Paddington Novels 1-3

celebrate the occasion by visiting a restaurant. All those in favour say ‘aye’.”
    Mr Brown’s suggestion had a mixed reception. Jonathan and Judy called out “aye” at once. Mrs Brown looked rather doubtful and Mrs Bird kept her eyes firmly on her knitting.
    “Do you think it wise, Henry?” said Mrs Brown. “You know what Paddington’s like when we take him out. Things happen.”
    “It is his birthday,” replied Mr Brown.
    “And his anniversary,” said Judy. “Sort of.”
    The Browns were holding a council ofwar. It was Paddington’s summer birthday. Being a bear, Paddington had two birthdays every year – one at Christmas and the other in mid-summer. That apart, he had now been with the Browns for a little over a year and it had been decided to celebrate the two occasions at the same time.
    “After all, we ought to do something, ” said Mr Brown, playing his trump card. “If we hadn’t seen him that day on Paddington station we might never have met him and goodness knows where he would have ended up.”
    The Browns were silent for a moment as they considered the awful possibility of never having met Paddington.
    “I must say,” remarked Mrs Bird, in a voice which really decided the matter, “the house wouldn’t be the same without him.”
    “That settles it,” said Mr Brown. “I’ll ring the Porchester right away and reserve a table for tonight.”
    “Oh, Henry,” exclaimed Mrs Brown. “Not the Porchester. That’s such an expensive place.”
    Mr Brown waved his hand in the air. “Nothing but the best is good enough for Paddington,” he said generously. “We’ll invite Mr Gruber as well and make a real party of it.
    “By the way,” he continued, “where is Paddington? I haven’t seen him for ages.”
    “He was peering through the letterbox just now,” said Mrs Bird. “I think he was looking for the postman.”

    Paddington liked birthdays. He didn’t get many letters – only his catalogues and an occasional postcard from his Aunt Lucy in Peru – but today the mantelpiece in the dining-room was already filled to overflowing with cards and he was looking forward to somemore arriving. There had been a card from each of the Browns, one from Mr Gruber, and quite a surprising number from various people who lived in the neighbourhood. There was even an old one from Mr Curry, which Mrs Bird recognised as one Paddington had sent him the year before, but she had wisely decided not to point this out.
    Then there were all the parcels. Paddington was very keen on parcels – especially when they were well wrapped up with plenty of paper and string. In fact he had done extremely well for himself, and the news that they were all going out that evening as well came as a great surprise.
    “Mind you,” said Mrs Brown, “you’ll have to have a bath first.”
    “A bath!” exclaimed Paddington. “On my birthday?”
    Paddington looked most upset at the thought of having a bath on his birthday.
    “The Porchester is a very famous restaurant,” explained Mrs Brown. “Only the best people go there.”
    And, despite his protests, he was sent upstairs that afternoon with a bath cube and some soap and strict instructions not to come down again until he was clean.
    Excitement in the Browns’ house mounted during the afternoon and by the time Mr Gruber arrived, looking self-conscious in an evening-dress suit which he hadn’t worn for many years, it had reached fever pitch.
    “I don’t think I’ve ever been to the Porchester before, Mr Brown,” he whispered to Paddington in the hall. “So that makes two of us. It’ll be a nice change from cocoa and buns.”
    Paddington became more and more excited on the journey to the restaurant. He always enjoyed seeing the lights of London and even though it was summer quite a few of them had already come on by the time they got there.

    He followed Mr Brown up the steps of the restaurant and in through some large doors, giving the man who held them open a friendly wave of his paw.
    In the distance there was the sound of music and as they all gathered inside the entrance in order to leave their coats at the cloakroom, Paddington looked around with interest at the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and at the dozens of waiters gliding to and fro.
    Here comes the head waiter,” said Mr Brown, as a tall, superior-looking man approached. “We’ve booked a table near the orchestra,” he called. “In the name of Brown.”
    The head waiter