Paddington Complete Novels. Michael Bond
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with a newspaper. “He’s probably having the time of his life.”
Mr Brown was fairly near the truth when he said Paddington was probably having the time of his life. Unfortunately it wasn’t in quite the way he meant it. Blissfully unaware that his fate was being decided, Paddington was sitting in the middle of the bathroom floor drawing a map of South America with a tube of Mr Brown’s shaving cream.
Paddington liked geography. At least, he liked his sort of geography, which meant seeing strange places and new people. Before he left South America on his long journey to England, his Aunt Lucy, who was a very wise old bear, had done her best to teach him all she knew. She had told him all about the places he would see on the way and she had spent many long hours reading to him about the people he would meet.
It had been a long journey, half-way round the world, and so Paddington’s map occupied most of the bathroom floor and also used up most of Mr Brown’s shaving cream. With the little that was left he tried writing his new name again. He had several attempts and finally decided on PADINGTUN. It looked most important.
It wasn’t until a trickle of warm water landed on his nose that he realised the bath was full and was beginning to run over the side. With a sigh he climbed up on to the side of the bath, closed his eyes, held his nose with one paw, and jumped. The water was hot and soapy and much deeper than he had expected. In fact, he had to stand on tiptoe even to keep his nose above the surface.
It was then that he had a nasty shock. It’s one thing getting into a bath. It’s quite another getting out, especially when the water comes up to your nose and the sides are slippery and your eyes are full of soap. He couldn’t even see to turn the taps off.
He tried calling out “Help”, first in quite a quiet voice, then very loudly: “HELP! HELP!”
He waited for a few moments but no one came. Suddenly he had an idea. What a good thing he was still wearing his hat! He took it off and began baling out the water.
There were several holes in the hat because it was a very old one that had once belonged to his uncle, but if the water didn’t get much less, at least it didn’t get any more.
“That’s funny,” said Mr Brown, jumping up from his armchair and rubbing his forehead. “I could have sworn I felt a spot of water!”
“Don’t be silly, dear. How could you?” Mrs Brown, busy with her knitting, didn’t even bother to look up.
Mr Brown grunted and returned to his newspaper. He knew he had felt something, but there was no point in arguing. He looked suspiciously at the children, but both Judy and Jonathan were busy writing their letter.
“How much does it cost to send a letter to Lima?” asked Jonathan.
Judy was about to reply when another drop of water fell down from the ceiling, this time right on to the table.
“Oh, gosh!” She jumped to her feet, pulling Jonathan after her. There was an ominous wet patch right over their heads and right underneath the bathroom!
“Where are you going now, dear?” asked Mrs Brown.
“Oh, just upstairs to see how Paddington’s getting on.” Judy pushed Jonathan through the door and shut it quickly behind them.
“Crikey,” said Jonathan. “What’s up?”
“It’s Paddington,” cried Judy over her shoulder as she rushed up the stairs. “I think he’s in trouble!”
She ran along the landing and banged loudly on the bathroom door. “Are you all right, Paddington?” she shouted. “May we come in?”
“HELP! HELP!” shouted Paddington.”Please come in. I think I’m going to drown!”
“Oh, Paddington.” Judy leant over the side of the bath and helped Jonathan lift a dripping and very frightened Paddington on to the floor. “Oh, Paddington! Thank goodness you’re all right!”
Paddington lay on his back in a pool of water. “What a good job I had my hat,” he panted. “Aunt Lucy told me never to be without it.”
“But why on earth didn’t you pull the plug out, you silly?” said Judy.
“Oh!” Paddington looked crestfallen. “I… I never thought of that.”
Jonathan looked admiringly at Paddington. “Crikey,” he said. “Fancy you making all this mess. Even I’ve never made as much mess as this!”
Paddington sat up and looked around. The whole of the bathroom floor was covered in a sort of white foam where the hot water had landed on his map of South America. “It is a bit untidy,” he admitted. “I don’t really know how it got like that.”
“Untidy!” Judy lifted him to his feet and wrapped a towel around him. “Paddington, we’ve all got a lot of work to do before we go downstairs again. If Mrs Bird sees this I don’t know what she’ll say.”
“I do,” exclaimed Jonathan. “She says it to me sometimes.”
Judy began wiping the floor with a cloth. “Now just you dry yourself quickly in case you catch cold.”
Paddington began rubbing himself meekly with the towel. “I must say,” he remarked, looking at himself in the mirror. “I am a lot cleaner than I was. It doesn’t look like me at all!”
Paddington did look much cleaner than when he had first arrived at the Browns. His fur, which was really quite light in colour and not dark brown as it had been, was standing out like a new brush, except that it was soft and silky. His nose gleamed and his ears had lost all traces of the jam and cream. He was so much cleaner that when he arrived downstairs and entered the dining-room some time later, everyone pretended not to recognise him.
“The tradesmen’s entrance is at the side,” said Mr Brown, from behind the paper.
Mrs Brown put down her knitting and stared at him. “I think you must have come to the wrong house,” she said. “This is number thirty-two not thirty-four!”
Even Jonathan and Judy agreed there must be some mistake. Paddington began to get quite worried until they all burst out laughing and said how nice he looked now that he was brushed and combed and respectable.
They made room for him in a small armchair by the fire and Mrs Bird came in with another pot of tea and a plate of hot, buttered toast.
“Now, Paddington,” said Mr Brown, when they were all settled. “Suppose you tell us all about yourself and how you came to Britain.”
Paddington settled back in his armchair, wiped a smear of butter carefully from his whiskers, put his paws behind his head and stretched out his toes towards the fire. He liked an audience, especially when he was warm and the world seemed such a nice place.
“I was brought up in Darkest Peru,” he began. “By my Aunt Lucy. She’s the one that lives in a home for retired bears in Lima.” He closed his eyes thoughtfully.
A hush fell over the room and everyone waited expectantly. After a while, when nothing happened, they began to get restless. Mr Brown coughed loudly. “It doesn’t seem a very exciting story,” he said, impatiently.
He reached across and poked Paddington with his pipe. “Well I never,” he said. “I do believe he’s fallen asleep!”