in case there was no one left and they had to stop the film.
Each time the villain, who wore a black mask and a black hat, came on to the screen he booed, and when the hero appeared, riding a white horse, he cheered and waved his hat in the air until Mrs Brown became quite embarrassed. She wasn’t at all sorry when at long last the hero rode off into the setting sun and the film came to an end.
“Most enjoyable,” said Mrs Bird, rather surprisingly. The Browns had somehow never thought of Mrs Bird liking cowboy films. “Did you like it, Paddington?”
Paddington nodded his head vigorously. “I enjoyed it very much, thank you, Mrs Bird,” he said. “Except I can’t find my nougat anywhere.”
“Never mind, Paddington,” said Mr Brown, after they had all searched in vain for it. “I’ll buy you some more in a minute. After we’ve heard the organ.”
He sat back heavily in his seat and then turned to see Paddington. “If you watch,” he explained, “you’ll see it come up through the floor in a moment.”
“Come up through the floor, Mr Brown?” exclaimed Paddington. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an organ come up through the floor before.”
“Oh dear,” said Mrs Bird. “And it doesn’t look as if you’re going to now. Look!”
She pointed to the screen where an announcement had just been flashed on to say that Mr Reginald Clove was indisposed.
“What!” cried Paddington hotly as the words sank in. “Reginald Clove indisposed!”
“That means he’s ill, dear,” explained Mrs Brown. “So he won’t be playing after all.”
“How very disappointing,” said Mr Brown. “It’s a long time since I heard an organ. I was really looking forward to it.”
While the rest of the Browns watched the advertisements on the screen Paddington sank back into his seat and listened to Mr Brown explaining what the organ would have looked like had it come up through the floor. Mr Brown liked organs and he went on for a long time about it.
“Henry,” said Mrs Brown when he had finished. “Where’s Paddington?”
“Paddington?” exclaimed Mr Brown. “Don’t tell me he’s disappeared again. He was here a moment ago.”
“I do hope he isn’t long wherever he’s got to,” said Mrs Brown. “We shall never hear the last of it if he misses the start of the big picture.”
But Paddington was already almost out of sight. He was hurrying up the aisle and out through the door marked EXIT. There was a purposeful expression on his face, one which the Browns would have recognised at once had they been able to see him.
Paddington wasn’t the only one with a purposeful expression on his face at that moment. As he hurried down the stairs on one side of the cinema the manager of the Podium strode up the stairs leading to the projection box on the other.
There was something unusual going on in his theatre and he intended finding out what it was. He prided himself that the Podium was normally a very well run cinema but on this particular evening things had gone wrong from the beginning.
First of all the lady in the cash desk -usually a most reliable person – had complained of a fishy smell and mysterious voices saying they were accompanied coming from underneath her counter. Then Reginald Clove had caught his hand in a swing door and had announced the fact that he couldn’t play the organ. Something to do with his not being able to work the stops and turn the music with only one hand.
As if that wasn’t enough there had come news of ‘goings on’ in the circle. It was most unusual to have ‘goings on’ in the circle. Occasionally he had a spot of bother in the cheaper seats downstairs – but never in the circle.
There had been complaints of bear’s boos coming from the front row during the cowboy film, and as he’d passed through the stalls he’d also noticed several people immediately underneath the balcony with ice-cream stains on their hats. It was all very disturbing and he wasn’t in the best of moods as he burst into the projection room waving a piece of paper.
“I want this notice flashed on the screen,” he said crossly. “At once!”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Mrs Brown a few moments later. “What on earth can that mean?”
Mr Brown adjusted his glasses and stared at the screen, “WILL THE OWNER OF THE YOUNG BEAR IN THE CIRCLE KINDLY REPORT TO THE MANAGER’S OFFICE IMMEDIATELY,” he read.
“I don’t know, Mary,” he said, as he made to get to his feet, “but I’m certainly going to find out.”
“Owner indeed!” snorted Mrs Bird. “As if anyone owned Paddington.”
“The boot’s on the other paw, if you ask me,” began Mr Brown. “Paddington owns us.” As he was speaking, a strange expression came over his face.
“Well, Henry,” said Mrs Brown, staring at her husband, “aren’t you going to do something about it?”
“I… I… can’t get up,” exclaimed Mr Brown, feeling his seat. “I seem to be stuck to something… Nougat!” he said bitterly. “Paddington’s nougat! No wonder the manager wants to see me in his office.”
Unaware of all the excitement that was going on, Paddington pushed open a door and made his way down the aisle of the stalls until he came across a girl selling ice-cream.
“Excuse me,” he said, climbing up on to a seat and tapping her on the shoulder, “can you tell me where the indisposed man is?”
“The indisposed man?” repeated the girl.
“That’s right,” said Paddington patiently. “The one who’s supposed to come up through the floor.”
“Oh, you mean the organist,” said the girl. “Mr Reginald Clove. He’s through that little door there. The one under the stage.”
Before she could explain that no one was allowed through it without permission Paddington had disappeared again.
Mr Reginald Clove looked quite startled when Paddington came through the door. He had been expecting someone to come, but he certainly hadn’t expected it to be a bear.
“Are you from the first aid?” he asked, looking at Paddington rather doubtfully.
“Oh, no,” said Paddington, politely raising his hat. “I’m from number thirty-two Windsor Gardens and I’ve come about the organ.”
Mr Clove stepped back a pace. “You’ve come about the organ?” he repeated, trying to humour Paddington.
“Yes,” said Paddington. “I wanted to see it come up through the floor.”
“Oh!” Mr Clove’s face cleared. “Is that all?”
“All!” exclaimed Paddington hotly. “It’s very important. Mr Brown was looking forward to it.”
“Oh dear,” said Mr Clove, idly sorting through a pile of music with his good hand. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could oblige. But I’ve hurt my hand, you see, and I’ve no one to turn the music for me, and…” He looked thoughtfully at Paddington. “Do you like music, bear?” he asked suddenly.
“Oh, yes,” replied Paddington. “But I don’t really play anything except the comb and paper and I’m not very good at that because I get my whiskers caught in the comb.”
“Do you think you could turn the music for me?” asked Mr Clove.
“Well,” said Paddington doubtfully, “it’s a bit difficult for bears because