Paddington at Work. Michael Bond

been caught in a storm and he’d had to miss a meal he’d been upset in more ways than one. But for once, alone among the many hundreds of passengers on the liner, he was hoping, if not for a storm, at least for some weather rough enough to slow the ship down.

      It all had to do with the important matter of the ship’s sweep.

      Each day on the homeward journey the man in charge of the entertainments on board had run a ‘sweep’ in which passengers had been invited to say in advance how many miles the ship would travel during the following twenty-four hours. The entrance fee was twenty pence and the prize money went to the person who came nearest to guessing the right answer.

      Paddington had had several pretend goes during the voyage, but that morning he had for the very first time, and after a great deal of thought, actually invested his last remaining twenty pence on a ticket.

      In the hope that something unexpected might happen to slow the Karenia down before it reached port he’d made a wild guess lower than anyone else’s. However, now that he’d had time to view the weather he was beginning to regret his haste, for as far as the eye could see there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The sea was as calm as the proverbial mill pond and if anything, the ship seemed to be going faster than ever before.

      Paddington turned away from the rail, gave a deep sigh, and made his way along the deck towards the group of Browns.

      He was a hopeful bear at heart and despite the calm weather he still nursed a faint hope that something would happen which would cause the ship to slow down before the next morning. Losing twenty pence was bad enough at the best of times, but when it was your last one, matters became ten times worse. He was just toying with the idea of approaching the man in charge of the entertainments to see if he could get his money back when Mr Brown broke into his thoughts with the news of the party that evening.

      Paddington liked parties, especially unexpected ones, and when he heard that the one that evening was to be a fancy dress one with everyone in costume he quickly forgot about the problem of the sweep in the excitement of the moment.

      “I don’t think I’ve ever been to a party on a ship before, Mr Brown,” he exclaimed.

      “Neither have I, come to that,” admitted Mr Brown. “I must say I’m looking forward to it.”

      “They’ve got Barry Baird as Master of Ceremonies,” said Jonathan. “He’s the chap we’ve seen on television.”

      “He takes things out of people’s pockets without them knowing,” said Judy.

      “And he hypnotises people as well,” added Jonathan.

      Mr Brown rose to his feet. “I can see we’d better go along to the entertainments office and make sure of getting some costumes,” he said. “Otherwise there’ll be some long faces tonight if they’re all gone.”

      “Bags I go as Robin Hood!” exclaimed Jonathan.

      “I rather fancy myself as Mark Anthony,” said Mr Brown thoughtfully. “How about you, Paddington?”

      But Paddington had already disappeared along the deck. It wasn’t often he was allowed to dress up, and when it was dressing up and a ship’s party and an entertainment all rolled into one, then he was anxious to make sure of matters by being first in the queue.

      Paddington wasn’t the only one looking forward to the coming party. Gradually, as the day wore on, bunting and other decorations began to appear over the ship and as the time for the party drew near, strangely clad figures were to be seen flitting around the decks with an air of half-suppressed excitement.

      “I reckon Paddington could go as himself,” said Mr Brown, as they stood waiting for him by the entrance to the dance floor. “I’ve seen at least six bears already.”

      “Mercy me!” exclaimed Mrs Bird. “This isn’t him coming now, is it?” She pointed with her umbrella towards an approaching figure clad in what seemed to be a costume made up of several lengths of black concertina and a piece of white cardboard.

      “It’s Paddington, all right,” said Judy. “That’s his hat.”

      “I don’t think it really goes with evening dress,” said Mrs Brown. “It makes him look rather like a penguin after a night out.”

      “A penguin!” exclaimed Paddington, looking most upset as he caught Mrs Brown’s words. “I’m Beau Brummel – the famous dandy.”

      “Beau Brummel!” echoed Jonathan. “I thought he died a long time before evening dress.”

      “I must say you look more like a bow window to me,” said Mr Brown, as he examined Paddington’s shirt front.

      Paddington began to look more and more upset as he listened to the others. “They didn’t have many costumes my size left,” he explained, giving Mr Brown a hard stare.

      “Well, I’m sure he didn’t have marmalade stains down his front, whoever he was,” said Mr Brown lamely, as his wife dug him in the ribs.

      “That’s not marmalade, Mr Brown,” explained Paddington. “That’s glue!”

      “Glue!” repeated Mr Brown.”How on earth did you manage to get glue down your front?”

      “I’m afraid I had a bit of trouble with my dicky,” explained Paddington. “It’s a bit difficult with paws and it kept rolling up, so I had to borrow some special glue from the carpenter’s shop.”

      The Browns exchanged glances. “Well, they did say come as you like,” said Mr Brown.

      “Quite right,” said Mrs Bird, as she followed Mr Brown into the ballroom. “And as no one here has ever met Beau Brummel, who are they to judge?”

      “I think you look jolly smart anyway, Paddington,” said Judy, squeezing his paw as they made their way across the floor in the direction of the band.

      Paddington was very keen on bands, especially when they played loudly, and the ship’s band, although it was only small, seemed unusually good value in this respect, particularly as several of the musicians had to play more than one instrument.

      At the end of the first number he joined in the applause and then settled back in his seat as the leader, having bowed several times to the audience, raised his hand and signalled a fanfare on the trumpets to herald the arrival on stage of Bouncing Barry Baird, the Master of Ceremonies.

      “Are you all right, Paddington?” asked Mrs Brown, as she saw him examining his paws with interest.

      “I think so, thank you, Mrs Brown,” replied Paddington vaguely. “But I think something’s gone wrong with my claps.”

      Mrs Brown opened her mouth but then, as the applause died down, decided against it. There were some things better not inquired in to, especially when they were to do with Paddington.

      Up on the small stage Bouncing Barry Baird clasped the microphone as if it was a stick of rock and beamed at the audience. “Hallo! Hallo! Hallo!” he boomed. “How are all me old shipmates?”

      “All right, thank you, Mr Baird,” exclaimed Paddington from his position in the front row, raising his hat politely.

      Barry Baird seemed slightly taken aback at receiving a reply to his question. “I’ve got the bird before now,” he said, looking at Paddington’s costume, “but never quite so early in the act. I can see you’ve got your furbelows on, bear,” he continued, pointing towards Paddington. “In fact, come to think of it, you’ve even got fur below your furbelows!”

      In the applause which followed, Paddington gave Barry Baird a particularly hard