Paddington Complete Novels. Michael BondЧитать онлайн книгу.
about some of the things Paddington would see while he was away, and it was some while before Paddington wiped the last of the cocoa stains from his whiskers and stood up to go. Time passed very quickly when he was with Mr Gruber because he always made things sound so much more interesting than other people did.
“I expect you’ll find lots to write in your scrapbook, Mr Brown,” said Mr Gruber as he helped Paddington load his shopping basket. “I shall look forward to reading all about it.”
Paddington felt more and more excited as he waved goodbye and staggered along the Portobello Road under the weight of all his belongings. The shopping basket was so heavy it was quite difficult to steer, and several times he nearly ran into one or other of the barrows which lined the street.
Apart from that there were so many things on his mind he didn’t know which to think about first. He was particularly anxious to try out his new beret, and some of Mr Gruber’s books looked most interesting. In the end he decided to sit down for a rest and investigate both.
He put his old hat on the ground, carefully adjusted the beret, and then began taking the books out of his shopping basket one by one.
First there was a dictionary. Then there was a French cookery book – full of recipes and coloured pictures of food which made his mouth water. After that came one packed with maps and instructions about things to see and do, and this was followed by several more books full of pictures.
Last of all Paddington came to a very important-looking leather-bound volume which had the words ‘Useful Phrases for the Traveller Abroad’ written in gold letters on its cover.
Before he took it out of the basket Paddington hurried across the road and dipped his paws in a nearby horse-trough. Mr Gruber had explained that the book was very old and he’d asked him to take especial care of it.
When he returned Paddington sat down again and began to examine the book. It was most unusual and he didn’t remember ever having seen one quite like it before. Just inside the front cover there was a drawing which showed what looked like a very old-fashioned car being drawn by four white horses, and it was full of sentences showing how to ask for things in French, with pictures explaining matters as it went along.
In no time at all he became so lost in the book he quite forgot where he was. There was one particularly interesting phrase in a section marked ‘Travel’ which caught his eye at once. It said ‘My Grandmother has fallen out of the stage-coach and needs attention.’
Paddington felt sure it would come in very useful if Mrs Bird happened to fall out of Mr Brown’s car while they were going along and he tested it several times, waving his paws in the air as the man in the picture seemed to be doing.
To his surprise, when he looked up, Paddington discovered he was surrounded by a small crowd of people who were watching him with interest.
“If you arsks me,” said one man, who was leaning on a bicycle studying Paddington intently, “I reckon he’s one of them onion bears. They come over every year from Brittany,” he added knowledgeably as he turned to the crowd. “They ’as their onions on a piece of string. You must ’ave seen ’em. That’s why ’e was spouting French.”
“Garn,” said another man. “That wasn’t French. He was ’aving some sort of spasm. Waving ’is paws about something shocking ’e was. Besides,” he added triumphantly, “if he’s an onion bear where’s his onions?”
“Perhaps he’s lost them,” said someone else. “That’s why he’s upset. I expect his string broke if the truth be known.”
“It’s enough to give anyone a spasm,” said a lady, “coming all this way and then losing your onions.”
“That’s what I said,” exclaimed the first man. “I expect he was ’aving a French spasm. They’re the worst of the lot. Very excitable, them foreigners.”
“I shouldn’t touch him, dear,” said another lady, turning to her small boy who had his eye on Paddington’s beret. “You don’t know where he’s been.”
Paddington’s eyes had been getting larger and larger as he listened to the crowd and he looked most offended at the last remark.
“An onion bear!” he exclaimed at last. “I’m not an onion bear. I’m a going abroad bear and I’ve just been to see Mr Gruber!”
With that he gathered up his belongings and hurried off up the road, leaving behind him a buzz of conversation.
Rounding the corner into Windsor Gardens, Paddington gave the crowd several hard stares over his shoulder, but as he got nearer to the familiar green front door of number thirty-two a thoughtful expression came over his face.
As he stood on the doorstep and heard the footsteps of Mrs Bird coming along the hall Paddington decided that perhaps it had been a very good morning’s work after all.
Thinking things over he felt rather pleased at having been mistaken for a French bear – even if it had only been one who sold onions. In fact the more he thought about the matter the better pleased he became, and he felt sure that with the help of all the maps and pamphlets and Mr Gruber s books he would be able to plan some very good holiday ‘doings’ indeed for the Browns.
“Paddington looks unusually smart this morning,” said Mrs Bird.
“Oh dear,” said Mrs Brown. “Does he? I hope he’s not up to anything.”
She joined Mrs Bird at the window and followed the direction of her gaze up the road to where a small figure in a blue duffle coat was hurrying along the pavement.
Now that Mrs Bird mentioned it Paddington did seem to have an air about him. Even from a distance his fur looked remarkably neat and freshly combed, and his old hat, instead of being pulled down over his ears, was set at a very rakish angle with the brim turned up, which was most unusual. Even his old suitcase looked as if it had had some kind of polish on it.
“He’s not even going in his usual direction,” said Mrs Brown as Paddington, having reached the end of the road, looked carefully over his shoulder and then turned right and quickly disappeared from view. “He always turns left.”
“If you ask me,” said Mrs Bird, “that young bear’s got something on his mind. He was acting strangely at breakfast this morning. He didn’t even have a second helping and he kept peering over Mr Brown’s shoulder at the paper with a very odd look on his face.”
“I’m not surprised he had an odd look if it was Henry’s paper,” said Mrs Brown. “I can never make head or tail of it myself.”
Mr Brown worked in the City of London and he always read a very important newspaper at breakfast time, full of news about stocks and shares and other money matters, which the rest of the Browns found very dull.
“All the same,” she continued, as she led the way into the kitchen, “it’s very strange. I do hope he hasn’t got one of his ideas coming on. He spent most of yesterday evening doing his accounts and that’s often a bad sign.”
Mrs Brown and Mrs Bird were hard at work preparing for the coming holiday, and with only a few days left there were a thousand and one things to be done. If they hadn’t been quite so busy they might well have put two and two together, but as it was, the matter of Paddington’s strange behaviour was soon forgotten in the rush to get everything ready.
Unaware of the interest he had caused, Paddington made his way along a road not far from the Portobello market until he reached an imposing building which stood slightly apart from the rest. It had tall, bronze doors which were tightly shut, and over the entrance, in large gold letters, were