Michael Bond - Paddington Marches on

Paddington stood on the front doorstep of Number thirty-two Windsor Gardens and sniffed the morning air. He peered out through the gap between his duffle coat hood and a brightly colored scarf which was wound tightly about his neck.

On the little that could be seen of his face behind some unusually white-looking whiskers there was a mixture of surprise and excitement as he took in the sight which met his eyes.

Overnight a great change had come over the weather. Whereas the day before had been mild, almost spring-like for early January, now everything was covered by a thick white blanket of snow which reached almost to the top of his Wellington boots.

Not a sound disturbed the morning air. Apart from the clatter of breakfast things in the kitchen, where Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Bird were busy washing up, the only sign that he wasnt alone in the world came from a row of milk bottle tops poking through the snow on the step and a long trail of footprints where the postman had been earlier that day.

Paddington liked snow, but as he gazed at the view in the street outside, he almost agreed with Mrs. Bird, the Browns housekeeper, that it was possible to have too much of a good thing. Since hed been living with the Brown family, there had been several of Mrs. Birds cold snaps, but he couldnt remember ever seeing one before in which the snow had settled quite so deep and crisp and evenly.

All the same, Paddington wasnt the sort of bear to waste a good opportunity, and a moment or so later he closed the door behind him and made his way down the side of the house as quickly as he could in order to investigate the matter. Apart from the prospect of playing snowballs, he was particularly anxious to test his new Wellingtons, which had been standing in his bedroom waiting for just such a moment ever since Mrs. Brown had given them to him at Christmas.

After he reached Mr. Browns cabbage patch, Paddington busied himself scooping the snow up with his paws and rolling it into firm round balls which he threw at the clothes post. But after several of the larger ones narrowly missed hitting the next-door greenhouse instead, he hastily turned his attention to the more important task of building a snowman, and gradually peace returned once again to Windsor Gardens.

It was some while later, just as he was adding the finishing touches to the snowmans head with some old lemonade bottle tops, that the quiet was suddenly shattered by the sound of a nearby window being flung open.

Bear! came a loud voice. Is that you, bear?

Paddington jumped in alarm as he lifted his duffle coat hood and caught sight of the Browns next-door neighbor leaning out of his bedroom window. Mr. Curry was dressed in pajamas and a dressing gown, and half of his face seemed to be hidden behind a large white handkerchief.

Ive finished throwing snowballs, Mr. Curry, explained Paddington hastily. Im making a snowman instead.

To his surprise Mr. Curry looked unusually friendly as he lifted the handkerchief from his face. Thats all right, bear, he called in a mild tone of voice. I wasnt grumbling. I just wondered if you would care to do me a small favor and earn yourself ten-pence bun money into the bargain.

Ive caught a nasty cold in my dose, he continued as Paddington climbed up on a box and peered over the fence.

A cold in your dose, Mr. Curry, repeated Paddington, looking most surprised. He had never heard of anyone having a cold in their dose before, and he stared up at the window with interest.

Mr. Curry took a deep breath. Not dose, he said, swallowing hard and making a great effort. Dnose. And as if that isnt enough, my system is frozen.

Paddington became more and more upset as he listened to Mr. Curry, and he nearly fell off his box with alarm at the last piece of information. Your systems frozen! he exclaimed. Ill ask Mrs. Bird to send for Doctor MacAndrew.

Mr. Curry snorted. I dont want a doctor, bear, he said crossly. I want a plumber. Its not my own pipes that are frozen. Its the water pipes. There isnt even enough left in the tank to fill my hot-water bottle.

Paddington looked slightly disappointed as a heavy object wrapped in a piece of paper landed at his feet.

Thats my front-door key, explained Mr. Curry. I want you to take it along to Mr. James, the odd-job man. Tell him hes to come at once. I shall be in bed, but he can let himself in. And tell him not to make too much noiseI may be asleep. And no hanging about the bun shop on the way; otherwise you wont get your ten pence.

With that Mr. Curry blew his nose violently several times and slammed his window shut.

Mr. Curry was well known in the neighborhood for his meanness. He had a habit of promising people a reward for running errands, but somehow whenever the time for payment arrived, he was never to be found. Paddington had a nasty feeling in the back of his mind that this was going to be one of those occasions, and he stood staring up at the empty window for some moments before he turned and made his way slowly in the direction of Mr. Jamess house.

Curry! exclaimed Mr. James as he stood in his doorway and stared down at Paddington. Did you say Curry?

Thats right, Mr. James, said Paddington, raising his duffle coat hood politely. His systems frozen, and he cant even fill his hot-water bottle.

Hard luck, said the odd-job man unsympathetically. Im having enough trouble with me own pipes this morning let alone that there Mr. Currys. Besides, I know him and his little jobs. He hasnt paid me yet for the last one I didand that was six months ago. Tell him from me, I want to see the color of his money before I do anything else, and even then Ill have to think twice.

Paddington looked most disappointed as he listened to Mr. James. From the little he could remember of Mr. Currys money, it was usually a very dirty color as if it had been kept under lock and key for a long time, and he felt sure Mr. James would be even less keen on doing any jobs if he saw it.

Tell you what, said the odd-job man, relenting slightly as he caught sight of the expression on Paddingtons face. Hang on a tick. Seeing youve come a long way in the snow, Ill see what I can do to oblige.

Mr. James disappeared from view only to return a moment later carrying a large brown-paper parcel. Im lending Mr. Curry a blowlamp, he explained. And Ive slipped in a book on plumbing as well. He might find a few tips in it if he gets stuck.

A blowlamp! exclaimed Paddington, his eyes growing larger and larger. I dont think hell like that very much.

You can take it or leave it, said Mr. James. Its all the same to me. But if you want my advice, bear, youll take it. This weathers going to get a lot worse before it gets any better.

So saying, Mr. James bade a final good morning and closed his door firmly, leaving Paddington standing on the step with a very worried expression on his face as he stared down at the parcel in his paws.

Mr. Curry didnt have a very good temper at the best of times, and the thought of waking him in order to hand over a blowlamp or even a book on plumbing, especially when he had a bad cold, filled him with alarm.