Paddington on Top. Michael Bond

“Hard luck! I should watch it. If he gets his knife into you, you’ll be for it.”

      Paddington looked around nervously as he followed the boy into the classroom. It was a large room with windows running the length of one side. There was a blackboard on an adjoining wall and a number of desks were dotted around facing it. But although there were several other pieces of equipment he couldn’t see any actual cutlery, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he was ushered towards the front of the class.

      There were about thirty other pupils already in the room and they all crowded around, anxious to make his acquaintance. Paddington was a popular figure in the neighbourhood and most of the class wanted him to sit near them.

      There was soon an argument raging, and it was while the excitement was at its height that the door suddenly opened and an angular figure in a tweed suit entered the room.

      “What’s the meaning of this?” he bellowed. “Back to your desks at once!”

      Standing on a platform in front of the blackboard, he glowered down at the class as they scurried to their places.

      “Now,” he called sarcastically, when order had been restored, “I assume I have your permission to take the roll?”

      Anxious to make a good impression on his first day, Paddington busied himself behind his desk lid. “I shan’t be a moment, Mr Eustace,” he called. “I’ve nearly finished. I’ve got over thirty-three already!”

      “Over thirty-three?” repeated the Form teacher in surprise.

      “That’s right,” said Paddington. “That’s one each and three spare.”

      “One each and three spare?” Mr Eustace stared at Paddington as if he’d suddenly lost the use of his hearing. “Three spare what?”

      “Marmalade sandwiches,” explained Paddington cheerfully. He lowered his desk lid. “I hope they’ll do. I’m afraid I didn’t bring any rolls. But I’ve got some sliced loaf and some of my special marmalade from the cut-price grocers.”

      “Marmalade sandwiches!” spluttered Mr Eustace. He bounded from the platform, all thoughts of checking the list of those present driven from his mind as he peered inside Paddington’s desk.

      “I’ve a good mind to take these to the headmaster!” he cried.

      It was Paddington’s turn to look as if he could hardly believe his ears. “All thirty-three?” he exclaimed in amazement. “Even I’ve never managed that many.”

      “Silence!” shouted Mr Eustace as a titter ran around the room.

      “I mean,” he said, breathing heavily as he turned back to Paddington, “that I am confiscating them. Marmalade sandwiches indeed! I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

      Paddington slumped back into his seat. He’d never heard of anyone having their marmalade sandwiches confiscated either, and he looked most offended.

      “You’re not here to learn how to make sandwiches,” said the teacher as he removed the pile and placed it on his own desk. “You’re here to learn the three Rs.”

      “The three Rs?” repeated Paddington in surprise. Despite his feeling of indignation at the unexpected loss of his sandwiches, he couldn’t help being interested at this sudden turn of events. “I didn’t know there were three Rs.”

      “Ah,” said Mr Eustace, with satisfaction. “We learn something new every day. The three Rs,” he continued, “are Reading, Writing and Arithmetic, and today we happen to be starting with arithmetic.”

      He turned to the blackboard. “Now,” he said, pointing to some figures, “I have written out a little problem, and I’ve made a deliberate mistake. Can anyone tell me what it is?”

      In his haste to be first with the answer, Paddington nearly fell off his seat. “I can!” he exclaimed, raising his paw as high as he could.

      “Ah, Brown,” said the teacher, eyeing him slightly less disapprovingly. “I’m glad to see you’re quick off the mark. What is your answer?”

      “You don’t spell arithmetic with an R, Mr Eustace,” said Paddington excitedly.

      Mr Eustace stared at him. “I know you don’t spell it with an R,” he said impatiently.

      Paddington’s jaw dropped. “But you just said you did,” he cried hotly. “You said there were three Rs. Reading, Writing and Arithmetic.”

      “You did, sir,” chorused the rest of the class.

      Mr Eustace passed a trembling hand over his forehead. It suddenly seemed unusually warm in the classroom. “I may have said it,” he began,” but I didn’t mean it. That is… I…”

      “I remember what it looks like,” continued Paddington, pressing home his point. “My Aunt Lucy taught me, and she used to write it down. It begins with an A.”

      “I’m afraid,” said the teacher wearily, “that I’m not familiar with your Aunt Lucy’s curriculum.”

      Paddington opened his suitcase. “I’ll show you a picture of her if you like, Mr Eustace,” he announced. “Then you’ll be able to recognise it. She had it taken just before she went into the Home for Retired Bears…”

      “I mean,” said Mr Eustace testily, “that I don’t know anything about her teaching capabilities – if she has any.”

      Paddington gave him a hard stare. It was one of his hardest ever. He was a polite bear at heart, but he was beginning to get upset by the way the conversation was going, especially when it had to do with his Aunt Lucy.

      “She’s very good at spelling, Mr Eustace,” he said stoutly. “She’s always sending me postcards…”

      “Are you suggesting, bear,” thundered Mr Eustace, “that I am not?”

      “Oh, no, Mr Eustace,” said Paddington earnestly. “I’m sure it’s very good to get one out of three right.”

      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