Paddington Takes the Test. Michael Bond

Чтение книги онлайн.

      “Oh no, Mr Curry,” gasped Paddington. “I wasn’t spying. I wouldn’t do that. I was only trying to see what was going on. There’s something hanging from your trees and I wondered if you knew about it.”

      “What’s that, bear?” Mr Curry hopped closer to the fence and gave a snort as he peered over the top. “Of course I know about it. I put it there. There’s no need to go around telling everyone.”

      “Oh, I wasn’t going to tell everyone, Mr Curry,” said Paddington earnestly. “Only Mrs Bird.”

      “Mrs Bird!” For some reason best known to himself, Paddington’s words had a strange effect on Mr Curry. He stopped rubbing his leg and drew nearer the fence. “Come now, bear,” he said. “There’s no need to do that. It’s only a hammock. Haven’t you ever seen one before?”

      “A hammock, Mr Curry?” repeated Paddington. “No, I don’t think I have.”

      “Hmm.” Mr Curry looked somewhat relieved by Paddington’s reply. “Well, bear,” he said, in a slightly better humour, “a hammock is what sailors used to sleep in on board ship. Nowadays they have bunks, but people still use hammocks in their gardens. They’re ideal for relaxing in. There’s nothing nicer on a warm summer afternoon than a quiet doze in a hammock. Provided,” he added meaningly, “there are no unseemly interruptions from the neighbours!”

      Paddington looked most surprised as he listened to all Mr Curry had to say on the subject of hammocks. “I’ve never heard of a bed with holes in it before,” he exclaimed. “Is it safe?”

      “Safe?” Mr Curry gave another snort. “Safe? Of course it’s safe! Why shouldn’t it be? What’s wrong with it?” he demanded.

      “Oh, I didn’t mean yours wasn’t a good one, Mr Curry,” said Paddington hastily, anxious to make amends. “It’s just that it looks rather old. I … mean … have you had it very long?” he added lamely.

      “Er … well, I …” Mr Curry broke into a loud cough. Once again he seemed anxious to change the subject. He glanced around to make sure no one else was about and then stared thoughtfully at Paddington.

      “How much do you weigh, bear?” he barked.

      Paddington was taken by surprise at the question. The Browns’ neighbour had a habit of turning matters to his own ends and it was sometimes difficult to follow what he had in mind. “I don’t know, Mr Curry,” he said, cautiously playing for time. “Sometimes I weigh a lot — sometimes I don’t. It depends on how many marmalade sandwiches I’ve eaten. Mrs Bird says it must be over a tonne sometimes after Sunday lunch.”

      “Hmm.” Mr Curry considered Paddington’s answer for a moment and then came to a decision. “Look, bear,” he said, as he removed a piece of the fence in order to make room for Paddington to climb through, “you can do me a little favour if you like. I’m just going upstairs to change. I shall only be five minutes, but while I’m gone you can test my hammock for me as a treat … just to make sure it’s sa … er … comfortable.

      “But make sure you do it properly,” he continued, as he helped Paddington through the gap in the fence. “And no helping yourself to my orangeade while I’m not looking. I’ve marked the jug, so I shall know at once.”

      Mr Curry broke off and took a closer look at Paddington’s whiskers, several of which had some suspiciously red stains on them. “While you’re at it,” he said, “you might like to gather a few raspberries for me. If you do I may let you have a proper go with the hammock later on … after I’ve finished with it for the day.”

      “Thank you very much, Mr Curry,” said Paddington doubtfully. “I shall look forward to that.”

      He gazed unhappily after the retreating figure of the Browns’ neighbour. Doing favours for Mr Curry was something which had long ago lost its appeal; more often than not things went wrong. For a moment or two he toyed with the idea of climbing back through the fence and going to see Mrs Bird first, but he hastily changed his mind as Mr Curry turned and gave him a final glare before disappearing down the side of his house.

      Pushing his doubts to one side, Paddington turned his attention to the hammock. He was the sort of bear who liked anything new, or, at least, anything which was new to him; for seen at close quarters, the hammock looked, if possible, even older than it had from a distance.

      Although, as Mr Curry had explained to him, the hammock was meant to have holes, some of them looked far larger than they had started off as originally, and all in all Paddington decided he didn’t much like the look of it.

      But it was when he actually tried to climb into it that his troubles really began, for he soon discovered that looking at a hammock is one thing; getting into one is quite another matter.

      To start with it was rather higher off the ground than he would have liked, and not for the first time Paddington found himself wishing bears were born with longer legs, for when he tried to lift one of his up in order to climb in, it didn’t come anywhere near the edge.

      Trying a different approach, Paddington grasped the hammock from underneath with both paws, then taking a deep breath he heaved both legs off the ground in the hope of getting them round the middle and gripping it from either side like a pair of pincers.

      The first part of his manoeuvre went very well indeed, and for several moments he hung suspended beneath the hammock while he took stock of the situation. It was when he tried to carry out his next move that things started to go wrong, for without Wellington boots his claws got stuck in the rope mesh and try as he might he couldn’t free them. In the end he had to let go with his paws and hope for the best. For a moment or two he hung upside down with his head a few inches from the ground until there was a sudden ‘ping’ and the string broke.

      Paddington was very glad he’d been wearing his hat, for Mr Curry’s lawn felt decidedly hard. As it was, the marmalade sandwich he usually kept there in case of an emergency went some way towards breaking his fall, and for a moment or two he lay where he was gasping for breath while he tried hard to think of some other way of tackling the problem.

      Without a book of instructions it was very hard, and in the end he decided the only answer was to take the bull by the horns and make a run at it. Crossing to the far side of the lawn he took another deep breath, pulled his hat down over his ears, and then hurried towards the hammock as fast as his legs would carry him. As it loomed up in front of him he took a tremendous leap in the air, and clutched blindly at the first thing which met his grasp.

      Paddington wasn’t quite sure what happened next. He was vaguely aware of a feeling of relief as his paws met with rope, which he clung to as hard as he could, then to his relief he felt the rest of him land in something soft. After that everything became a blur. Almost at once he started spinning round and round like a top. Gradually, however, the spinning slowed down until at last he came to a stop with only his head poking out. The rest of him had the appearance of a tightly-trussed chicken; one moreover which was not only oven-ready but practically ready to serve up for Sunday lunch. Far from being relaxed in the way Mr Curry had described, Paddington felt more like a sailor who had just rounded Cape Horn during a particularly bad storm.