Paddington at Large

This is Miss Flint, my leading lady,” he explained, turning to Paddington. “She’s in bacon and eggs.”
“How nice,” said Paddington, raising his hat politely. “I should like to be in bacon and eggs myself.”

“You’ve won the jackpot!”
“What!” exclaimed Paddington hotly as he gave Ronnie Playfair one of his hardest ever stares. “I’ve won a jackpot? I thought you said it was five hundred pounds.”
“That is five hundred pounds,” said Ronnie Playfair hastily. “It’s the top prize of all. That’s why it’s called a JACKPOT.”

“He wasn’t on his marks,” cried the cameraman. “He kept following me. You can’t take proper close-ups if people don’t stay on their marks.”
Paddington peered at the floor. “My marks?” he repeated hotly. “But I had a bath before I came out.”
“He doesn’t mean dirt marks,” said Ronnie Playfair, pointing to a yellow chalk line. “He means that sort. You’re supposed to stay where I put you, otherwise the cameras can’t get their shots.”

“I come from Peru,” said Paddington. “But I live in Windsor Gardens.”
“Oh, well,” said Ronnie Playfair, recovering himself slightly, “we won’t ask you to peruve that, but I suppose we must expect the bear facts tonight.
“Peruve that,” he repeated, laughing at his own joke in a rather high voice. “Bear facts.” His voice died away as he caught Paddington’s eye. Paddington didn’t think much of Ronnie Playfair’s jokes, and he was giving him a particularly hard stare

I’d like to see Sid, please,” said Paddington, putting down his suitcase.
“Sid?” repeated the man, looking most surprised. “I don’t think we have any Sids here. We’ve several Alfs and a Bert, but I don’t recall any Sids offhand.”
“It says on the notice outside you’ve got one,” said Paddington firmly. “It’s written on the door.”
The man looked puzzled for a moment and then his face cleared. “You don’t mean Sid—you mean C.I.D.
“That’s quite a different matter,” he explained. “C.I.D. stands for Criminal Investigation Department.”

Paddington raised his hat. “I’d like to see Mr. Schubert, please,” he explained.
“Sherbet?” repeated the man. He cupped one hand to his ear. The band had reached a loud passage, and it was difficult to hear what Paddington was saying. “You’d better try over there,” he exclaimed, pointing to a small kiosk. “I believe they ’as some dabs.”
“Dabs?” exclaimed Paddington, looking most surprised.
“That’s right,” said the man. “But you’ll ’ave to look slippy,” he called as Paddington hurried across the grass with an anxious expression on his face. “Otherwise I shall have to charge you another five pence.”

“That’s called a selection from Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony,” explained Judy in a whisper as the music started up again.
“What!” exclaimed Paddington hotly as his worst suspicions were confirmed. “Mr. Gruber’s paid five pence each for our tickets and they haven’t even finished it!”

“Bear!” he roared. “What are you doing, bear? Resting on your laurels?”
Paddington jumped up in alarm at the sound of Mr. Curry’s voice. “Oh, no, Mr. Curry,” he exclaimed when he had recovered from the shock. “I was only sitting on my begonias.”