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    Paddington Takes the Test
    Paddington Takes the Test
    Paddington Takes the Test
    Ebook126 pages1 hour

    Paddington Takes the Test

    By Michael Bond and Peggy Fortnum

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Only a bear like Paddington could find himself taking a driving test by mistake, becoming a model at an art school, or being sawed in half at a magic show. No matter what adventures await, Paddington always comes through with flying colors.

    First published in 1979, Paddington Takes the Test is the seventh novel by Michael Bond chronicling the adventures of this classic character. Paddington has warmed the hearts of generations of readers with his earnest good intentions and humorous misadventures. This edition of the classic novel contains the original text by Michael Bond and illustrations by Peggy Fortnum.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateSep 20, 2016
    ISBN9780062312419
    Author

    Michael Bond

    Michael Bond began chronicling Paddington’s adventures in his first book, A Bear Called Paddington, published in 1958. Fortunately, bears don’t need much encouragement, and Paddington has since filled the pages of twelve further novels, a variety of picture books, and many other projects written for the young at heart.

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    • 4/5
      The adventures of Paddington Bear continues in this book, "Paddington Takes The Test".The book starts off with Paddington taking his driving test after he is mistaken for Mr Brown. He also gets to use Mr Curry's garden hammock, does odd jobs for cash, visits a stately house, locks Mr Curry in the sauna and finally takes part in a pantomime production where he becomes a magician's assistant.As always, beautifully illustrated by Peggy Fortnum and a joy to read.

    Book preview

    Paddington Takes the Test - Michael Bond

    CONTENTS

    1. Paddington at the Wheel

    2. In And Out of Trouble

    3. Paddington and the Stately Home

    4. Paddington and Bob-a-Job

    5. Paddington Gets a Rise

    6. Mr. Curry Lets Off Steam

    7. Pantomime Time

    Back Ad

    Books by Michael Bond

    Credits

    Copyright

    About the Publisher

    Chapter One

    PADDINGTON AT THE WHEEL

    Paddington gave the man facing him one of his hardest stares ever. I’ve won a bookmark! he exclaimed hotly. But I thought it was going to be a Rolls-Royce.

    The man fingered his collar nervously. There must be some mistake, he replied. The lucky winner of the car has already been presented with it. And the second prize, a weekend for two in Paris, has gone to an old-age pensioner in Edinburgh. If you’ve had a letter from us, then you must be one of the ten thousand runners-up who merely receive bookmarks. I can’t think why one wasn’t enclosed.

    "I’m one of ten thousand runners-up?" repeated Paddington, hardly able to believe his ears.

    I’m afraid so. Regaining his confidence, the man began rummaging in one of his desk drawers. The trouble is, he said meaningly, so many entrants to competitions don’t bother to read the small print. If you care to take another look at our entry form, you’ll see what I mean.

    Paddington took the leaflet and focused his gaze on a picture of a large, sleek, silver-gray car. A chauffeur, standing beside one of the open doors, was flicking an imaginary speck of dust from the upholstery with one of his gloves, while across the bonnet, in large red letters, were the words ALL THIS COULD BE YOURS!

    Having slept with an identical picture under his pillow at Number thirty-two Windsor Gardens for several weeks, Paddington felt he knew it all by heart. He turned it over, and on the back were the same instructions for entering the competition, together with an entry form.

    Now look inside, suggested the man.

    Paddington did as he was told, and as he did so, his face fell. He’d been so excited by the picture of the Rolls-Royce he hadn’t bothered to look any farther, but as he pulled the pages apart, he found it opened out into a larger sheet. On the left-hand side there was a picture of a French gendarme pointing towards a distant view of the Eiffel Tower, and on the right, under the heading TEN THOUSAND CONSOLATION PRIZES TO BE WON, there was a picture of a bookmark, followed by a lot of writing.

    By the end of the page some of the print was so small Paddington began to wish he’d brought his opera glasses with him, but there was no escaping the fact that the bookmark had an all-too-familiar look about it. One exactly like it had arrived that very morning in the envelope containing news of his success.

    I don’t think a bookmark is much consolation for not winning a Rolls-Royce! he exclaimed. "I put mine down the waste disposal. I didn’t think it was a prize."

    Oh, dear! The man gave a sympathetic cluck as he riffled through a pile of papers on his desk to show the interview was at an end. How very unfortunate. Still, at least you’ve had the benefit of eating some of our sun-kissed currants. He opened one of his desk drawers again and took out a packet. Have some more as a present, he said.

    But I don’t even like currants! exclaimed Paddington bitterly. And I ate fifteen boxes of them!

    Fifteen? The man gazed at Paddington with new respect. May I ask what your slogan was?

    A currant a day, said Paddington hopefully, keeps the doctor away.

    In that case, said the man, permitting himself a smile, you shouldn’t require any medical attention for quite a . . . His voice trailed away as he caught sight of the look Paddington was giving him.

    It had taken Paddington a long time to get through fifteen boxes of currants, not to mention think up a suitable slogan into the bargain. And, if the expression on his face was anything to go by, the whole thing had left him in need of more medical attention rather than less.

    In fact, as he made his way back down the stairs, Paddington began to look more and more gloomy. The news that he wasn’t after all the proud possessor of a gleaming new motorcar was a bitter blow, one made all the worse because he hadn’t even wanted it for himself—it had really been intended as a surprise for Mr. Brown.

    Mr. Brown’s present car was a bit of a sore point in the Brown household. The general feeling at Number thirty-two Windsor Gardens was that it ought to have been pensioned off years ago. But Mr. Brown had held on to it because it was hard to find anything large enough to convey the whole of the family, not to mention Paddington and all his belongings, when they went on their outings.

    Apart from its age it had a number of drawbacks, one of which was that instead of flashing lights, it relied on illuminated arms to indicate intended changes of direction. It was the failure of one of these arms, when Mr. Brown had been turning into a main road one day, that had attracted the attention of a passing policeman who’d taken his number.

    Paddington had been most upset at the time because he’d been sitting alongside Mr. Brown, ready to help out with paw signals when necessary.

    The magistrate had had one or two pointed things to say about drivers who relied on bears for their signals, and much to Mr. Brown’s disgust he’d been ordered to retake his driving test.

    It was shortly after this disastrous event that Paddington had come across a leaflet in the local supermarket announcing a competition in which the first prize was a car. And it was not just any old car, but a Rolls-Royce. Paddington felt sure that with a car as grand as a Rolls, Mr. Brown couldn’t possibly fail his coming test, let alone have any motoring problems ever again.

    The competition was sponsored by a well-known brand of currants, and the lady in the supermarket assured Paddington that there had been nothing like it in the dried-fruit world before. When he consulted the leaflet with the aid of his torch under the bedclothes that night, he could quite see what she meant, for it couldn’t have been more simple. All that was required was a suitable slogan to do with currants, together with three packet tops to show that the entry was genuine.

    But the thing which really clinched matters for Paddington was the discovery that not only was the result of the competition being announced on the same day that Mr. Brown was due to take his test, but that the firm who were running it occupied a building in the very same street as the Test Center.

    Paddington was a great believer in coincidences. Some of his best adventures had come about in just such a way—almost as if they had been meant to happen—and after buying some extra packets of currants in order to make doubly sure of success, he lost no time in sending off his entry.

    The fact that in the end it had all come to naught was most disappointing, and as he left the building, he paused in order to direct a few more hard stares in the direction of the upper floors. Then he collected his shopping basket on wheels from the car park outside and made his way slowly along the road towards

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