Paddington At Large. Michael Bond

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СКАЧАТЬ shocks never came singly, and as he nearly fell over backwards with surprise at the first one he promptly received his second.

      Rubbing his eyes, he peered upwards again in the hope that it had all been part of a bad dream, but everything was exactly as it had been a few seconds before. If anything it was worse, for having rubbed his eyes he was able to make out even more clearly the awful fact that far from having disappeared into thin air Mr Curry’s lawnmower was hanging as large as life from a branch high above his head.

      Paddington tried pulling on the rope several times but it was much too tight to budge and after a few more half-hearted tugs he sat down again with his chin between his paws and a very disconsolate look on his face as he considered the matter.

      Thinking it over he couldn’t for the life of him see a way out of the problem. In fact the more he thought about it the worse it seemed, because now Mr Curry’s lawnmower was up the tree he couldn’t even make amends by cutting the grass for him. Mr Curry wasn’t very understanding at the best of times and from whatever angle Paddington looked at the tree even he had to admit that it was one of the worst times he could remember.

      “Paddington’s very quiet this morning,” said Mrs Brown. “I hope he’s all right.”

      “He was poking around in Mr Brown’s garage about an hour ago,” said Mrs Bird. “Looking for some shears. But I haven’t seen him since. If you ask me there’s something going on. I met him coming up the garden path just now with a spanner in his paw and he gave me a very guilty look.”

      “A spanner?” said Mrs Brown. “What on earth does he want with a spanner in the garden?”

      “I don’t know,” said Mrs Bird grimly. “But I’ve a nasty feeling he’s got one of his ideas coming on. I know the signs.”

      Almost before the words were out of Mrs Bird’s mouth there came a series of loud explosions from somewhere outside. “Gracious me!” she cried, as she rushed to the french windows. “There’s a lot of smoke behind the raspberry canes.”

      “And that looks like Paddington’s hat,” exclaimed Mrs Brown as a shapeless looking object suddenly began bobbing up and down like a jack-in-the-box. “Perhaps he’s having a bonfire. He looks as if he’s trodden on something hot.”

      “Hmm,” said Mrs Bird. “If that’s a bonfire I’m a Dutchman.”

      Mrs Bird had had a great deal of practice at putting two and two together as far as Paddington was concerned, but before she could put her thoughts into words the banging became a roar and Paddington’s hat, which had disappeared for a few seconds, suddenly shot up in the air only to hurtle along behind the top of the canes at great speed.

      Any doubts in Mrs Bird’s mind as to what was going on were quickly settled as Mr Brown’s motor mower suddenly came into view at the end of the raspberry canes, carrying with it the familiar figure of Paddington as he held on to the handle with one paw and clutched at his hat with the other.

      The mower hit Mr Curry’s fence with a loud crash and then disappeared again as quickly as it had come, leaving behind it a large hole and a cloud of blue smoke.

      If Mrs Brown and Mrs Bird were astonished at the strange turn of events in the garden Paddington was even more surprised. In fact so many things had happened in such a short space of time he would have been hard put to explain matters even to himself.

      Mr Brown’s motor mower was old and rather large and although Paddington had often watched from a safe distance when Mr Brown started it up he had never actually tried his paw at it himself.

      It had all been much more difficult than he had expected and after several false starts he had almost given up hope of ever getting it to go when suddenly the engine had burst into life. One moment he’d been bending over it pulling levers and striking matches as he peered hopefully at the works, the next moment there had been a loud explosion and with no warning at all the mower had moved away of its own accord.

      The next few minutes seemed like a particularly nasty nightmare. Paddington remembered going through Mr Curry’s fence, and he remembered going round the lawn several times as the mower gathered speed. He also remembered feeling very pleased that Mr Curry had left his side gate open as he shot through the opening and out into the road, but after that things became so confused he just shut his eyes and hoped for the best.

      There seemed to be a lot of shouting coming from all sides together with the sound of running feet. Once or twice Paddington thought he recognized the voices of Mrs Brown and Mrs Bird in the distance, but when he opened his eyes it was only to see a large policeman looming up ahead.

      The policeman’s eyes were bulging and he had his hand up to stop the traffic.

      Paddington just had time to raise his hat as he shot past and then he found himself being whisked round a corner in the direction of the Portobello market, with the sound of a heavy pair of boots adding itself to the general hubbub.

      He tried pulling on several of the levers but the more he pulled the faster he seemed to go and in no time at all the noise of his pursuers became fainter and fainter.

      It felt as if he had been running for hours when suddenly, for no apparent reason, the engine began to splutter and slow down. As the motor mower came to a stop Paddington opened one eye cautiously and found to his surprise that he was standing in the middle of the Portobello Road, only a few yards away from the antique shop belonging to his friend Mr Gruber.

      “Whatever’s going on, Mr Brown?” cried Mr Gruber as he came running out of his shop and joined the group of street traders surrounding Paddington.

      “I think I must have pulled the wrong lever by mistake, Mr Gruber,” said Paddington sadly.

      “Good job for you your hat fell over the carburetter,” said one of the traders who knew Paddington by sight. “Otherwise there’s no knowing where you’d have ended up. It must have stopped the air getting in.”

      “What!” exclaimed Paddington anxiously. “My hat’s fallen over the carburetter?” Paddington’s hat was an old and very rare one which had been given to him by his uncle shortly before he left Peru and he felt very relieved when he saw that apart from a few extra oil stains there was no sign of damage.

      “If I were you,” said someone in the crowd, nodding in the direction of a group of people who had just entered the market, “I should make yourself scarce. The law’s on its way.”

      With great presence of mind Mr Gruber pushed the motor mower on to the pavement by his shop. “Quick, Mr Brown,” he cried, pointing to the grass box. “Jump in here!”

      Mr Gruber barely had time to cover Paddington with a sack and chalk ‘Today’s Bargain’ on the outside of the box before there was a commotion in the crowd and the policeman elbowed his way through.

      “Well,” he demanded, as he withdrew a notebook from his tunic pocket and surveyed Mr Gruber. “Where is he?”

      “Where is he?” repeated Mr Gruber innocently.

      “The young bear that was seen driving a motor СКАЧАТЬ