you very much,” said Paddington, holding out his paw. He was a bit overawed by the old gentleman and he wasn’t at all sure what it was all about anyway.
The old gentleman waved the waiters and the manager to one side and then turned to Mr Brown. “I’d better introduce myself,” he said. “I’m Sir Huntley Martin, the marmalade king.
“I’ve been in marmalade for fifty years,” he boomed, “and been comin’ here for thirty. Never heard anyone ask for a marmalade sandwich before. Does me old heart good.”
Paddington looked most impressed. “Fancy being in marmalade for fifty years!” he exclaimed.
“I hope you’ll allow me to join you,” said Sir Huntley. “I’ve done a good many things in my life but I don’t think I’ve ever been to a bear’s birthday party before.”
The old gentleman’s presence seemed to have a magical effect on the manager of the Porchester, for he had a hurried conference with the head waiter and in no time at all a procession started from the kitchen headed by a waiter bearing a silver tray on which was another omelette for Mr Gruber.
Even the head waiter allowed himself a smile and he gave Paddington a special autographed menu to take away as a souvenir and promised that in future there would always be a special section for marmalade sandwiches.
It was a hilarious party of Browns who finally got up to go. Paddington was so full of good things he had a job to get up at all. He had a last lingering look at the remains of an ice-cream on his plate but decided that enough was as good as a feast. He’d enjoyed himself no end and after a great deal of thought he left a penny under his plate for the waiter.
Sir Huntley Martin seemed very sad that it had all come to an end. “Most enjoyable,” he kept booming as they left the table. “Most enjoyable. Perhaps,” he added hopefully to Paddington, “you’ll do me the honour of visiting my factory one of these days.”
“Oh, yes, please,” said Paddington. “I should like that very much.”
As they left the restaurant he waved goodbye with his paw to all the other diners, several of whom applauded when the orchestra struck up ‘Happy Birthday to You’.
Only Mrs Bird seemed less surprised than the others, for she had seen Sir Huntley slip something in the conductor’s hand.
It had become really dark outside while they had been eating their dinner and all the lights in the street were on. After they had said goodbye to Sir Huntley, and because it was a special occasion, Mr Brown drove round Piccadilly Circus so that Paddington could see all the coloured signs working.
Paddington peered out of the car window and his eyes grew larger and larger at the sight of all the red, green and blue lights flashing on and off and making patterns in the sky.
“Have you enjoyed yourself, Paddington?” asked Mr Brown as they went round for the second time.
“Yes, thank you very much, Mr Brown,” exclaimed Paddington.
Altogether Paddington thought it had been a wonderful day and he was looking forward to writing a letter to his Aunt Lucy telling her everything about it.
After giving a final wave of his paw to some passers-by, he raised his hat to a policeman who signalled them on, and then settled back in his seat to enjoy the journey home with Mr Gruber and the Browns.
“I think,” he announced sleepily, as he gave one final stare at the fast-disappearing lights, “I would like to have an anniversary every year!”
“And so say all of us, Mr Brown,” echoed Mr Gruber from the back of the car. “And so say all of us!”
Contents
Paddington was in a mess. As he was the sort of bear who often got himself into trouble he wasn’t really surprised – but as he stood up and looked round his bedroom even he had to admit that it was worse than usual.
There were maps and pieces of paper everywhere, not to mention several nasty-looking marmalade stains and a long trail of paw prints. The paw prints started on a map which was spread across the eiderdown on his bed. It was a large map of London and in the middle, by the first paw mark, there was a circle which marked the position of the Browns’ house at number thirty-two Windsor Gardens.
The trail led from the Browns’ house across the map in a southerly direction, over the end of the bed and on to another map which lay on the floor at the foot. From there it carried on, still going south, until it reached the English Channel, and yet a third map by the window which showed the north coast of France. There the trail ended in a soggy mess made up of old cake crumbs, a small pile of marmalade and a blob of red ink.
Paddington gave a deep sigh as he dipped his paw absentmindedly into the concoction. He tried kneeling on the floor and peering at his room through half-closed eyes, but if anything, the mess looked even worse because from so low down all he could see were the bumps and ridges.
Just as he was about to lie back and consider the matter he was suddenly brought back to life by the sound of clinking plates and footsteps on the stairs.
Jumping up with a guilty expression on his face, Paddington hurriedly began sweeping everything under the bed. Although he had some very good explanations for the mess he was in he felt sure neither Mrs Brown nor Mrs Bird would be very keen on hearing them – especially at breakfast time when everyone was usually in a great hurry.
“Are you awake, Paddington?” called Mrs Brown as she knocked on the door.
“No – not yet, Mrs Brown,” cried Paddington in a muffled voice, as he tried to push his marmalade jar under the wardrobe. “I think my lids are stuck.”
Being a truthful bear at heart, Paddington closed his eyelids and snored several times while he gathered up the rest of his belongings. Feeling around for the pen and ink, he hastily put them into his old hat which he pulled down over his head, and then, gathering up the last of the maps, he groped his way across the room.
“Whatever’s going on, Paddington?” exclaimed Mrs Brown, as the door suddenly opened and Paddington appeared.
Paddington nearly fell over backwards with surprise when he saw Mrs Brown standing there with his breakfast tray.
“I