by Michael Bond
“Two pounds!” exclaimed Paddington, staring at the two coins in his paw. “I think you’ve made a mistake.”
“A mistake?” repeated the man. “Two tickets at one pound fifty is three pounds. Three pounds from five pounds is two pounds.”
“But it says outside your trips are half price,” replied Paddington hotly.
“Half price?” echoed the man. “Just you show me where, young feller me bear.”
Paddington hurried out of the shop and pointed to the sign over the door. “There you are!” he exclaimed.
The man stared up at the notice for a moment and then back at Paddington. “’Ere, Alf,” he called, putting his head inside the shop door. “There’s a young bear out here taking your name in vain.”
“That isn’t half price,” he said, turning back to Paddington. “That’s Alf Price of Alf Price Coach Tours. He’s the owner. And if you want my advice you’ll be on your way before he comes out. Very sensitive is Alf.”
Paddington gave the man a long, hard stare and then beat a hasty retreat in the direction of Windsor Gardens, casting some anxious glances over his shoulder as he hurried along clutching the two coach tickets tightly in his paw in case anything else happened.
“‘99 Special’ indeed!” said Mrs Brown, when he told the others all about the morning’s events. “It ought not to be allowed. Trying to get their hands on a young bear’s savings like that.”
“Hmm,” said Mrs Bird. “I don’t think we need have any worries on that score. Anyone who gets their hands on that bear’s savings deserves every penny. It’s what I’d call earning money the hard way.”
Paddington looked most offended at Mrs Bird’s remarks as he hurried upstairs in order to get ready for his outing. All the same, there were so many preparations to make he soon forgot about his nasty experience in the coach office and by the time the afternoon arrived he was looking unusually spick and span as he made his way back down the Portobello Road.
Paddington always enjoyed an outing and it was with an air of excitement that he climbed into the waiting coach and settled himself comfortably in the front seat alongside Mr Gruber.
Mr Gruber had brought several guide books with him and as they sped through the London streets he pointed out a number of the more important landmarks, explaining all about them as they came into view.
The time passed quickly, but after they had been travelling for about an hour Mr Gruber began to look thoughtful. “Do you know, Mr Brown,” he said, studying a map as they turned a corner and began to slow down. “I have a feeling you’re in for a nice surprise. I do believe we’re going to visit somewhere very unusual.”
Before Mr Gruber had time to explain matters any further the coachdriver began marshalling his passengers out on to the pavement and then led them towards a large building standing to one side of a busy main street.
Mr Gruber paused just inside the entrance in order to buy a guide book and while he was waiting Paddington stood politely to one side and gazed around with interest.
While he was looking he suddenly caught sight of a small kiosk standing nearby and an excited gleam came into his eyes as he took in the display of brightly coloured postcards on the counter, several of which showed views of sights they had passed that very afternoon.
Paddington had enjoyed his outing no end and knowing Mr Gruber’s fondness for pictures it seemed a good chance to repay him for some of his kindness.
Carefully making sure no one was watching, Paddington took some money out of the secret compartment in his suitcase and then hurried across the hall.
“I’d like two large souvenir postcards, please,” he announced, tapping importantly on the counter. “Some of the special coloured ones.”
Being rather short Paddington was used to having trouble with counters, but even he began to get more and more impatient as the lady in the kiosk stared with a fixed expression on her face at some distant object above his head. He looked round anxiously as the coach party began moving forward towards some stairs at the back of the hall and several times he gave the figure behind the counter some extra hard stares, but for once the ones he got back in return seemed harder still.
“I was going to buy some souvenirs,” he explained, as Mr Gruber came hurrying up to see what was the matter. “But I can’t make anyone hear.”
Mr Gruber looked rather upset. “Oh dear, Mr Brown,” he said. “I doubt if you will. I think she’s made of wax.”
Paddington peered over the edge of the counter. “Made of wax!” he exclaimed hotly. “I’ve never heard of anyone being made of wax before.”
Mr Gruber chuckled. “You’ll find a lot of people like that in here, Mr Brown,” he said. “This is Madame Tussaud’s. It’s a waxworks museum. This must be one of their little jokes. I think the real lady’s over there.”
Mr Gruber pointed towards the other end of the counter as he went on to explain all about the museum. “They not only have models of all the famous people in history,” he said, handing the girl some money in exchange for two postcards, “they have lots of other figures made of wax as well. Some of them are so lifelike it’s difficult to tell whether they’re real or not. I’m sure you’re not the first one to be caught napping, Mr Brown.”
Paddington listened carefully as he followed Mr Gruber towards the crowd on the stairs. Now that matters had been explained to him he began to notice quite a few figures standing motionless in the hall. Near the entrance there was an unusually still-looking policeman, and halfway up the stairs stood another man in uniform with his hand outstretched in front of him, looking for all the world like one of the statues Mr Gruber had pointed out on their trip.
“I think we must have picked the wrong day, Mr Brown,” said Mr Gruber, breaking into his thoughts. “Half London seems to be in front of us.”
Paddington gasped his agreement as Mr Gruber disappeared in a flurry of people. From where he was standing it felt very much as if the other half of London was behind him as well, and to make matters worse he’d just made the unhappy discovery that a half opened bar of chocolate he’d brought in case of an emergency was beginning to melt in his paw with the heat.
Although he often got himself into a mess Paddington was a tidy-minded bear and he looked round for somewhere to put the sticky remains before too much of it dripped on to the floor. By now the crowd was too thick to lift his hat let alone open his suitcase, and he was just giving up hope of ever finding anywhere to leave it when he found himself standing next to the figure in uniform he’d noticed earlier.
Without waiting to consider the matter Paddington pressed the ball of chocolate into the outstretched hand and then turned to look for Mr Gruber. As he did so a loud voice rang out over the noise of the crowd.
“’Ere!” cried the voice. “Who did this?”
Paddington turned and then nearly jumped out of his skin as he caught sight of the man in uniform holding up a chocolate-covered hand for everyone to see.
The man gazed at Paddington suspiciously. “Is this yours, bear?” he said.
“I thought you were a waxwork,” exclaimed Paddington, looking most upset. He stared round desperately for help but Mr Gruber was nowhere to be seen.
“Oi!” shouted the man. “Come back! Stop that bear!”
But Paddington was halfway down the stairs. He didn’t like the look of things at all. Already several of the doorkeepers were looking in his direction and as he squeezed his way past the people trying to get up he peered round anxiously for somewhere to hide.
Holding on tightly to his suitcase he hurried across the hall in the direction of some more stairs. The voice of the man in uniform was getting louder and louder and there wasn’t time to read the words over the opening, but it seemed the only spot left where there was no one to bar his way.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs Paddington found himself in a large room rather like a dungeon. It was much darker than it had been in the other part of the building but as far as he could make
out he was standing in a long stone corridor which had a line of smaller rooms opening out along one side, each of which contained a number of figures.
The voices behind him were getting nearer with every passing second and he just had time to climb over a chain and take up a pose in the shadows at the back of one of the rooms when a crowd of officials rushed into the cellar looking in all directions.
As the minutes ticked by Paddington began to wish he’d picked a lying down pose, or even a sitting up one. Standing on one leg with outstretched paws was difficult enough at the best of times, but when it was in a hot cellar with no time in which to get comfortable, matters became very difficult indeed.
At long last the shouting died away amid a clatter of feet as the men disappeared back up the stairs. Paddington heaved a sigh of relief but before he had time to blink, let alone move his paws, some new voices broke the silence which followed. They got nearer and nearer until suddenly they stopped opposite his room.
“It says Charlie Peace in the catalogue,” announced a man’s voice. “But I never thought he had fur.”
“If that’s Charlie Peace,” replied a woman, “I’m the Queen of Sheba. Besides, where’s ’is number? All the rest ’ave got numbers.”
“Perhaps it’s a friend,” said a child’s voice.
“’Orrible,” complained the woman. “They all look as bad as one another to me. Don’t know which is worse. I shouldn’t look if I were you, Lil.”
“Horrible it may be,” interrupted the man. “But it’s very lifelike. Fancy making all them whiskers out of wax. It’s a wonder they don’t drop off with the heat.”
Paddington opened his eyes and stared at the group outside the room. He was getting a bit fed up with the way things were going. More and more people were joining the party with every passing moment and by now the corridor was crowded with curious onlookers. It all seemed a great deal of fuss and bother to get into simply because he’d wanted to get rid of some chocolate remains.
“Charlie Peace!” he exclaimed, raising his hat. “I’m not Charlie Peace. I’m Paddington Brown from Darkest Peru!”
If Paddington had been surprised when the man on the stairs had sprung to life his audience in the cellar seemed even more taken aback at the sudden turn of events.
When he caught sight of the look on their faces Paddington closed his eyes and gave several hurried snores as he took up his pose again, but it was already much too late. The air was filled with cries of alarm from the ones in the front row and a buzz of excited conversation from those at the back who were straining to see what was going on.
Just as the noise began to reach its height the sound of heavy boots added itself to the general hubbub and a moment later Paddington felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“Got you!” said a triumphant voice. “If I’m not mistaken you’re the young bear what mistook me for a dustbin on the stairs.”
Paddington opened his eyes and looked up at the dark blue uniform. “I didn’t know you were real,” he explained. “I only wanted to get rid of my chocolate remains.”
“Fifty years I bin here, man and boy,” said the man bitterly, holding up his hands for everyone to see, “and never ’ad a bear’s remains deposited on me before. We’ll ’ave to see what the manager’s got to say about this little matter. I daresay he’ll want to take down your particulars.”
“Take down my particulars!” exclaimed Paddington, looking more and more upset.
“That’s what I said,” remarked the man. “I don’t know about ’is being a Charlie Peace,” he continued, addressing the crowd in reply to someone’s question. “He’s a disturber of the peace all right.”
While the man was talking, Paddington got down on his paws and knees and pulled his hat well down over his head. A few seconds later the sound of shouting broke out once more in Madame Tussaud’s, only this time it was directed towards the stairs as a small brown figure disappeared up them as fast as its legs would go. Paddington believed in getting his money’s worth, but he’d had quite enough adventures for one day, even for a one pound fifty bargain mystery tour.
“Thank goodness we bumped into each other when we did,” said Mr Gruber later that afternoon as they sat in his shop having tea. “I looked everywhere for you, but I must say it didn’t occur to me to try the Chamber of Horrors.”
Mr Gruber chuckled as Paddington went through his adventure once again. “They must have been surprised when you raised your hat, Mr Brown,” he said. “I expect they thought you were one of the horrors!”
Mr Gruber coughed and hurriedly changed the subject in case he’d said anything to offend, but Paddington was much too busy staring out of the shop window to notice anything amiss.
He’d just caught sight of a newspaper boy going past with a placard over his arm and across it in large, black letters were the words WAXWORKS MUSEUM LATEST – MYSTERY DEEPENS!
The boy was too far away for him to see the actual papers clearly but one of the headlines definitely had the word BEAR in it.
“Good gracious,” exclaimed Mr Gruber, as he followed the direction of Paddington’s gaze. “I think we’d better buy a copy, Mr Brown. In fact, we’d better buy several copies. I can think of quite a lot of people who’ll want one as a souvenir and you’ll certainly need an extra one for your scrap book.
“After all,” he added, as Paddington hurried out of the door, “lots of people go on mystery tours, but not many can say they’ve actually taken part in one let alone been able to read about it when they’ve got home.”
“It’s all highly irregular,” said Jonathan’s headmaster, as he addressed the small group of people standing on the cricket pitch. “He’s not even an old bear let alone an old boy.”
He looked distastefully towards the boundary where a small brown figure in an odd and rather disreputable-looking hat sat dipping a paw into what looked like a large earthenware jar.
“The old boys are one man short, sir,” said the sportsmaster. “And the crowd’s getting a bit restive. If we don’t start soon there won’t be time for a match at all.”
“We could ask him, I suppose,” said the headmaster grudgingly. “He might not want to play, of course,” he added, brightening slightly at the thought. “He looks very comfortable where he is.”
“Oh, he will,” said Jonathan loyally. “Old Paddington likes anything new and he’s never played cricket before.”
“We can but try,” said the sportsmaster, interrupting hastily as he led the way across the field. “After all, nothing ventured – nothing gained.”
As organiser-in-chief of the afternoon’s cricket match in aid of the new school pavilion the sportsmaster wore a worried look on his face. In the beginning it had promised to be a particularly enjoyable occasion. A team of old boys, captained by Mr Brown, had challenged a team from the sixth form, and no less a person than Mr Alf Duckham, the famous England cricketer, had agreed to act as umpire.
Viewing the large crowd that had turned up to see the event the sportsmaster had had high hopes of raising a lot of money and the last minute news that the old boys were one player short had come as a bitter blow. Like a drowning man clutching at a straw he had eagerly seized on Jonathan’s suggestion that Paddington might like to turn out for the game,but as they neared the boundary line even he began to have second thoughts on the matter.
Paddington looked most surprised when he saw the party approaching his deck chair. After the first excitement of arriving at Farrowfield had died down he’d been glad of the chance to sit down and rest. Although it was only Jonathan’s first term at his father’s old school Paddington’s fame had gone before him and his paws felt quite limp after all the shaking and making marks in autograph books they had done. Apart from that he was beginning to feel the effects of several visits to the school tuck shop, not to mention two extra large helpings of suet pudding which he’d eaten at lunch.
“How do you do, bear,” said the headmaster, taking hold of Paddington’s outstretche
d paw rather gingerly.
“Very well, thank you,” replied Paddington politely, raising his hat with his other paw.
The headmaster returned Paddington’s gaze doubtfully. It was a warm afternoon and there were a number of very odd and sticky looking stains about Paddington’s person, as well as some old suet pudding crumbs, which he didn’t like the look of at all.
“Er… we were wondering if you’d care to turn out for the old boys this afternoon,” he said gruffly.
“Turn out for the old boys?” exclaimed Paddington, looking even more surprised.
“They’re one man short in their team,” explained Jonathan.
“Ooh, yes please,” said Paddington eagerly. “I think I should like that. I’ve never played cricket before.”
“Eureka!” cried the sportsmaster, slapping him on the back.
“What!” exclaimed Paddington hotly, as he staggered forward. “I reeka! But I had a bath yesterday.”
“It’s all right, Paddington,” said Jonathan hastily, as the sportsmaster jumped back looking most confused. “He didn’t mean you smell. It’s a Greek word. It means… er…”
“Well, Brown,” said the headmaster sternly. “What does it mean?”
“Er… it means we’re all very pleased he can play, sir,” said Jonathan brightly.
Mr Alf Duckham gave a cough from somewhere at the back of the group. “Perhaps we’d better toss up to see who’s going in first,” he said, taking a coin from his pocket. “Would you care to do it, bear?”
“Thank you very much, Mr Duckham,” said Paddington gratefully. “It’s a bit difficult with paws but I’ll have a go.”
While the others stood back and watched, Paddington took the coin and after placing it carefully on top of one of his paws gave it a quick flick.
“A very good toss, bear,” said Alf Duckham approvingly, as he bent down and peered at the ground. “Quite professional. Now all we have to do is find it again.”
