.”
“Gosh!” groaned Judy, as the lights suddenly went up and everyone relaxed. “Look who it is!”
“I am surprised,” said Mrs Bird. “I should have thought Paddington would be more likely to hypnotise Barry Baird than be put
