Paddington Takes the Air

“Good,” said Mr Leach approvingly, as he reached into the opening. “Now, one more ‘aah’ like that and then a good hard bite. And whatever happens from now on – don’t let go.”

“Aaaaah,” said Paddington.

Mr Leach’s face seemed to change colour suddenly. “Ooooooooh,” he cried.

“Oooooooooooh,” repeated Paddington, biting harder than ever.

“Owwwwwwwwwwwwwww,” shouted Mr Leach, as he began dancing up and down.

“Owwwwwwww,” called Paddington, nearly falling out of the chair in his excitement. “Owwwwwwwwwww!”

“Ouch!” shrieked Mr Leach. “Owwwwwwwwwww! Oooooooooooooo! Aaaaaaaaaaa!”

Outside in the waiting-room, the Browns looked anxiously at one another. “Poor old Paddington,” said Jonathan. “It sounds as if he’s going through it.”

“I do hope it doesn’t take much longer,” said Mrs Brown. “I don’t know about Paddington, but I’m not sure if I can stand a lot more.”

As it happened, Mrs Brown’s prayers were answered almost before the words were out of her mouth, for at that moment, the surgery door burst open and a white-faced nurse appeared in the opening.

“Can you come quickly?” she cried.

Mrs Brown clutched at her throat. “Paddington!” she cried. “He’s not…”

“No,” said the nurse, “he’s not! We haven’t even started on him yet. It’s Mr Leach we’re having trouble with.”

Mrs Bird hurried into the surgery clutching her umbrella. “Whatever’s going on?” she demanded.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaah,” replied Paddington.

“Ooooooooooh!” shrieked Mr Leach. “Ooooh! Ouch! Aaaaaaaah!”

“Crikey!” exclaimed Jonathan, as he and Judy dashed towards the chair where Paddington and Mr Leach appeared to be inextricably locked together.

“You grab Mr Leach,” cried Judy. “I’ll pull Paddington.”

A moment later Mr Leach staggered back across the room. “My thumb,” he said slowly and distinctly as he glared at the occupant of the chair, “my thumb – or what’s left of it – was caught under your wedge, bear!”

Paddington put on his injured expression. “You said bite hard and not let go whatever happened, Mr Leach,” he explained.

Mrs Brown gazed anxiously at the dentist as he stood in the middle of the surgery nursing his injury. “Would you like us to come back another day?” she asked doubtfully.

Mr Leach appeared for a moment to be undergoing some kind of deep internal struggle and then he took a grip of himself. “No,” he said at last. “No! When I became a dentist I knew there would be days when things wouldn’t always go right.” He looked at Paddington and then reached for his drill. “I’ve had twenty most enjoyable years. I suppose it had to come to an end some time and I’m certainly not letting a bear’s cusp get the better of me now!”

It was some time before Paddington emerged again from Mr Leach’s surgery, and although all had remained quiet, the Browns were relieved to see him looking none the worse for his experience. Instead, as he hurried into the waiting-room holding his mouth open for all to see, he looked positively excited.

“Mr Leach is going to give me a new gold tooth,” he announced importantly. “My cusp’s so large he doesn’t think an ordinary one would stand the strain.”

Mr Leach permitted himself a smile as he hovered in the doorway nursing a bandaged thumb. “I think we’re winning at long last,” he said. “I’d like to see young Mr Brown again next week for a final fitting.”

“Thank you very much, Mr Leach,” said Paddington gratefully. Bending down he undid his suitcase, withdrew a large paper bag and held it out. “Perhaps you’d like to try one of these?”

Mr Leach hesitated. “I… er… I don’t normally indulge,” he said, peering into the bag. “It doesn’t set a very good example. But I must say they look tempting. It’s very kind of you. I… er…”

As he placed one of Paddington’s everlasting toffees into his mouth, Mr Leach’s voice trailed away and for the second time that morning his face took on a glazed expression.

“Grrrrrr,” he gurgled, pointing to his mouth. “Glug!”

Paddington peered at him with interest. “I hope you haven’t fractured one of your cusps now, Mr Leach,” he said anxiously.

Mr Leach glared at him for a moment and then staggered back into his surgery, clutching his jaw. Far from being fractured, his cusps gave the impression they were cemented together for all time, and the look on his face as he slammed the door boded ill for the next patient on his list that morning.

Paddington looked most upset. “I only thought he would like one to be going on with,” he exclaimed.

“Going on with is right,” said Mrs Bird grimly, as a series of muffled exclamations reached their ears. “By the sound of things it’ll be going on until this time next week.”

She held out her hand. “I know something else that’s due to be disposed of just as soon as we get home. We’ve had quite enough bear’s everlasting toffee for one day.”

Judy squeezed Paddington’s paw as they climbed into a taxi to take them home. “Never mind,” she whispered. “There can’t be too many bears who are able to say they’re having a gold tooth made for them.”

“I’ll tell you something else,” said Mrs Brown. “It’ll make you even more valuable than you are at the moment. While you have a gold tooth in your head you’ll never be completely without – whatever happens.”

Paddington digested this latest piece of information for a moment or two as he settled back in his seat. So much had happened that morning he felt he’d have a job to remember it all let alone put it down on a postcard when he next wrote to his Aunt Lucy in Peru. But all in all he was beginning to feel rather pleased at the way things had turned out and he felt sure she would be equally delighted by the news.

Mrs Bird glanced across at him with the suspicion of a twinkle in her eye. “If this morning’s events are anything to go by,” she said, “it strikes me that a tooth in the sink is worth two under the pillow any day of the week.”

Paddington nodded his agreement. “I think,” he announced at last, amid sighs of relief, “I’ll always have my old teeth disposed of in future.”

Chapter Two A STITCH IN TIME (#ulink_d1694555-8b90-5032-8e92-26f310ea0eb9)

MRS BIRD HELD a large square of chequered cloth up to the light and examined it with an expert eye. “I must say, Paddington’s made a first-class job of it,” she declared approvingly.

“I’ve seen worse in some shops,” agreed Mrs Brown. “What is it?”

“I think he said it’s a tablecloth,” replied Mrs Bird. “But whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll come in very handy.”

Mrs Brown glanced up at the ceiling as a steady rhythmic clanking came from somewhere overhead. “At least we can leave him on his own for the day without worrying too much,” she said thankfully. “We may as well make the most of it. At the rate he’s going, that sewing machine won’t last much longer.”

Mrs Brown was never too happy about leaving Paddington on his own for too long. Things had a habit of going wrong – especially on days when he was at a loose end – but with Jonathan and Judy back at school after the Easter holiday it couldn’t always be avoided. It happened to be one of those days and she was most relieved to know he was occupied.

Paddington’s interest in sewing had been something of a nine-day wonder in the Brown household. It all came about when he lost his fifty pence a week bun money down a drain one morning as he was on his way to the baker’s to pick up his standing order.

The coin had slipped through a hole in one of his duffle coat pockets, and even the combined efforts of several passing dustmen and a road sweeper had failed to locate it.

Although Mr Brown took pity on him and replaced the money, Paddington had been upset for several days afterwards. He still felt he was going to be fifty pence short for the rest of his life and when some men arrived a few days later to swill out the drains, he gave them some very hard stares indeed.

It was Mr Gruber who finally took his mind off the matter. Mr Gruber kept an antique shop in the nearby Portobello Market and over the years he and Paddington had become firm friends. In fact, most mornings they shared some buns and a cup of cocoa for their elevenses.

One morning, shortly after his loss, Paddington arrived at the shop only to find a mysterious cloth-covered object standing on a table just inside the door.