Paddington Takes the Test. Michael Bond
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He mopped his brow with a handkerchief as the memory of it came flooding back. “It all sounded much worse than it actually was. As you know, I was being examined myself at the time, so I was under a certain amount of strain. As a matter of fact, I came through with flying colours. The chief examiner thought that in the circumstances I did extremely well. He’s even recommended me for promotion.”
“But whatever is it?” cried Judy, as Paddington opened the envelope and withdrew a sheet of paper with an inscription on it.
The examiner gave a cough. “It’s a special test certificate,” he said. “It enables the owner to drive vehicles in group S.”
“Trust Paddington!” said Jonathan. “I bet he’s the only one who’s ever driven into the back of an examiner’s car and still passed his test into the bargain.”
Mr Brown gave the examiner a puzzled look. “Group S?” he repeated. “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”
“It’s very rare.” The examiner permitted himself another smile. “In fact there probably isn’t another one like it in the whole world. It’s for shopping baskets on wheels. I noticed young Mr Brown had one with him at the time of our … er … meeting.”
“Gosh, Paddington,” Judy gazed at him in relief. “What are you going to do with it?”
Paddington considered the matter for a moment. He really felt quite overwhelmed by his latest piece of good fortune. “I think,” he announced at last, “I shall fix it to the front of my basket. Then if I ever have trouble at the supermarket cash desk I shall be able to show it.”
“What a good idea,” said the examiner, looking very pleased at the reception his gift had met. “And you’ll be pleased to see it’s made out for life. That means,” he added, gently but firmly, “that you need never, ever, ever, come and see us to take your test again!”
Chapter Two IN AND OUT OF TROUBLE
One morning, soon after the visit from the driving examiner, Paddington was pottering about in the garden doing some testing of his own in order to make sure Mr Brown’s fruit was properly ripe, when he happened to glance through a knothole in the nearby fence. As he did so he nearly fell over backwards into the raspberry canes with astonishment at the sight which met his eyes.
The fence belonged to the Browns’ neighbour, Mr Curry, and in the normal course of events there was seldom anything of any great interest to see. Gardening wasn’t one of Mr Curry’s strong points. Apart from one or two shrubs and a couple of old trees, most of the ground was given over to what he called ‘the lawn’, but which in reality was nothing more than a patch of rough grass.
For once, however, it was looking unusually neat and tidy. In fact, overnight it had undergone nothing less than a transformation. The grass had been newly mown, the bushes pruned, and the trees had been lopped of their lower branches. There was even a small table in the centre of the lawn on which had been placed a tray with a glass and a jug of what looked like orangeade.
Paddington rubbed his eyes and then took a closer look through the hole. Now that he thought about it, he remembered hearing the sound of sawing the day before. At the time he hadn’t taken much notice of it, and never in his wildest dreams had he pictured it coming from Mr Curry’s garden.
The Browns’ neighbour had obviously been busy, but it wasn’t the view of his actual garden, nor the orangeade that caused Paddington’s astonishment; it was the sight of something very odd suspended between the two trees. At first glance it seemed to be a cross between a very large hairnet that had been hung out to dry, and some overgrown knitting that had gone sadly wrong; in fact he couldn’t remember having seen anything quite like it before in the whole of his life.
It was all very strange and Paddington was about to go indoors in order to tell Mrs Bird about it when he had his second shock of the morning.
Having rubbed his eyes once more so as to make doubly sure he wasn’t dreaming the whole thing, he opened them again in order to take one last look, only to find to his surprise that the scene had disappeared. Something or other was now covering up the knothole.
Paddington was not the sort of bear to be beaten by such trifles. After finding a suitable cane from among the pile in the raspberry patch, he bent down again and poked it through the hole as hard as he could in order to remove the offending object. A second later the cane fell from his paw like a red-hot poker as a yell of pain rang round the garden.
“Bear!” roared a familiar voice. “Is that you, bear? How dare you!”
Paddington scrambled to his feet and gazed mournfully at the sight of the Browns’ neighbour as he bobbed up and down on one leg on the other side of the fence.
“That was my shin you poked, bear!” howled Mr Curry. “What were you doing? Spying on me? Mark my words … I shall report you for this!”
“Oh no, Mr Curry,” gasped Paddington. “I wasn’t spying. I wouldn’t do that. I was only trying to see what was going on. There’s something hanging from your trees and I wondered if you knew about it.”
“What’s that, bear?” Mr Curry hopped closer to the fence and gave a snort as he peered over the top. “Of course I know about it. I put it there. There’s no need to go around telling everyone.”
“Oh, I wasn’t going to tell everyone, Mr Curry,” said Paddington earnestly. “Only Mrs Bird.”
“Mrs Bird!” For some reason best known to himself, Paddington’s words had a strange effect on Mr Curry. He stopped rubbing his leg and drew nearer the fence. “Come now, bear,” he said. “There’s no need to do that. It’s only a hammock. Haven’t you ever seen one before?”
“A hammock, Mr Curry?” repeated Paddington. “No, I don’t think I have.”
“Hmm.” Mr Curry looked somewhat relieved by Paddington’s reply. “Well, bear,” he said, in a slightly better humour, “a hammock is what sailors used to sleep in on board ship. Nowadays they have bunks, but people still use hammocks in their gardens. They’re ideal for relaxing in. There’s nothing nicer on a warm summer afternoon than a quiet doze in a hammock. Provided,” he added meaningly, “there are no unseemly interruptions from the neighbours!”
Paddington looked most surprised as he listened to all Mr Curry had to say on the subject of hammocks. “I’ve never heard of a bed with holes in it before,” he exclaimed. “Is it safe?”
“Safe?” Mr Curry gave another snort. “Safe? Of course it’s safe! Why shouldn’t it be? What’s wrong with it?” he demanded.
“Oh, I didn’t mean yours wasn’t a good one, Mr Curry,” said Paddington hastily, anxious to make amends. “It’s just that it looks rather old. I … mean … have you had it very long?” he added lamely.
“Er … well, I …” Mr Curry broke into a loud cough. Once again he seemed anxious to change the subject. He glanced around to make sure no one else was about and then stared thoughtfully at Paddington.
“How much do you weigh, bear?” he barked.
Paddington was taken by surprise at the question. The Browns’ neighbour had a habit of turning matters to his own ends and it was sometimes difficult to follow what he had in mind. “I don’t know, Mr Curry,” he said, cautiously playing for time. “Sometimes I weigh