by Michael Bond
“I’ve never heard of such a thing!” agreed Mrs. Bird, poking the man menacingly with her umbrella.
The man gave them a nasty look. “Just you wait,” he said. “Some people don’t know when they’re well off.”
“I wonder what he meant by that?” asked Mr. Brown as they reached the entrance doors at long last.
Paddington didn’t know either, but before he had time to consider the matter, he found himself being addressed by a superior-looking official standing inside the foyer.
“Good for you,” said the man approvingly. “I wish more of our patrons took such a firm line with these people. It’s costing us a small fortune in lost sales. Allow me to offer you one of our official programs.”
“Thank you very much,” said Paddington gratefully. “I’ll have seven, please.”
“Seven!” The man looked even more impressed as he signaled one of the usherettes to join them.
“Seven of our special souvenir programs for the young bear gentleman, Mavis,” he called.
“Thank you very much, sir,” said the girl as she counted out the programs and handed them to Paddington. “That’ll be forty-two pounds, please.”
“Forty-two pounds!” exclaimed Paddington, nearly falling over backwards in alarm. “That’s six pounds each. I wish I’d bought some outside now!”
Mr. Gruber gave a cough. “I think perhaps we’d better have one for you to keep, Mr. Brown,” he said, before anyone else had time to speak. “And seven ordinary ones for the rest of us.”
“Seven, Mr. Gruber?” echoed Judy. “Don’t you mean six?”
“I expect young Mr. Brown would like to send one to his Aunt Lucy when he next writes,” said Mr. Gruber. And ignoring the protests from the others he handed over the money. “It’s my pleasure,” he said. “I don’t know when I last went to a pantomime.”
After thanking Mr. Gruber for his kind act, Paddington gave the staff in the foyer some very dark glances indeed as they went on their way. They suggested he was going to have a great deal to say on the subject of theaters when he next wrote to his aunt. In fact, it was going to take a very large postcard indeed to get it all in.
But as they took their seats in the front row of the stalls and he examined his program, Paddington began to cheer up again, for it was full of colored pictures with lots of reading as well, and despite the high cost the more he looked at it the better it seemed.
“That’s a picture of the Principal Boy,” explained Judy as she caught a puzzled look on his face. “It’s being played by a girl.”
“The Dame’s played by a man,” broke in Jonathan.
If they thought their explanations were going to help Paddington’s understanding of pantomimes, they were mistaken.
“Why don’t they change over?” he asked. “Then everything would be all right.”
“They can’t,” said Jonathan. “The Dame is always played by a man.”
“And the Principal Boy is always a girl,” agreed Judy. “It’s traditional.”
“I don’t see why,” insisted Paddington.
The others lapsed into silence. Now that Paddington mentioned it, they couldn’t think of a very good reason either, but luckily the orchestra chose that moment to launch into the overture and so the subject was dropped for the time being.
Mrs. Brown glanced along the row. “Don’t miss the opening scene, dear,” she called. “You’ll see Dick Whittington’s marmalade cat.”
Paddington licked his lips. “I shall enjoy that, Mrs. Brown,” he announced.
The Browns looked at each other uneasily. “Well . . . ,” began Mr. Brown. “Don’t be too disappointed. It isn’t a real cat.”
“I shouldn’t think so,” said Paddington. “Not if it’s made of marmalade.”
“It isn’t actually made of marmalade either,” said Judy.
“Besides, it’s in two parts,” remarked Jonathan.
“Dick Whittington’s cat’s in two parts!” exclaimed Paddington. He jumped up from his seat in order to consult his program. Once when he’d been taken to the theater there had been a small slip tucked inside saying that one of the actors was indisposed, but either words had failed the management on this occasion, or they were keeping the matter very dark, for no matter how hard he shook his program, nothing fell out.
“I didn’t mean the cat was in two parts,” hissed Jonathan as the houselights dimmed. “I meant two people take turns to play it.”
“It’s hard work,” said Judy. “It gets very hot inside the fur.”
“I get very hot inside my fur sometimes,” said Paddington severely, “but there’s only one of me.”
Judy gave a sigh. Paddington was inclined to take things literally, and sometimes it was difficult explaining matters to him, but fortunately she was saved any further complications as the curtain rose to reveal the street outside the home of the famous London shipping merchant Alderman Fitzwarren.
The Browns settled back to enjoy the show, and as the cast went into the opening chorus, even Paddington seemed to forget the problem.
He cheered loudly when Dick Whittington arrived on the scene with Sukie, the cat, and when both Dick and Sukie collapsed on the steps of Alderman Fitzwarren’s house, faint with hunger, it was with difficulty that the Browns managed to restrain him from going up onstage.
“I don’t think a marmalade sandwich would help, dear,” whispered Mrs. Brown nervously as Paddington began feeling inside his hat.
“It happens every night,” hissed Mr. Brown.
“Twice nightly on Thursdays and Saturdays,” agreed Jonathan.
Paddington fell back into his seat. He found it hard to picture anyone going without food at the best of times, let alone twice nightly on Thursdays and Saturdays, and having already removed the marmalade sandwich from under his hat, he decided to make the most of it.
For the rest of the first act, apart from a few boos at appropriate moments, much to everyone’s relief the only sound to be heard from Paddington’s direction was that of a steady munching as he polished off the remains of his emergency supply.
During the interval, while Mr. Brown went to fetch some ice cream, Mr. Gruber attempted to explain some of the plot to Paddington.
“You see, Mr. Brown,” he said, “Dick Whittington came to London because he thought the streets were paved with gold, but like many others before him he soon found his mistake. Luckily, he was taken in by Alderman Fitzwarren—rather like Mr. and Mrs. Brown took you in when they found you on Paddington Station. Alderman Fitzwarren was so pleased at the way Sukie drove off all the rats in his house that when he sent one of his ships to the West Indies, he let Dick and Sukie go along too.”
“The second half is all about how they land on the Boko Islands and how Sukie saves the day there,” said Judy.
“There’s a magic act as well,” broke in Jonathan, reading from his program. “He’s called the ‘Great Divide.’”
Paddington pricked up his ears as he polished off the remains of his ice cream. He was keen on conjuring, and, all in all, now that he’d got over his first confusion, he decided he liked pantomimes. There was a bit too much singing and dancing for his taste, but some of the scenery was very good indeed, and he applauded no end when Dick and Sukie arrived on the island and in the excitement of a quick change one of the scene shifters got left onstage by mistake.
But he reserved his best claps for the moment when a black velvet cloth came down and in the glow of a single spotlight the majestic figure of the magician, resplendent in top hat and a flowing black cape, strode onto the stage.
After removing several rabbits and a goldfish bowl from his hat, and a seemingly endless string of flags of all nations from his left ear, the Great Divide came forward to address the audience, while behind him several girls in tights and gold costumes wheeled on an assortment of mysterious-looking boxes.
“And now,” he said, silencing a drum roll with his hand, “I would like one volunteer from the audience.”
“Trust Paddington,” agreed Jonathan.
“How was I to know this would happen?” said Mr. Brown unhappily.
The Browns watched anxiously as Paddington clambered onto the stage carrying his suitcase. But if the Great Divide was at all taken aback, he managed to hide his feelings remarkably well, and after some more chitchat he opened one of the boxes with a flourish and motioned Paddington to sit inside.
“I don’t think I’ve ever sawed a bear in two before,” he said as he snapped the box shut.
“What!” exclaimed Paddington in alarm. “You’re going to saw me in two!”
“They don’t call me the Great Divide for nothing,” chuckled the magician in an aside to the audience.
“You’d better watch the toggles on your duffle coat,” he warned as an assistant handed over one of the largest saws Paddington had ever seen, and he pinged it with his finger to show it was genuine. “We don’t want any trouble with splinters. I don’t think there’s a doctor on the island.”
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Brown nervously. “I hope he doesn’t damage Paddington’s coat—we shall never hear the last of it if he does.”
“It’s not that bear’s coat I’m worried about,” said Mrs. Bird grimly.
The Browns watched in silent fascination as the Great Divide placed his saw in a groove and began moving it rapidly to and fro in time to the “Tritsch Tratsch Polka.”
Although they knew nothing could possibly go wrong, the sound of metal going through wood seemed all too realistic. Their sighs of relief as the trick finally came to an end were matched only by Paddington’s as he staggered round the stage feeling himself carefully in order to make sure he was still in one piece.
“And now,” once again the Great Divide raised his hand for silence. “As you have been such a good assistant, I’m going to make you disappear.”
“Thank you very much,” said Paddington gratefully.
He turned to leave, but before he had time to gather his wits about him, he found himself being led into an even larger box. A moment later, as the doors slammed shut, he felt himself start to whirl round and round with ever-increasing speed as the magician began turning it on its wheels and the music rose to a crescendo.
A round of applause greeted the Great Divide as he brought the box to a stop and then opened up the doors in order to demonstrate how empty it was.
“Don’t worry,” said Mr. Gruber as he caught sight of the look on Judy’s face. “It’s all done by mirrors. I’m sure young Mr. Brown will be all right.”
As if to prove his statement, there came a loud knocking from somewhere onstage. “Let me out!” cried a muffled voice. “It’s all dark.”
Almost immediately the Great Divide abandoned his intention of producing some more rabbits out of thin air. He gave his assistants a quick glance of warning and hastily closed the cabinet doors. After twirling it round several more times, he brought it to a stop again and reopened the doors.
The applause as Paddington staggered out onto the stage was even louder than it had been for the first trick.
“There, now,” said the magician. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Tell everyone you are all right.”
“I’m not,” said Paddington, looking most upset. “I feel sick, and I’ve lost my suitcase.”
“You’ve lost your what?” repeated the Great Divide.
“My suitcase,” said Paddington. “It’s got all my important things inside it. I had it with me when I went inside your box—now it’s disappeared.”
The Great Divide’s smile became even more fixed. For a moment or two he looked as if he was about to do a variation of his earlier trick, this time sawing Paddington not only in two, but into as many pieces as possible.
“Fancy taking a suitcase with you,” he hissed as he closed the doors once again. “In all my years on the stage, I’ve never had this happen to me before.
“We’d better make sure everything’s still in there,” he continued sarcastically as he redid the trick, and after removing Paddington’s suitcase from the box, opened it up in order to show the audience.
But as the Great Divide shook the case and nothing fell out, his face fell. “I thought you said it was full of things,” he exclaimed.
“It is, Mr. Divide,” said Paddington firmly. “I’ll show you.” And taking his suitcase from the magician he turned his back and began feeling in the secret compartment.
“That’s a photograph of my Aunt Lucy,” he announced, waving a postcard in the air. “And that’s my passport. Then there’s my savings. And that’s a map of the Portobello Road . . . and a photograph I took with my camera . . . and my opera glasses . . . and a marmalade chunk . . . and . . .”
The rest of Paddington’s remarks were lost in the storm of applause which rang out from all directions as object after object landed at the feet of the Great Divide.
“Bravo!” shouted someone sitting near the Browns. “Best double act I’ve seen in years.”
“Had me fooled,” agreed someone else nearby. “I thought it was just someone ordinary from the audience.”
“Ordinary!” Mrs. Bird turned and fixed her gaze on the speaker. “Whatever else he is, Paddington certainly isn’t ordinary. That’s the last thing he is.”
“Mind you,” she remarked as she settled back in her seat again while Paddington and his belongings were helped off the stage, “I always knew he kept a lot of things in that case of his, but I never dreamed he had quite so much.”
After Paddington’s appearance the rest of the pantomime seemed almost tame by comparison, although it soon picked up again, and by the time Dick Whittington and Sukie arrived back in England, triumphant after their long voyage, Paddington was already safely in his seat and joining in the choruses. In fact, when Dick asked Alderman Fitzwarren for his daughter’s hand in marriage and the news was given out that he would soon become Lord Mayor of London, he nearly lost his hat in the general excitement.
When the curtain finally came down, some envious glances were cast in the Browns’ direction as they were ushered backstage in order to meet the cast. Several people stopped Paddington and asked for his autograph, and he added his special paw print to show that it was genuine.
“I hope you’ll be very happy, Miss Whittington,” he said as they had their photograph taken together.
“I don’t know about Dick Whittington being happy,” said the manager. “I certainly am. This picture is going straight into our souvenir program. It’ll make it even better value than ever, and it’ll teach those rascals outside a thing or two.”
Even the Great Divide came out of his dressing room to say good-bye, and to mark the occasion he presented Paddington with one of his magic saws.
It was a happy party of Browns who eventually climbed into the car for the journey home. To round things off Mr. Brown drove through the center of London so that they could see the Christmas lights and then on to Westminster Abbey, where Mr. Gruber pointed out a stained-glass window which showed a picture of Dick Whittington’s cat.
But as they turned for home, Paddington grew more and more thoughtful.
“Is anything the matter?” asked Mrs. Brown.
Paddington hesitated. “I was wondering if anyone had a large wooden box they don’t want,” he said hopefully.
“A large wooden box?” repeated Mr. Brown. “Whatever do you want that for?”
“I think I can guess,” said Mrs. Bird, with a wisdom born of long experience of reading Paddington’s mind. “And the answer is no.”
“I don’t begrudge people their pleasures,” she added as they turned a corner into Windsor Gardens and she picked up Paddington’s present from the Great Divide. “But I am not having anyone sawed in two in our house, thank you very much. Least of all a certain bear.”
“I quite agree,” said Mr. Gruber.
“After all, Mr. Brown,” he added, with a twinkle in his eye, “there’s a lot of truth in the old saying two’s company, three’s a crowd. If there were two of you I might have trouble sharing out our elevenses in future, and I wouldn’t want that to happen—not for all the cocoa in the world.”
BACK AD
BOOKS BY MICHAEL BOND
A Bear Called Paddington
More about Paddington
Love from Paddington
Paddington Helps Out
Paddington Abroad
Paddington at Large
Paddington Marches On
CREDITS
Cover art © 1979 by Peggy Fortnum and HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
COPYRIGHT
PADDINGTON TAKES THE TEST. Text copyright © 1979 by Michael Bond. Illustrations copyright © 1979 by Peggy Fortnum and HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. Cover illustration adapted and colored by Mark Burgess from the original by Peggy Fortnum. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2016935904
ISBN 978-0-06-231240-2
EPub Edition © August 2016 ISBN 9780062312419
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Originally published in Great Britain by William Collins Sons and Co. Ltd. in 1979
FIRST HARPER US EDITION, 2016
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