Paddington Races Ahead by Michael Bond Read Free Book Online Page A

wheels.
    “I don’t mean the microphone,” said Mr Climes, moving back the way he had come. Putting a finger to his lips he listened to a command over the headphones. “We seem to be having a spot of bother in the control room. I’m afraid they’ve run out of tape. It must be all the stops and starts we’ve had.”
    “Don’t worry, Mr Climes,” said Paddington cheerfully. “I expect you’ll manage to get it right in the end.”
    Sunny Climes continued edging away from Paddington, and then came to a sudden halt.
    “You’re standing on my microphone lead,” he said accusingly. Reaching forward to pick up the cable, he gave it a sharp tug.
    As it happened, Paddington, ever anxious to please, beat him to it by a split second, and giving vent to a cry of alarm Sunny Climes disappeared from view round the far side of the lamppost.

    “Oh dear, Mr Climes,” exclaimed Paddington, hurrying to the rescue. “Are you all right?”
    “No!” gurgled Sunny Climes, sounding as though a sudden typhoon had caught him in the midriff. “I am not all right! What a place to leave a shopping basket on wheels! There should be a law against people like you being allowed out by themselves.”
    But it was like water off a duck’s back.
    Paddington was already examining his basket. “You’ll be pleased to know it doesn’t seem to be damaged,” he called. “It’s still got both wheels. Hold on a minute…” His voice grew muffled as he peered inside to see if he could spot any holes in the wickerwork.
    It took him a moment or two to accustom himself to the lack of light and while he was waiting he realised that Mr Climes’ headphones had somehow or other fallen off inside the basket and he could hear everything that was being said outside.
    Mr Climes’ voice in particular came through loud and clear, and although it seemed to have lost much of its sunny quality, every word was distinct.
    “I do not intend,” he said, “repeat, do not intend , allowing myself to be beaten. These things are sent to try us, Adrian. When I started out I knew there would be days like today. In this business there are good days and there are bad days, and this one happens to be the worst day I have encountered in a very long time. I may take up playing the ukulele and become a busker.”
    “Worse things happen at sea,” said a second voice, which Paddington recognised as belonging to the director. “It’s a good job it’s a recording. Just think – we might have been on air! Besides, at least we’ve got our sound levels sorted out.”
    “That’s good,” said Paddington, as he emerged from his basket.

    He held the headphones aloft. “May I go now?”
    Mr Climes, by now back on his feet, managed to summon up a hollow laugh. “If you don’t mind,” he said. “I’ve started so I’ll finish.”
    He turned to the director. “If you have no objection, Adrian, I would like to continue where we left off.”
    “Good man!” exclaimed the director. “Strike while the iron’s hot!” And with that he dashed back to his van.
    Mr Climes took a deep breath, then he did some more counting. “Take seven,” he said, after pausing to allow the director time to get back to his desk.
    “Perhaps you could begin by telling us what part of the world you come from?” he said, pointing the microphone in Paddington’s direction.
    “Phew! Phew!” said Paddington, blowing into it as hard as he could to make sure it was working. “That’s a very good question, Mr Climes. I don’t really remember because I was very young at the time.”
    Sunny Climes permitted himself a wintery smile. “But you must know where it was,” he said. “Everyone has some idea about where they were born.”
    “Not if you come from Darkest Peru,” said Paddington. “It’s a very big place.”
    “Darkest Peru!” Sunny Climes pricked up his ears. Despite everything he looked most impressed. “Perhaps that explains your… er… lack of fundamentals.
    “It