Paddington on Top. Michael Bond

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      Mr Eustace mopped his brow again as another titter ran round the room. He was normally very keen on discipline, but for some reason or other, he seemed to be losing his touch on this particular morning. It was definitely one of those days. For a moment or two he appeared to be taking advantage of his own arithmetic lesson by practising some counting, and then, as his eye alighted on the pile of marmalade sandwiches, a thought seemed to strike him.

      “Since,” he said, “you clearly have an interest in food, you may like to go out and do some shopping for me.”

      “Oh, yes, please,” said Paddington eagerly. He felt as keen as Mr Eustace to bring the present topic of conversation to an end. “I often do Mrs Bird’s shopping for her.”

      “Good,” said Mr Eustace. “Perhaps we’ve found our true vocation at last.”

      Paddington’s face fell. “Are you coming too, Mr Eustace?” he asked.

      “No,” said Mr Eustace, slowly and distinctly. “I shall not be coming too. But it so happens I need some fish…”

      “Some fish?” echoed Paddington, nearly falling over backwards with astonishment. If Mr Eustace had asked for some chalk for the blackboard or even some rolls, he wouldn’t have been surprised; but fish was the last thing he’d expected.

      “Fish,” repeated Mr Eustace, handing him some money. “Something in the nature of a herring or two would do admirably. You may,” he added hopefully, “take as long as you like.”

      “Bears are good at shopping,” said Paddington as he took the money and hurried towards the door, watched by thirty envious pairs of eyes. “I shan’t be long.”

      Mr Eustace gazed after the retreating figure as if that was exactly what he feared, and sure enough, he’d hardly had time to bring the mathematics lesson to an end when the door burst open and Paddington hurried back into the room clutching a parcel wrapped in newspaper.

      He looked rather apprehensive as he made his way towards the platform. Mr Eustace was clutching a knife in one hand and he appeared to be doing something to the contents of an old tin can.

      “That was quick, bear,” he said, trying to make the best of things as he looked up. “We’re about to get under way with the next lesson.”

      Placing the knife on the table, Mr Eustace took the parcel and started to unwrap it. As he did so, the smile slowly disappeared from his face. Normally fairly red, his features began to resemble an overripe beetroot as he undid the last of the folds.

      “And what is this, pray?” he demanded, holding a package up to the light.

      “It’s some fish fingers, Mr Eustace,” said Paddington. “They were on special offer in the supermarket. The man said they would be all right so long as you eat them before next Tuesday.”

      “Eat them!” Mr Eustace glared at the package. “I don’t want to eat them. I want to cut them up! They’re for my biology lesson.”

      Reaching over, he grasped the knife on his desk and with one sweeping movement, pushed the tin can towards Paddington.

      “Take this, bear,” he thundered. “I shall call on you when it’s time for practicals.”

      Paddington didn’t need asking twice. He had no idea what Mr Eustace had in mind, but from the look on his face and the way he was brandishing the knife, he had no wish to stay and find out. Clutching the tin in his right paw, he backed towards the classroom door. When he reached it, he held his other paw up as high as it would go.

      “If you please, Mr Eustace,” he exclaimed, “I think I would like to be excused.” And without waiting for an answer, he disappeared up the corridor as fast as his legs would carry him.

      Paddington was the sort of bear who believed in going right to the top in times of trouble, and this definitely seemed to be one of those occasions.

      On his way in that morning he’d noticed a door marked ‘headmaster’ and he didn’t stop until he reached it.

      The headmaster looked up in surprise as Paddington entered his study and collapsed into a chair in front of his desk. “I think Mr Eustace is going to put his knife into me!” he gasped.”He wants to call on me for his practicals!”

      St Luke’s was a large school, and like all large schools it had its fair share of problems. Even so, the headmaster began to look more and more unhappy as he listened to Paddington’s tale of woe. He hadn’t been best pleased when the Inspector had passed on the news of a new arrival halfway through the term, especially one who apparently hadn’t been to school before, and it seemed as though his worst fears were being realised.

      He stood up as a bell began to ring somewhere in the distance. “It does seem as though it’s been one long misunderstanding,” he said. “That’s the midday bell. Perhaps we can talk about it over lunch. There’s nothing like a spot of food for calming the nerves.”

      Ushering Paddington through the door, he led the way down the corridor. “You may eat at the teachers’ table,” he continued. “Just for today I’ll make you food monitor. That means you’ll be in charge of all the serving.”

      Paddington began to look more cheerful as he listened to the headmaster’s words, and when he saw the pile of food laid out ready for them he grew more cheerful still, despite the fact that out of the corner of his eye he could see Mr Eustace glaring at him from the other end of the table.

      After he’d finished serving out the soup, Paddington turned his attention to an enormous tureen full of stew.

      “I think I shall like school after all,” he announced, licking his lips as he passed the first plateful to the headmaster.

      “I’m very pleased to hear it,” said the Head. “After all,” he added, “you’ll be with us until you’re sixteen, and that’s a long time.”

      “Sixteen!” The ladle fell unheeded from Paddington’s paw, and his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he gazed at the headmaster. “Sixteen! But I thought I was only here for the day!”

      The headmaster gave a nervous chuckle. “I’m afraid it’s the law now,” he said, hurriedly turning to one of his colleagues. “And there’s no getting away from it.”

      Paddington served the rest of the food as if in a dream. In fact he was so taken up with his thoughts that he quite forgot to give himself any, and several of the teachers were already passing their plates up for seconds.

      When he came to again, Paddington began peering into the pot with a thoughtful expression on his face.

      “Come along, bear,” called Mr Eustace impatiently “Don’t let it get cold. There’s nothing worse than cold stew.”

      The headmaster looked round. “Is anything the matter?” he asked. “You look as if you’ve lost something.”

      Paddington poked the contents of the pot with a spoon.

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