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

must have been dark when they were dishing them out…” he added, laughing at his own joke.
    Paddington gave him a hard stare. “My fundamentals are lacking!” he repeated.
    Mr Climes hastily changed the subject. “It’s what’s known these days as being vertically challenged,” he said. “Please forgive me. Er… Don’t tell me you are over here to participate in the Games?”
    “I won’t if you would rather I didn’t,” said Paddington, not quite sure what the word meant.
    “Aha!” said Mr Climes. “I understand.” He put a finger to his nose. “Top secret, eh? Can we hold it there for a moment?”
    Reaching into his pocket, he took out a sheet of paper and ran his eyes down a long list. “I can’t see any mention of Darkest Peru sending a team… did you receive an official invitation to take part in the Games?”
    “I don’t think so,” said Paddington. “I had a postcard from my Aunt Lucy the other day, but she didn’t mention it.”
    “In short,” said Mr Climes, “You are a breakaway faction going it alone. Don’t worry.” He put a finger to his nose again. “Your secret is safe with me.
    “I must say you came round that corner at a great rate of knots. I daresay you wanted to lose some weight after all the breakfast you’d had this morning.”
    “No,” said Paddington. “I was on my way to the bakers to get some buns. I was later than usual and I didn’t want them to run out. It would have meant Mr Gruber having to wait for the second baking of the day and that would have upset his schedules.”
    “Gruber?” repeated Mr Climes. “Gruber? I don’t know the name. Is he your trainer?”
    “He has an antique shop,” said Paddington. “We always have our elevenses together.”
    “A brilliant cover-up,” said Mr Climes, hardly able to conceal his excitement.
    “Tell me, what do you think of the Games so far? Are all the preparations to your liking?”
    “What are they?” asked Paddington.
    “What are they ?” repeated Mr Climes. “Do you mean to say you have come all this way and you don’t know what they are? This is quite extraordinary. They’re on everybody’s lips.”
    It was Paddington’s turn to edge away. “Oh dear,” he said. “I hope they’re not catching.”
    Mr Climes essayed another smile. “You’re having me on,” he said. “Tell me, what event do you specialise in? If I may be so bold, your legs look a bit short for the pole vault.”
    “My legs are a bit short for the pole vault!” repeated Paddington hotly. “But they’ve always been that way.”
    “You look as though you might be a good all-rounder,” said Mr Climes soothingly.
    “I expect that’s because I’m wearing a duffle coat,” said Paddington. “Mrs Bird says I shan’t feel the benefit when I get indoors if I don’t. Besides, I might catch cold.”
    “Sound advice for an athlete…” said Mr Climes. “Now don’t tell me… let me guess… it can hardly be the long jump, or the high one come to that…”
    Returning to the speed at which Paddington had come round the corner, he hazarded a guess. “A long-distance runner, perhaps?
    “For instance, how long would it take you to get from here to, say, Paddington Station?”
    Paddington considered the matter for a moment or two. “I did it in just under four minutes last Sunday,” he said.
    “Four minutes!” exclaimed Mr Climes excitedly. “But it must be a good mile and a half from here. That has to be a world record. It’s over the speed limit.”
    “Oh dear, is it?” said Paddington.
    “The traffic lights were green all the way,” he added lamely.
    “I think you are hiding your light under a bushel,” said Mr Climes. “Tell me, how are you on short distances – the one hundred metres for example?”
    It was Paddington’s turn to hazard a guess. “It depends how warm the buns are,” he said, thinking about the time it took him to get from the bakers to Mr Gruber’s. “On a cold day, about five