Paddington Novels 1-3

herself.
    The Browns occupied the middle five seats of the front row where the judging was to take place. There was an air of great excitement. It was news to Paddington that Mr Brown actually painted and he was looking forward to seeing a picture by someone he knew.
    On the platform several important-looking men with beards were bustling about talking to each other and waving their arms in the air. Theyappeared to be having a great deal of argument about one painting in particular.
    “Henry,” whispered Mrs Brown, excitedly. “I do believe they’re talking about yours. I recognise the canvas bag.”
    Mr Brown looked puzzled. “It certainly looks like my bag,” he said. “But I don’t think it can be. All the canvas was stuck to the painting. Didn’t you see? Just as if someone had put it inside while it was still wet. I painted mine ages ago.”
    Paddington sat very still and stared straight ahead, hardly daring to move. He had a strange sinking feeling in the bottom of his stomach, as if something awful was about to happen. He began to wish he hadn’t washed his spots off that morning; then at least he could have stayed in bed.
    Judy poked him with her elbow. “What’s the matter, Paddington?” she asked. “You look most peculiar. Are you all right?”
    “I don’t feel ill,” said Paddington in a small voice. “But I think I’m in trouble again.”
    “Oh dear,” said Judy. “Well, keep your paws crossed. This is it!”

    Paddington sat up. One of the men on the platform, the most important-looking one with the biggest beard, was speaking. And there… Paddington’s knees began to tremble, there on the platform, on an easel in full view of everyone, was ‘his’ picture!
    He was so dazed he only caught scraps of what the man was saying.
    “… remarkable use of colour…”
    “… very unusual…”
    “… great imagination… a credit to the artist…”
    And then, he almost fell off his seat with surprise. “The winner of the first prize is Mr Henry Brown of thirty-two Windsor Gardens!”
    Paddington wasn’t the only one who felt surprised. Mr Brown, who was being helped up on to the platform, looked as if he had just been struck by lightning. “But… but…” he stuttered, “there must be some mistake.”
    “Mistake?” said the man with the beard. “Nonsense, my dear sir. Your name’s on the back of the canvas. You are Mr Brown, aren’t you? Mr Henry Brown?”
    Mr Brown looked at the painting with unbelieving eyes. “It’s certainly my name on the back,” he said. “It’s my writing…” He left the sentence unfinished and looked down towards the audience. He had his own ideas on the subject, but it was difficult to catch Paddington’s eye. It usually was when you particularly wanted to.
    “I think,” said Mr Brown, when the applause had died down, and he had accepted the cheque for ten pounds which the man gave him, “proud as I am, I think I would like to donate the prize to a certain home for retired bears in South America.” A murmur of surprise went round the assembly but it passed over Paddington’s head, though he wouldhave been very pleased had he known its cause. He was staring hard at the painting, and in particular at the man with the large beard, who was beginning to look hot and bothered.
    “I think,” said Paddington, to the world in general, “they might have stood it the right way up. It’s not every day a bear wins first prize in a painting competition!”

T HE B ROWNS WERE all very excited. Mr Brown had been given tickets for a box at the theatre. It was the first night of a brand new play, and the leading part was being played by the world famous actor, Sir Sealy Bloom. Even Paddington became infected with the excitement. He made several journeys to his friend, Mr Gruber, to have the theatre explainedto him. Mr Gruber thought he was very lucky to be going to the first night of a new play. “All sorts of famous people will be there,” he said. “I don’t suppose many bears have that sort of opportunity once in a lifetime.”
    Mr Gruber lent Paddington several second-hand books about the theatre. He was rather a slow reader but there were lots of pictures and, in one of them, a big cut-out model of a stage which sprang up every time he opened the pages. Paddington decided that when he grew up he wanted to be an actor. He took to standing on his dressing-table and striking poses in the mirror just as he had seen them in the books.
    Mrs