THE SAD STORY OF A LOST MEMORY

I had not noticed the man sitting beside me in the bus until he addressed me.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, "but is my face familiar to you by any chance?"

I turned and studied him for a second or two. I was able to assure him that he was an entire stranger to me. He did not seem at all surp­rised. "It was just a chance," he said. "You see, sir, I am under the disadvantage of not knowing who I am." '

"I have just returned from a voyage," he continued, "during the course of which I had the misfortune to lose my memory. I understand from received information that I was seating one fine day on the deck of the ship, when suddenly the ship gave a lurch and I fell on to my head and was unconscious for three days. During this period all my possessions on the ship were stolen and all trace of my identity remo­ved. Even the name of my tailor was cut out from the suit I was wea­ring. I didn't know anything about myself and I was unknown to any of my fellow-passengers. Everyone agreed that there was only one possible remedy, namely, that I should receive another violent blow on the he­ad, which would, as all the authorities say, restore my memory to its former state.

The idea was taken up enthusiastically, and I gladly admitted that all the ship's crew and also the passengers did what they could for me in this respect.

It became quite customary for every who met me to hit me play­fully over the head with all possible weapon.

With all these helps I received a great many blows on the head, but my memory stubbornly refused to return."

The stranger paused in his recital.

I raised my walking stick. "This is but a poor weapon, I'm afra­id," I said. "Still, any little service I can render..."

"No, no," said the stranger hurriedly, "the time for that is past. I am now gathering funds to enable me to prosecute inquiries at the port from which the boat sailed, and should you, kind sir..."

6. IRVING STONE

AT THE ART DEALER’S

 

The little bell on the front door rang. A stranger walked in. "That picture you have in the window, " he said "That still life. Who is it by?"

"Paul Cezanne. "

"Cezanne? I have never heard of him. Is it for sale?"

"Ah, no, alas, it is already ..."

Madame Tanguy saw her chance. She quickly rose from the chair, pushed Tanguy out of the way, and ran up to the man eagerly.

"But of course it is for sale. It is a beautiful still life, is it not, Monsieur? Have you ever seen such apples before? We will sell it to you cheap, if you admire it. "

"How much?"

"How much, Tanguy?" asked Madame Tanguy raising her voice, Tanguy swallowed hard. "Three hundred … "

"Tanguy!"

"Well, one hundred francs!"

"A handred francs? I wonder … " said the stranger. "For an unk­nown painter... I’m afraid that's too expensive. I don't think I can afford it. I was only prepared to spend about twenty five. "

The canvas was immediately taken out of the window and put before the customer.

"See, Monsieur, it is a big picture. There are four apples. Four apples are a hundred francs. You only want to spend twenty five. Then why not take one apple? The price is only twenty five francs."

When the price was mentioned the man began to study the canvas with new interest. "Yes, that's all right. Just cut this apple the full length of the canvas and I'll take it."

Madame Tanguy hurried to her apartment and returned with a pair of scissors. The end apple was cut off, wrapped in a piece of paper and handed to the man. He paid the money and walked out with the can­vas under his arm. The spoiled masterpiece lay on the counter.

"My favorite Cezanne," cried Tanguy unhappily. "I'll miss it so! I put it in the window. I wanted people to see it for a moment and go away happy. "

Madame Tanguy interrupted him. "Next time someone wants a Cezanne and hasn't much money, sell him an apple. Take anything you can get for it. They are worthless anyway, he paints so many of them."

7. FRANK J. HARDY

 

LOOKING FOR WORK

 

A man stopped near a large plant. He had an old coat, old shoes, and no socks on. The man wanted to get some work. He was out of work. He could not buy bread, milk, and new clothes for his children. He went to the door, stopped and looked at his old coat and shoes, coughed and then opened the door.

He came into a room, where he saw an old man.

"What can I do for you?" asked the old man.

"I want some work, please," said the poor man.

"We have no work now," said the old man. "But when we have work, we give it only to people who have been at the war."

"I have been at the front. I have got a medal," said the poor man quickly. "Can you give me some work? I have been out of work for three years. I have done my best to get work, but I could not. They did not give us work when we came back from the front."

"I am sorry. We have no work now. Come later."

"I see," said the poor man, "I am sorry," and he left the room.

He went into the street. He wanted to have a rest. He wanted some hot soup and some bread. He went to other plants. Every day he went and asked for work. But he got no work. Every day they told him that there was no work. He could not go home and tell his wife that he co­uld not get any work. He came to a fine house with a garden around it. He went into the garden. A woman came out of the house.

"Could you give me some work?" the man asked. "I have done diffe­rent garden work. Will you give me work in your garden?"

The woman looked at his poor clothes, and at his old shoes. She was frightened.

"Why have you come into the garden?" she cried. "I do not want a worker in the house or in the garden. Go away! Leave the garden!"

"I have been at the front," cried the man. "I have fought for the country, for you, and now I have no work, no bread, no clothes!"

"Leave the garden! Quick!" shouted the woman and closed the door. The man went out into the street again. Evening came. It became colder, and it rained and rained. He began to cough. After a time the man came to a bridge. He stopped there and looked at the river. Then he took his medal out of his pocket, looked at it and dropped it into the river.

 

 

8. О. HENRY

AT THE DOCTOR'S

Му doctor took me to see a consulting physician. I liked him im­mensely. "Have you a pain in the back of your head?" he asked.

I told him I had not.

"Shut your eyes," he ordered, "put your feet close together, and jump backward as fast as you can."

I always was a good jumper with my eyes shut, so I obeyed. My he­ad struck the edge of the bathroom door, which had been left open and was only three feet away. The doctor was sorry. He had overlooked the fact that the door was open. He closed it.

"Now touch your nose with your right forefinger, " he said.

"Where is it?" I asked. "On your face," said he.

"I mean my right forefinger," I explained.

"Oh, excuse me, " he said. He reopened the bathroom door, and I took my finger out of the crack of it. "Now, " he said, "gallop like a horse for about five minutes around the room. " I gave the best imita­tion I could of a disqualified horse. Then he listened to my chest again. The physician held up his forefinger within three inches to my nose. "Look at my finger, " he commanded.

He explaied that this was a test of the action of the brain. It seemed easy to me. I never once mistook his finger.

After asking me if I had a crazy grand-uncle or a cousin, the two doctors, the casual physician and the regular doctor, retired to the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bathtub for their consultation.

The doctors came out looking grave. They wrote out a diet list to which I was to be restricted. It had everything that I had ever heard of to eat on it except snails.

"You must follow this diet strictly, " said the doctors.

"I'd follow it a mile if I could get one-tenth of what's on it," I answered.

"Of next importance, " they went on, "is outdoor air and exercise. And here is a prescription that will be of great benefit to you. "

Then all of us took something. They took their hats, and I took my departure. I went to a druggist and showed him the prescription.

"It will be two dollars 87 cents for an ounce bottle, " he said.

"Will you give me a piece of your wrapping cord?" said I.

I made a hole in the prescription, ran the cord through it, tied it around my neck, and went out.

 

9. W. SAROYAN

 

OLD COUNTRY ADVICE TO THE AMERICAN TRAVELLER

 

One day my Uncle Melik traveled from Fresno to New York. Before he got aboard the train his Uncle Garro paid him a visit and told him about the dangers of travel.

"When you get on the train," the old man said, "choose your seat carefully, sit down and do not look about."

"Yes, sir," my uncle said.

"Several moments after the train begins to move," the old man sa­id, "two men wearing uniforms will come down the aisle and ask you for your ticket. Ignore them. They will be impostors[40]. On your way to the diner a very beautiful young woman will run into you on purpose and almost embrace you," the old man said. "She will be extremely apolo­getic and attractive, and your natural wish will be to become friends with her. Don't do this, go into the diner and eat. The woman will be an adventures. If she speaks, pretend to be deaf. That is the only way out of it. I have traveled. I know what I'm talking about. On your way back to your seat from the diner," the old man said, "you will pass through the smoker. There you will find a game of cards in progress. The players will be three middle-aged men with expensive lo­oking rings on their fingers. They will nod at you pleasantly and one of them will invite you to join the game. Tell them you don't speak English."

"Yes, sir," my uncle said.

"One thing more," the old man said. "When you go to bed at night, take your money out of your pocket and put it in your shoe. Put your shoe under the pillow, keep your head on the pillow all night, and don't sleep."

"Yes, sir," my uncle said.

The old man went away and the next day my Uncle Melik got aboard the train and went to New York. The two men in uniform were not impos­tors, the beautiful young woman did not sit at his table in the diner, and there was no card game in progress in the smoker. My uncle put his money in the shoe and put his shoe under the pillow and didn't sleep all night the first night, but the second night he abandoned the whole ritual.

The second day in the diner my uncle went to sit at a table with a young lady. He started a poker game in the smoker, and long before the train got to New York my uncle knew everybody aboard the train and everybody knew him. While the train was travelling through Ohio, my uncle and two young ladies sang American songs together.

The journey was a very pleasant one.

 

10. J.Webster.

Daddy – Long – Legs[41]

 

215 Fergussen Hall,

September 24th.

Dear Kind-Trustee-Who-Sends-Orphans- to-College,

Here I am! I travelled yesterday for four hours in a train. It's a funny sensation, isn't it? I never rode in one before.

College is the biggest, most bewildering place - I get lost whene­ver 1 leave my room. I will write you a description later when I'm fe­eling less confused; also I will tell you about my lessons. Classes don't begin untill Monday morning, and this is Saturday night. But I wanted to write a letter first just to get acquainted.

It seems strange for me to be writing letters to somebody you don't know. It seems strange to be writing letters at all - I've never writ­ten more than three or four in my life, so please excuse me if these are not a model kind.

Before leaving yesterday morning, Mrs. Lippett and I had a very se­rious talk. She told me how to behave all the rest of my life, and es­pecially how to behave toward the kind gentleman who is doing so much for me. I must take care to be Very Respectful.

But how can one be very respectful to a person who wishes to be called John Smith? Why couldn't you have picked out a name with a little personality?

I have been thinking about you a great deal this summer; having so­mebody take an interest in me after all these years, makes me feel as though I have found a sort of family. It seems as though I belonged to somebody now, and it's a very comfortable feeling. I must say, howe­ver, that when I think about you, my imagination has very little to work upon. There are just three things that I know:

I. You are tall.

II. You are rich.

III. You hate girls.

I suppose I might call you Dear Mr. Girl-Hater. Only that's sort of insulting to me. Or Dear Mr. Rich-Man, but that's insulting to you, as though money were the only important thing about you.

So I've decided to call you Dear Daddy-Long-Legs[42]. I hope you won't mind. It's just a private pet name - we won't tell Mrs. Lippett.

The ten o'clock bell is going to ring in two minutes. Our day is divided into sections by bells. We eat and sleep and study by bells. It's very enlivening; I feel like a fire-horse all of the time. There it goes! Lights out. Good night.

Observe with what precision I obey rules - due to my training in the John Grier Home[43].

Yours most respectfully,

Jerusha Abbott.

 

 

October 10th.

Dear Daddy-Long- Legs,

Did you ever hear of Michael Angelo?

He was a famous artist who lived in Italy in the Middle Ages. Eve­rybody in English Literature[44] seemed to know about him and the whole class laughed because I thought he was an archangel. He sounds like an archangel, doesn't he? The trouble with college is that you are expec­ted to know such a lot of things you've never learned. It's very con­fusing at times. But now, when the girls talk about things that I've never heard of, I just keep still and look them up in the encyclopedia.

I made an awful mistake the first day. Somebody mentioned Maurice Maeterlinck, and I asked if she was a Freshman[45]. That joke has gone all over college. But anyway, I'm just as bright in class as any of the others - and brighter than some of them!

Sallie is the most amusing person in the world - and Julia Rutledge Pendleton the least so. It's strange what a mixture the registrar can make in the matter of roommates. Sallie thinks everything is funny -even flunking - and Julia is bored at everything. She never makes the slightest effort to be pleasant. She believes that if you are a Pend­leton, that fact alone admits you to heaven without any further exami­nation. Julia and I were born to be enemies.

Jerusha Abbott.

 

11. Michel Bond. A Bear from Peru in England

 

PLEASE LOOK AFTER- THIS BEAR

Mr and Mrs Brown first met Paddington on a railway platform. In fact, that was how he came to have such an unusual name for a bear, for Paddington was the name of the station.

The Browns were there to meet their daughter Judy, who was coming home from school for the holidays. It was a warm summer day and the station was crowded with people on their way to the seaside. Trains were whistling, taxis hooting, porters rushing about shouting at one an­other, and altogether there was so much noise that Mr Brown, who saw him first, had to tell his wife several times before she understood.

"A bear? On Paddington station?" Mrs Brown looked at her husband in amazement. " Don't be silly, Henry. There can't be!"

Mr Brown adjusted his glasses. "But there is," he in­sisted. "I distinctly saw it. Over there - behind those mailbags. It was wearing a funny kind of hat."

Without waiting for a reply he caught hold of his wife's arm and pushed her through the crowd, round a trolley laden with chocolate and cups of tea, past a book­stall, and through a gap in a pile of suitcases towards the Lost Property Office.

"There you are," he announced, triumphantly, pointing towards a dark corner. "I told you so!"

Mrs Brown followed the direction of his arm and dimly made out a small, furry object in the shadows. It seemed to be sitting on some kind of suitcase and around its neck there was a label with some writing on it. The suitcase was old and battered and on the side, in large letters, were the words wanted on voyage[46].

Mrs Brown clutched at her husband. "Why, Henry," she exclaimed. "I believe you were right after all. It is a bear!"

She peered at it more closely. It seemed a very unusual kind of bear. It was brown in colour, a rather dirty brown, and it was wearing a most odd-looking hat, with a wide brim, just as Mr Brown had said. From beneath the brim two large, round eyes stared back at her.

Seeing that something was expected of it the bear stood up and politely raised its hat, revealing two black ears. "Good afternoon," it said, in a small, clear voice.

"Er ... good afternoon," replied Mr Brown, doubtfully. There was a moment of silence.

The bear looked at them inquiringly. "Can 1 help you?"

Mr Brown looked rather embarrassed. "Well ... no. Er ... as a matter of fact, we were wondering if we could help you."

Mrs Brown bent down. "You're a very small bear," she said.

The bear puffed out its chest. "I'm a very rare sort of bear," he replied, importantly. "There aren't many of us left where I come from."

"And where is that?" asked Mrs Brown.

The bear looked round carefully before replying. "Dark­est Peru. I'm not really supposed to be here at all. I'm a stowaway[47]!"

"A stowaway?" Mr Brown lowered his voice and looked anxiously over his shoulder. He almost expected to see a policeman standing behind him with a notebook and pencil, taking everything down.

"Yes," said the bear. "I emigrated, you know." A sad expression came into its eyes. "I used to live with my Aunt Lucy in Peru, but she had to go into a home for retired bears."

"You don't mean to say you've come all the way from South America by yourself?" exclaimed Mrs Brown.

The bear nodded. "Aunt Lucy always said she wanted me to emigrate when 'I was old enough. That's why she taught me to speak English."

"But whatever did you do for food?" asked Mr Brown. "You must be starving."

Bending down, the bear unlocked the suitcase with a small key, which it also had round its neck, and brought out an almost empty glass jar. "I ate marmalade," he said, rather proudly. "Bears like marmalade. And I lived in a lifeboat."

"But what are you going to do now?" said Mr Brown. "You can't just sit on Paddington station waiting for something to happen."

"Oh, I shall be all right ... I expect." The bear bent down to do up its case again. As he did so Mrs Brown caught a glimpse of the writing on the label. It said, simply, please look after this bear. thank you.

She turned appealingly to her husband. "Oh, Henry, what shall we do? We can't just leave him here. There's no knowing what might happen to him. London's such a big place when you've nowhere to go. Can't he come and stay with us for a few days?"

Mr Brown hesitated. "But Mary, dear, we can't take him ... not just like that. After all ..."

"After all, what Mrs Brown's voice had a firm note to it. She looked down at the bear. "He is rather sweet. And he'd be such company for Jonathan and Judy. Even if it's only for a little while. They'd never forgive you if they knew you'd left him here."

"It all seems highly irregular," said Mr Brown, doubt­fully. "I'm sure there's a law about it." He bent down. "Would you like to come and stay with us?" he asked. "That is," he added, hastily, not wishing to offend the bear, "if you've nothing else planned."

The bear jumped and his hat nearly fell off with excitement. "Oooh, yes, please. I should like that very much. I've nowhere to go and everyone seems in such a hurry."

"Well, that's settled then," said Mrs Brown, before her husband could change his mind. "And you can have mar­malade for breakfast every morning, and —" she tried hard to think of something else that bears might like.

"Every morning?" The bear looked as if it could hardly believe its ears. "I only had it on special occasions at home. Marmalade's very expensive in Darkest Peru."

"Then you shall have it every morning starting to­morrow," continued Mrs Brown. "And honey on Sunday."

A worried expression came over the bear's face. "Will it cost very much?" he asked. "You see, I haven't very much money."

"Of course not. We wouldn't dream of charging you anything. We shall expect you to be one of the family, shan't we, Henry?" Mrs Brown looked at her husband for support.

"Of course," said Mr Brown. "By the way," he added, "if you are coming home with us you'd better know our names. This is Mrs Brown and I'm Mr Brown."

The bear raised its hat politely — twice. "I haven't really got a name," he said. "Only a Peruvian one which no one can understand."

"Then we'd better give you an English one," said Mrs Brown. "It'll make things much easier." She looked round the station for inspiration. "It ought to be something spe­cial," she said thoughtfully. As she spoke an engine stand­ing in one of the platforms gave a loud whistle and let off a cloud of steam. "I know what!" she exclaimed. "We found you on Paddington station so we'll call you Paddington!"

"Paddington!" The bear repeated it several times to make sure. "It seems a very long name."

"Quite distinguished," said Mr Brown. "Yes, I like Paddington as a name. Paddington it shall be."

Mrs Brown stood up. "Good. Now, Paddington, I have to meet our little daughter, Judy, off the train. She's coming home from school. I'm sure you must be thirsty after your long journey, so you go along to the buffet with Mr Brown and he'll buy you a nice cup of tea."

Paddington licked his lips. "I'm very thirsty," he said. "Sea water makes you thirsty." He picked up his suitcase, pulled his hat down firmly over his head, and waved a paw politely in the direction of the buffet. "After you, Mr Brown."

"Er ... thank you, Paddington," said Mr Brown.

"Now, Henry, look after him," Mrs Brown called after them. "And for goodness' sake, when you get a moment, take that label off his neck. It makes him look like a par­cel. I'm sure he'll get put in a luggage van or something if a porter sees him."

The buffet was crowded when they entered but Mr Brown managed to find a table for two in a corner. By standing on a chair Paddington could just rest his paws comfortably on the glass top. He looked around with interest while Mr Brown went to fetch the tea. The sight of everyone eating reminded him of how hungry he felt. There was a half-eaten bun on the table but just as he reached out his paw a waitress came up and swept it into a pan.

"You don't want that, dearie," she said, giving him a friendly pat. "You don't know where it's been."

Paddington felt so empty he didn't really mind where it had been but he was much too polite to say anything.

"Well, Paddington," said Mr Brown, as he placed two steaming cups of tea on the table and a plate piled high with cakes. "How's that to be going on with?"

Paddington's eyes glistened. "It's very nice, thank you," he exclaimed, eyeing the tea doubtfully. "But it's rather hard drinking out of a cup. I usually get my head stuck, or else my hat falls in and makes it taste nasty."

Mr Brown hesitated. "Then you'd better give your hat to me. I'll pour the tea into a saucer for you. It's not really done in the best circles, but I'm sure no one will mind just this once."

Paddington removed his hat and laid it carefully on the table while Mr Brown poured out the tea. He looked hun­grily at the cakes, in particular at a large cream-and-jam one which Mr Brown placed on a plate in front of him.

"There you are, Paddington," he said, "I'm sorry they haven't any marmalade ones, but they were the best I could get."

"I'm glad I emigrated,” said Paddington, as he reached out a paw and pulled the plate nearer. ''Do you think anyone would mind if I stood on the table to eat?"

Before Mr Brown could answer he had climbed up and placed his right paw firmly on the bun. It was a very large bun, the biggest and stickiest Mr Brown had been able to find, and in a matter of moments most of the inside found its way on to Paddingston's whiskers. People started to nudge each other and began staring in their direction. Mr Brown wished he had chosen a plain, ordinary bun, but he wasn't very experienced in the ways of bears. He stirred his tea and looked out of the window, pretending he had tea with a bear on Paddington station every day of his life.

"Henry! "The sound of his wife's voice brought him back to earth with a start. "Henry, whatever are you doing to that poor bear? Look at him! He's covered all over with cream and jam."

Mr Brown jumped up in confusion. "He seemed rather hungry," he answered, lamely.

Mrs Brown turned to her daughter. "This is what happens when I leave your father alone for five min­utes."

Judy clapped her hands excitedly. "Oh, Daddy, is he really going to stay with us?"

"If he does," said Mrs Brown, "I can see someone other than your father will have to look after him. Just look at the mess he's in!"

Paddington, who all this time had been too interested in his bun to worry about what was going on, suddenly became aware that people were talking about him. He looked up to see that Mrs Brown had been joined by a little girl, with laughing blue eyes and long, fair hair. He jumped up, meaning to raise his hat, and in his haste slipped on a patch of strawberry jam which somehow or other had found its way on to the glass table-top. For a brief moment he had a dizzy impression of everything and everyone being upside down. He waved his paws wildly in the air and then, before anyone could catch him, he somersaulted backwards and landed with a splash in his saucer of tea. He jumped up even quicker than he had sat down, because the tea was still very hot, and promptly stepped into Mr Brown's cup.

Judy threw back her head and laughed until the tears rolled down her face. "Oh, Mummy, isn't he funny!" she cried.

Paddington, who didn't think it at all funny, stood for a moment with one foot on the table and the other in Mr Brown’s tea. There were large patches of white cream all over his face, and on his left ear there was a lump of strawberry jam.

“You wouldn't think," said Mrs Brown, "that anyone could get in such a state with just one bun."

Mr. Brown coughed. He had just caught the stern eye[48] of a watress on the other side of the counter. "Perhaps," he said, "we'd better go. I'll see if I can find a taxi." He picked up Judy's belongings and hurried outside.

Paddington stepped gingerly off the table and, with a last look at the sticky remains of his bun, climbed down on to the floor.

Judy took on of his paws. "Come along, Paddington. We’ll take you home and you can have a nice hot bath. Then you can tell me all about South America. I’m sure you must have had lots of wonderful adventures.

I have," said Paddington, earnestly. "Lots,' Things are always happening to me. I’m that sort of bear."

Then they came out of the buffet, Mr Brown, had already found a taxi and he waved them across. The driver looked hard at Paddington and then at the inside of his nice, clean taxi.

"Bears is sixpence extra," he said, gruffly. "Sticky bears is ninepence!"

"He can't help being sticky, driver," said Mr Brown. "He's just had a nasty accident."

The driver hesitated. "All right, op in[49]. But mind none of it comes off on me interior. I only cleaned it out this morning."

The Browns trooped obediently into the back of the taxi. Mr and Mrs Brown and Judy sat in the back, while Paddington stood on a tip-up seat behind the driver so that he could see out of the window.

The sun was shining as they drove out of the station and after the gloom and the noise everything seemed bright and cheerful. They swept past a group of people at a bus stop and Paddington waved. Several people stared and one man raised his hat in return. It was all very friendly. After weeks of sitting alone in a lifeboat there was so much to see. There were people and cars and big, red buses everywhere - it wasn't a bit like Darkest Peru.

Paddington kept one eye out of the window in case he missed anything. With his other eye he carefully exam­ined Mr and Mrs Brown and Judy. Mr Brown was fat and jolly, with a big moustache and glasses, while Mrs Brown, who was also rather plump, looked like a larger edition of Judy. Paddington had just decided he was going to like staying with the Browns when the glass window behind the driver shot back and a gruff voice said, "Where did you say you wanted to go?"

Mr Brown leaned forward. "Number thirty-two, Wind­sor Gardens."

The driver cupped his ear with one hand. "Can't ear[50] you," he shouted.

Paddington tapped him on the shoulder. "Number thirty-two, Windsor Gardens," he repeated.

The taxi driver jumped at the sound of Paddington's voice and narrowly missed hitting a bus. He looked down at his shoulder and glared. "Cream!" he said, bitterly. "All over me new coat!"

Judy giggled and Mr and Mrs Brown exchanged glances. Mr Brown peered at the meter. He half-expected to see a sign go up saying they had to pay another sixpence.

"I beg your pardon," said Paddington. He bent forward and tried to rub the stain off with his other paw. Several bun crumbs and a smear of jam added themselves mysteri­ously to the taxi driver's coat. The driver gave Paddington a long, hard look. Paddington raised his hat and the driver slammed the window shut again.

"Oh dear," said Mrs Brown.' "We really shall have to give him a bath as soon as we get indoors. It's getting everywhere."

Paddington looked thoughtful. It wasn't so much that he didn't like baths; he really didn't mind being covered with jam and cream. It seemed a pity to wash it all off quite so soon. But before he had time to consider the mat­ter the taxi stopped and the Browns began to climb out. Paddington picked up his suitcase and followed Judy up a flight of white steps to a big green door.

"Now you're going to meet Mrs Bird," said Judy. "She looks after us. She's a bit fierce sometimes and she grumbles a lot but she doesn't really mean it. I'm sure you'll like her."

Paddington felt his knees begin to tremble. He looked round for Mr and Mrs Brown, but they appeared to be having some sort of argument with the taxi driver. Behind the door he could hear footsteps approaching.

"I'm sure I shall like her, if you say so," he said, catch­ing sight of his reflection on the brightly polished letter- box. "But will she like me?"

 

12. James Thurber

 

UNIVERSITY DAYS

 

Another course that I didn't like, but somehow managed to pass was economics. I went to that class straight from the botany class, which didn't help me any in understanding either subject. I used to get them mixed up. But not as another student in my economics class who came there direct from a physics laboratory. He was a tackle[51] on the football team, named Brown. At that time Ohio State University had one of the best football teams in the country, and Brown was one of its outstanding stars. In order to have the right to play it was necessary for him to keep up in his studies, a very difficult matter, for while he was not dumber than an ox he was not any smarter. Most of his professors were lenient[52] and helped him along. None gave him more hints in answering questions, or asked him simpler ones than the economics professor, a thin, timid man named Bassum. One day we were on the subject of transportation and distribution, it came Brown's turn to answer a question. "Name one means of transportation," the professor said to him. No light came into the fellow's eyes. "Just any means of transportation," said the professor Brown sat staring at him. "That is," pursued the professor, "any medium, agency, or method of going from one place to another." Brown had the look of a man who is being led into a trap. "You may choose among steam, horse-drawn or electrically propelled vehicles," said the instructor. "I might suggest the one commonly taken in making long journeys across land." There was a profound silence in which everybody moved uneasily, including Brown and Mr. Bassum. Mr. Bassum suddenly broke the silence in an amazing manner. "Choo-choo-choo," he said, in a low voice, and turned instantly scarlet. He glanced appealingly around the room. All of us, of course, shared Mr. Bassum's desire that Brown should stay abreast of the class in economics, for the Illinois game, one of the hardest and most important of the season, was only a week off. "Toot, toot, too-tooooooooooooot!" some student with a deep voice moaned, and we all looked encouragingly at Brown. Somebody else gave a fine imitation of a locomotive letting off steam. Mr. Bassum himself rounded the little show. "Ding, ding, ding," he said, hopefully. Brown was staring at the floor now, trying to think, his great brow furrowed, his huge hands rubbing together, his face red. "How did you come to college this year, Mr. Brown?" asked the professor. "Chuffa chuffa, chuffa chuffa." "My father sent me," said the football player. "What on?" asked Bassum. "I got an allowance," said the football player, in a low, husky voice, obviously embarrassed. "No, no," said Bassum. "Name a means of transportation. What did you ride in?" "Train," said Brown. "Quite right," said the professor...

 

13. H. Munro