me all that money or I’ll kick ya in the ribs!” Yes,’ laughed Mr Gum, ‘once we get our hands on that bear, it’s riches all the way for us, ’specially me. An’ that ain’t no lie!’
Chapter 3 What’s to Be Done with Padlock the Bear?
And so the days passed as autumn wore on in that gusty, blustery way that it does. In the butcher’s shop, Mr Gum and Billy William sat making their plans. In the cake shop, the baker sat making his flans. And in the town square, Polly sat with Padlock, wringing her hands.
‘Oh, Padlock,’ sighed Polly worriedly. ‘Every day I bring you crackers an’ tell you jokes to cheer you up, but nothin’s a-workin’. What’s wrong, boy?’
Padlock’s only answer was a tired little ‘mmph’. He seemed unhappier than ever. He was growing thinner by the day, and his big hazel eyes were empty and lifeless, like a boarded-up cinema in a town called Misery. Often he hardly even seemed to notice Polly, but just gazed mournfully off into the distance, rocking back and forth all the while.
Worst of all was his fur. Not only had it lost its lovely rich glossiness – it was actually starting to fall out. Every morning Polly would find more of Padlock’s fur on the ground and less of Padlock’s fur on Padlock, until one day she could take it no more.
‘I’m gonna visit Alan Taylor,’ Polly told Padlock as he sat there sobbing and not even bothering to wipe his runny nose with his paws. ‘He’s a brilliant headmaster what knows all ’bout the natural world. Maybe he can help you.’
‘Polly!’ beamed Alan Taylor when she turned up on the steps of Saint Pterodactyl’s School For The Poor later that afternoon. ‘What a delightful surprise!’
‘Hello,’ said Polly, bending down to give him a hug. She had to bend down because Alan Taylor was only 15.24 centimetres tall. He was probably the world’s smallest ever headmaster, and almost definitely the only one to be made out of gingerbread. His electric muscles sparked and whirred merrily as he led Polly along a long corridor lined with drawings done by the schoolchildren. Even the rubbish drawings were pinned up, because Alan Taylor wasn’t the kind of headmaster who says things like, ‘Blimey, this drawing’s pathetic, is that supposed to be a tree?’ He was the kind of headmaster who says things like, ‘Well done for trying, have a gold star and some sweets.’
‘Well now, Polly,’ said Alan Taylor when they were seated comfortably in the soft leather chairs in his headmaster’s study. ‘What brings you here today?’
So Polly told the little biscuit all about Padlock.
‘An’ I thought you might know what’s wrong with him, Alan Taylor, ’cos you’re such a professor of the natural world,’ she finished, gazing in awe at all the books on the bookshelves. There were five in all, and they were titled: ‘ANIMALS A–G’, ‘ANIMALS H–L’, ‘ANIMALS M–Q’, ‘ANIMALS R–Y’ and ‘ZEBRAS’.
‘Hmm,’ said Alan Taylor, leaning back in his chair and taking a puff on a tiny liquorice pipe. ‘Would you mind handing me that copy of “ANIMALS A–G”, Polly? I think we might find what we’re looking for in there.’
So Polly took down the heavy book, which was bigger than Alan Taylor himself, and she turned the pages until she came to the section about bears.
‘Let’s see,’ said Alan Taylor, jumping on to the page for a better look. ‘Hmm . . . interesting . . . aha! Just as I thought,’ he nodded. ‘Padlock is showing all the signs of homesickness. You see, Polly, bears are not meant to be cooped up in the World of Men. They simply aren’t born to drive cars, or to work in shoe shops – or even to sit around town squares doing nothing all day long. If you ask me,’ continued the headmaster, ‘Padlock’s real home is the Kingdom of the Beasts, where he can roam wild and free and hairy as nature intended.’
‘Oh, thank you, Alan Taylor, thank you,’ said Polly gratefully. ‘I knewed you’d have the answer! I’ll go an’ put things right at once. But will you help me?’ she asked hopefully, because Alan Taylor was always good to have along on adventures, and whenever he fell asleep you could secretly nibble his delicious gingerbread fingernails.
Alan Taylor sighed.
‘I’d love to, Polly, but I just can’t. I’ve got a huge pile of essays to mark and it’s Parents’ Evening next week. It’s quite hard work being a headmaster, you know.’
‘Well, you’re the best one what I ever heard of,’ said Polly, giving her friend a lovely big kiss on the nose. And bidding Alan Taylor a fond farewell she set off to see about returning Padlock to the Kingdom of the Beasts where he belonged.
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