Читать книгу Paddington Goes To Town - Michael Bond - Страница 8

Chapter Two PADDINGTON HITS OUT

“I KNOW IT’S none of my business,” said Mrs Bird, pausing for a moment as she cleared the breakfast table, “but do you think Mr Curry’s suddenly come into some money?” She nodded towards the next-door garden. “He’s out there practising with his golf clubs again this morning. That’s the third time this week.”

“I must say it’s very strange,” agreed Mrs Brown, as the clear sound of a ball being hit by a club greeted her housekeeper’s remarks. “He seemed to be turning his lawn into a putting green yesterday and he’s got some plus-fours hanging on the line.”

Paddington, who until that moment had been busily engaged in finishing up the last of the toast and marmalade before Mrs Bird removed it from the table, suddenly gave vent to a loud choking noise. “Mr Curry’s plus-fours are hanging on the line!” he exclaimed when he had recovered himself.

He peered through the window with interest, but Mr Curry’s clothes line seemed very little different from any other day of the week. In fact, apart from a tea towel and jerseys the only unusual item was a pair of very odd-looking trousers which hung limp and bedraggled in the still morning air.

“Those are plus-fours,” explained Mrs Brown. “They’re special trousers people used to wear when they played golf. You don’t often see them nowadays.”

Mrs Brown looked just as puzzled as her housekeeper as she considered Mr Curry’s strange behaviour. Apart from having a reputation for meanness, the Browns’ neighbour was also noted for his bad temper and unsportsmanlike attitude generally. The idea of his taking up any sort of game was hard to picture and when it was an expensive one like golf then it became doubly so.

“That reminds me,” she continued, turning away from the window. “Henry asked me to get his golfing things out for him. There’s an ‘open day’ at the golf club on Saturday and he wants to go. They’re expecting quite a crowd. Arnold Parker’s putting in a special appearance and he’s judging one or two competitions. I don’t know whether Henry’s going in for any of them but apparently there are some quite big prizes. There’s a special one for the person whose ball travels the farthest and…”

“Hmm,” said Mrs Bird as Mrs Brown’s voice trailed away. “There’s no need to say any more. That’s one mystery solved!”

Although she wasn’t in the habit of interesting herself in other people’s affairs Mrs Bird liked to get to the bottom of things. “Trust Mr Curry to be around when there’s a chance of getting something for nothing,” she snorted as she disappeared towards the kitchen with her tray.

As Mrs Brown picked up the remains of the crockery and followed her housekeeper out of the room Paddington climbed up on to his chair and looked hopefully out of the window. But Mr Curry was nowhere in sight and even the sound of shots being practised seemed to have died away, so he climbed back down again and a few minutes later hurried out into the garden in order to investigate the matter more closely.

In the past he’d several times come across Mr Brown’s golf clubs in the cupboard under the stairs, but he’d never watched the game being played before and the possibility of seeing Mr Curry practising on his lawn and being able to take a closer look at his plus-fours into the bargain seemed an opportunity too good to be missed.

Crouching down to the ground behind Mr Brown’s shed he put his eye to a special knothole in the fence which usually gave a very good view of the next-door garden, but to his surprise there was nothing to be seen but a wall of blackness.

Looking most disappointed Paddington picked up one of Mr Brown’s old bean sticks and poked it hopefully through the hole in an attempt to unblock it. As he did so a loud cry of pain suddenly rang out and he nearly fell over backwards with surprise as the familiar figure of the Browns’ neighbour suddenly rose into view on the other side of the fence.

“Bear!” roared Mr Curry as he danced up and down clutching his right eye. “Did you do that on purpose, bear?”

Hastily letting go of the stick, Paddington jumped back in alarm. “Oh, no, Mr Curry,” he exclaimed. “I was only trying to unblock the hole. If I’d known you were there I’d have done it much more gently. I mean…”

“What’s that?” bellowed Mr Curry. “What did you say?”

Paddington gave up trying to explain what he meant as the face on the other side of the fence turned a deep purple.

“I wanted to see your sum trousers, Mr Curry,” he said unhappily.

“My what trousers?” repeated Mr Curry.

“Your sum trousers, Mr Curry,” said Paddington. “The ones you play golf in.”

Mr Curry gave Paddington a searching look with his good eye. “If you mean my plus-fours, why don’t you say so, bear,” he growled. Removing his hand from the other eye he glared suspiciously across the fence. “I was looking for my golf ball. It went over into your garden.”

Anxious to make amends, Paddington looked around Mr Brown’s garden and almost immediately spied a small white object nestling among the tomato plants. “Here it is, Mr Curry,” he called. “I think it’s broken one of Mr Brown’s stems.”

“If people don’t take the trouble to build their fences high enough they must expect these things,” said Mr Curry nastily as he took the ball.

He examined it carefully to make sure it wasn’t damaged and then looked thoughtfully at Paddington. “I didn’t realise you were interested in golf, bear,” he remarked casually.

Paddington returned his gaze doubtfully. “I’m not sure if I am yet, Mr Curry,” he said carefully.

On more than one occasion in the past he’d been caught napping by a casual remark from the Browns’ neighbour and had no wish to find himself agreeing by mistake to build a golf course for ten pence.

Mr Curry looked over his shoulder in order to make sure no one else was around and then he signalled Paddington to come closer. “I’m looking for someone to act as caddie for me in the golf competition tomorrow,” he said, lowering his voice. “I have some very expensive equipment and I need someone reliable to take charge of it all.

“If I find the right person,” he continued meaningly, “I might not report whoever it is for nearly poking my eye out with a stick.”

“Thank you very much, Mr Curry,” began Paddington even more doubtfully.

Almost before the words were out of his mouth Mr Curry rubbed his hands together. “Good! That’s settled then,” he said briskly. “I’ll see you on the links at two o’clock sharp.

“Mind you,” he added sternly as he turned to go. “If I let you do it I shall hold you responsible for everything. If any of my balls get lost you’ll have to buy me some new ones.”

Paddington stared unhappily after the retreating figure in the next-door garden. He wasn’t at all sure what duties a caddie had on a golf course but from the tone of Mr Curry’s last remarks he had a nasty feeling that not for the first time he was getting the worst of the bargain.

In the event his worst fears were realised and any ideas he might have entertained of actually having a go himself were quickly dashed the following day when he met Mr Curry at the entrance to the golf course.

The Browns’ neighbour wasn’t in a very good mood, and as the afternoon wore on and Paddington laboured wearily up hill and down dale, struggling with the bag of clubs, his hopes grew fainter still.

Mr Curry seemed to spend most of his time climbing in and out of one or other of the many bunkers scattered about the eighteen holes on the golf course, his temper getting shorter and shorter, and Paddington was thankful when at long last the spot where the big competition of the day was being held came into view and they stood awaiting their turn to start.

“You’ll have to keep your eyes skinned here, bear,” growled Mr Curry, surveying the fairway. “I shall be hitting the ball very hard and you mustn’t lose sight of it. I don’t want it getting mixed up with anyone else’s.”

“It’s all right, Mr Curry,” said Paddington eagerly. “I’ve put a special mark on the side with some marmalade peel.”

“Marmalade peel?” echoed Mr Curry. “Are you sure it won’t come off?”

“I don’t think so, Mr Curry,” replied Paddington confidently. “It’s some of my special marmalade from the cut-price grocers in the market. Mrs Bird always says their chunks never come off anything.”

Paddington glanced around while he was explaining what he’d done. Quite a large crowd had assembled to watch the event and he felt most important as he leaned nonchalantly on Mr Curry’s club in the way that he’d seen Arnold Parker do in some of the many posters advertising the event.