Paddington Complete Novels. Michael Bond

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      “Quite a good trick,” said Mr Curry, some while later after they had prised open Paddington’s mystery box with a penknife. He helped himself to some biscuits. “The disappearing bear. Very unusual! But I still don’t see what the flowers were for.”

      Paddington looked at him suspiciously, but Mr Curry was far too busy with the biscuits.

      “For my next trick,” said Paddington, “I would like a watch.”

      “Are you sure?” asked Mrs Brown, anxiously. “Wouldn’t anything else do?”

      Paddington consulted his instruction book. “It says a watch,” he said, firmly.

      Mr Brown hurriedly pulled his sleeve down over his left wrist. Unfortunately, Mr Curry, who was in an unusually good mood after his free tea, stood up and offered his. Paddington took it gratefully and placed it on the table. “This is a jolly good trick,” he said, reaching down into his box and pulling out a small hammer.

      He covered the watch with a handkerchief and then hit it several times. Mr Curry’s expression froze. “I hope you know what you’re doing, young bear,” he said.

      Paddington looked rather worried. Having turned over the page he’d just read the ominous words, “It is necessary to have a second watch for this trick.” Gingerly, he lifted up a corner of the handkerchief. Several cogs and some pieces of glass rolled across the table. Mr Curry let out a roar of wrath.

      “I think I forgot to say ABRACADABRA,” faltered Paddington.

      “ABRACADABRA!” shouted Mr Curry, beside himself with rage. “ABRACADABRA!” He held up the remains of his watch. “Twenty years I’ve had this watch, and now look at it! This will cost someone a pretty penny!”

      Mr Gruber took out an eyeglass and examined the watch carefully. “Nonsense,” he said, coming to Paddington’s rescue. “It’s one you bought from me for three pounds six months ago! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, telling lies in front of a young bear!”

      “Rubbish!” spluttered Mr Curry. He sat down heavily on Paddington’s chair. “Rubbish! I’ll give you…” his voice trailed away and a peculiar expression came over his face. “I’m sitting on something,” he said. “Something wet and sticky!”

      “Oh dear,” said Paddington. “I expect it’s my disappearing egg. It must have reappeared!”

      Mr Curry grew purple in the face. “I’ve never been so insulted in my life,” he said. “Never!” He turned at the door and waved an accusing finger at the company. “It’s the last time I shall ever come to one of your birthday parties!”

      “Henry,” said Mrs Brown, as the door closed behind Mr Curry, “you really oughtn’t to laugh.”

      Mr Brown tried hard to keep a straight face. “It’s no good,” he said, bursting out. “I can’t help it.”

      “Did you see his face when all the cogs rolled out?” said Mr Gruber, his face wet with tears.

      “All the same,” said Mr Brown, when the laughter had died down. “I think perhaps you ought to try something a little less dangerous next time, Paddington.”

      “How about that card trick you were telling me about, Mr Brown?” asked Mr Gruber. “The one where you tear up a card and make it come out of someone’s ear.”

      “Yes, that sounds a nice quiet one,” said Mrs Brown. “Let’s see that.”

      “You wouldn’t like another disappearing trick?” asked Paddington, hopefully.

      “Quite sure, dear,” said Mrs Brown.

      “Well,” said Paddington, rummaging in his box, “it’s not very easy doing card tricks when you’ve only got paws, but I don’t mind trying.”

      He offered a pack of cards to Mr Gruber, who solemnly took one from the middle and then memorised it before replacing the card. Paddington waved his wand over the pack several times and then withdrew a card. He held up the seven of spades. “Was this it?” he said to Mr Gruber.

      Mr Gruber polished his glasses and stared. “You know,” he said, “I do believe it was!”

      “I bet all the cards are the same,” whispered Mr Brown to his wife.

      “Ssh!” said Mrs Brown. “I thought he did it very well.”

      “This is the difficult bit,” said Paddington, tearing it up. “I’m not very sure about this part.” He put the pieces under his handkerchief and tapped them several times with the wand.

      “Oh!” said Mr Gruber, rubbing the side of his head. “I felt something go pop in my ear just then. Something cold and hard.” He felt in his ear. “Why I do believe…” He held up a shining round object to the audience. “It’s a sovereign! My birthday present for Paddington! Now I wonder how it got in there?”

      “Oooh!” said Paddington, as he proudly examined it. “I didn’t expect that. Thank you very much, Mr Gruber.”

      “Well,” said Mr Gruber. “It’s only a small present I’m afraid, Mr Brown. But I’ve enjoyed the little chats we’ve had in the mornings. I look forward to them very much and, er,” he cleared his throat and looked around, “I’m sure we all hope you have many more birthdays!”

      When the chorus of agreement had died down, Mr Brown rose and looked at the clock. “And now,” he said, “it’s long past all our bedtimes, most of all yours, Paddington, so I suggest we all do a disappearing trick now.”

      “I wish,” said Paddington, as he stood at the door waving everyone goodbye, “I wish my Aunt Lucy could see me now. She’d feel very pleased.”

      “You’ll have to write and tell her all about it, Paddington,” said Mrs Brown, as she took his paw. “But in the morning,” she added hastily. “You’ve got clean sheets, remember.”

      “Yes,” said Paddington. “In the morning. I expect if I did it now I’d get ink over the sheets or something. Things are always happening to me.”

      “You know, Henry,” said Mrs Brown, as they watched Paddington go up the stairs to bed, looking rather sticky and more than a little sleepy, “it’s nice having a bear about the house.”

Postscript

      A Bear Called Paddington didn’t begin life as a book. The opening paragraph was simply an early-morning doodle brought on by the certain knowledge that if I didn’t put something down on the blank sheet of paper in my typewriter nobody else would.

      However, it caught my fancy, so I wrote a second paragraph, then a third, until by the end of the day I had completed a whole story.

      The source of my inspiration was a toy bear sitting on the mantelpiece of our one-room flat near London’s Portobello market. I had bought it in desperation the previous СКАЧАТЬ