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onstage, or a magician who wanted to saw a member of the audience in two, and Paddingtonwas usually the first to offer his services—almost always with disastrous results.
    He didn’t even embarrass them by eating one of his marmalade sandwiches during the interval.
    “I’m saving it until later,” he announced rather mysteriously.
    The Browns heaved a sigh of relief. They still had vivid memories of the first time he had been taken to see a play. They had been occupying a box at the side the stalls, and Paddington had been so excited he accidentally dropped one of his sandwiches onto the head of a man sitting in a seat below them. At least they were safe from anything like that happening.
    It wasn’t until the show was nearing the end that Mr. Brown happened to glance along the row and realized Paddington was missing.
    “Where can he have got to?” asked Mrs. Brown anxiously. “We shall never hear the last of it if he misses the grand finale. It’s supposed to be something spectacular.”
    “Miss it, nothing!” exclaimed Jonathan, who had been sitting next to him. He pointed toward thestage as the curtain began to rise. “Look! He’s in it!”
    “Mercy me!” cried Mrs. Bird as she caught sight of a grand piano with a familiar figure seated at the keyboard. “Whatever is that bear up to now?”
    Sporadic applause greeted the surprise item, particularly as it was some while before anything actually happened. Having spent some time staring at an area above the keys with a hopeful expression on his face, almost as though he expected to see a door of some kind, Paddington climbed off the stool and went around to the side of the piano.
    Raising the lid as best he could, he peered inside.
    But if he was hoping to find what he was looking for, he was clearly disappointed. After several loud twangs as he felt around with his paw, he closed the lid and disappeared underneath the piano.
    Growing increasingly restive at the delay, certain sections of the audience began to boo, and there were one or two catcalls from rougher elements at the back of the hall.
    When Paddington finally emerged, he wasmopping his brow, and there was a hunted look on his face as he called out to someone at the side of the stage.
    “What did he say?” asked Mrs. Bird
    “Something about not being able to find a socket,” said Jonathan.
    “‘Chopsticks,’ Mr. Brown!” came a loud voice from somewhere nearby. “‘Chopsticks’!”
    “Hear! Hear!” shouted someone else, or it could have been the same person disguising his voice.
    Gradually the call was taken up by others until it seemed as though everyone was stamping their feet and shouting “Chopsticks” at the top of their voices.
    As Paddington obliged, someone—it might have been the person who called out in the first place—led the audience in clapping to the beat of the music—and toward the end, when Paddington produced a sandwich from under his hat and took a large nibble, cheers shook the rafters.
    The applause as Paddington stood to take his bow was deafening. So much so, he began looking anxiously at the ceiling.

    “Best turn I’ve seen in years,” remarked a neighbor of the Browns as they left the theater. “We shall be seeing that bear’s name in lights one of these days.”
    “If you want my advice,” said Mr. Gruber with a twinkle in his eye when he bumped into them farther along the road, “I should retire at your peak, Mr. Brown. Otherwise, you may find the going downhill from now on.”
    Paddington stared at his friend. It really was uncanny how things kept repeating themselves.
    “That’s exactly what my manager said!” he exclaimed. “But he did tell me he’s earmarked some of the money for the Home for Retired Bears in Lima. I must send Aunt Lucy a postcard and tell her to expect it.”
    Jonathan gave his sister a nudge. “I didn’t know he had a manager. I wonder if that’s who it was calling out for ‘Chopsticks’?”
    “He certainly