Henry and Ribsy Page 5

  Henry looked injured. “You’re some friend, thinking I’d do a mean thing like that.”

  “Well, maybe you didn’t,” said Scooter grudgingly, “but I bet you haven’t really thought of a way to pull your teeth.”

  “I have, too,” said Henry. Now how was he going to get out of this fix, he wondered, as he slowly tied one end of the string to his right tooth. Then he slowly tied the other end of the string to his left tooth while he tried to think of a way to stall for time. “How about letting me have a look at your hair?” he suggested, anxious to see if their haircuts were worse than his.

  “Come on! Let’s see you pull your teeth,” said Scooter.

  “I need some more string,” explained Henry. “I can’t pull them until somebody gives me some more string.”

  Robert and Scooter searched their pockets. “I don’t have any,” said Robert.

  “Me neither,” said Scooter. “You’re just stalling.”

  “I’m not either stalling.” Should he suggest they go around to the backyard, Henry wondered. Maybe he could climb the cherry tree and hang the string that joined his two teeth over a branch and jump out of the tree. It was not much of an idea, but it would have to do.

  Henry started to call Ribsy, who was napping with his nose on his paws, when suddenly he had an inspiration. Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of it before! All he needed was a little cooperation from Ribsy, and this time he had a feeling that for once Ribsy would do the right thing at the right time.

  Henry picked up Ribsy’s tug-of-war rope. He tied one end to the middle of the string that joined his two teeth and tossed the other end onto the grass. “Here, Ribsy,” he called. Ribsy opened one eye and looked at Henry. Then he opened the other eye and bounded across the lawn. “Wuf!” he said.

  Henry braced himself in case it hurt to have his teeth pulled. Ribsy grabbed the end of the rope, growled deep in his throat, and tugged. Henry’s teeth flew out of his mouth so fast he didn’t even feel them go.

  Henry put his hand to his mouth and stared at his teeth lying on the grass. They had come out so easily he could scarcely believe they were gone. He poked his tongue into the right hole in his mouth and then into the left hole. They were gone, all right. “How’s that for a way to pull teeth?” he asked. “They were canine teeth, so I thought I’d let my dog pull them out.”

  “Say, that was a smart idea,” exclaimed Robert. “I never heard of anyone having a dog pull his teeth before. Maybe I can get him to pull the next one I have loose.”

  “Good old Ribsy,” said Henry, and hugged him. Maybe Ribsy did get into a little trouble once in a while, but he was pretty useful for getting out of a tight spot. Ribsy wriggled with delight and licked Henry’s face with his long pink tongue.

  “A tooth-pulling dog. That’s pretty good.” Scooter sounded impressed. “Take you long to train the old garbage hound?”

  “Not very long, and he’s not a garbage hound.” Henry untied his teeth and put them in the watch pocket of his jeans for safekeeping till he put them under his pillow that night. “He’s a smart dog, aren’t you, Ribsy?”

  “Wuf,” answered Ribsy, and worried the rope.

  Henry looked at Scooter’s and Robert’s sailor hats. “Well, how about letting me see your haircuts?” he asked, pulling off his own hat.

  “Nope.” Scooter took hold of his hat and tried to yank it farther down over his ears.

  “Aw, come on, Scoot,” coaxed Henry. “I pulled my teeth like I said I would.”

  Robert snatched off his own hat, and he and Henry studied each other’s haircuts. “Yours is better in front but mine is better in back,” Robert decided. “At least it feels better.”

  Henry examined Robert’s hair. It looked pretty bad, a little worse than his own he decided, especially where it was gouged out over the left ear. “I suppose hair really does grow pretty fast,” said Henry.

  “Anyway, we’re better off than Scooter,” observed Robert. “He’s bald on one side. It’ll take months to grow out.”

  “No kidding?” said Henry. “Really bald?” Then he and Robert began to laugh.

  Scooter looked even gloomier. “It’s all right for you guys to laugh. You’re in the same room at school and you can stick together, but I’ll be the only one in my room who doesn’t have a boughten haircut.”

  “Gee, that’s tough,” said Robert, but he didn’t sound very sorry.

  “It sure is,” agreed Henry cheerfully. What did he care about his haircut? As Scooter said, he and Robert could stick together.

  Then Henry had an idea. “Hey, fellows, look!” he said. He turned on the garden hose, filled his mouth with water and blew as hard as he could. Two streams of water shot through the gaps in his teeth. “I bet you wish you could spit double,” he said. Boy, oh, boy! He still had something to show the kids at school. Something besides his haircut.

  5

  Ramona and The P.T.A.

  Henry Huggins and Scooter McCarthy were riding home on their bicycles one day after school early in September. Ribsy, who always waited for Henry under the fir tree in the schoolyard, was riding in the box Henry had tied to the back fender of his bicycle.

  “You going salmon fishing this weekend?” asked Scooter, steering his bicycle through a pile of autumn leaves in the gutter.

  “I don’t know. Dad hasn’t said anything about it,” answered Henry.

  “My dad took me down on the Umptucca River last Saturday,” said Scooter.

  “Catch anything?” asked Henry, trying to keep his excitement out of his voice. If salmon were biting on the Umptucca, maybe his father would go fishing next Saturday.

  “Well, I didn’t exactly catch anything,” said Scooter.

  “How do you mean, not exactly?” Henry asked.

  “I thought I had a bite once, but I didn’t exactly land the fish,” said Scooter. “But I bet I get one the next time.”

  The two boys pedaled along Klickitat Street. Henry was hoping his father would go fishing on Saturday. He would almost surely get to go, because he had kept Ribsy out of trouble—at least the kind of trouble the neighbors might complain about. Of course there had been a couple of close calls, but Henry had lived up to his side of the bargain and now he had nothing to worry about.

  “So long,” called Scooter, when the boys came to the Hugginses’ house.

  “So long.” Henry rode up the driveway and parked his bicycle in the garage. The back door was locked, so he found the key under the door mat and let himself in. Beside the refrigerator he found a note from his mother that said, “Have gone to P.T.A. meeting. Don’t eat all the wienies. Mother.”

  Henry took two wienies, which he shared with Ribsy. While Henry was eating his wienie and thinking about catching a salmon, the doorbell rang.

  When Henry went to the door, he found Beezus and her little sister Ramona standing on the front porch licking ice cream cones. Ramona, who carried a square blue lunch box in one hand, was having trouble managing her cone with the other. Her chin and the bib of her overalls were smeared with chocolate ice cream.

  “Hello, Henry,” said Beezus. “Can you come over to my house and play checkers?”

  “Sure, that’s a keen idea,” answered Henry. “I bet I can beat you.” Checkers was one of his favorite games and Beezus was a good player. She didn’t take all day to make a move the way some girls did.

  Ribsy looked hungrily at the ice cream cones. He knew Henry always saved the last bite of a cone for him. Maybe the girls would give him a bite, too. Ribsy swallowed and wagged his tail.

  “Go away,” Henry said to him. “You can’t have any of their ice cream.” Ribsy made a whimpering noise.

  “What’s Ramona carrying a lunch box for?” Henry asked. “She doesn’t go to school.”

  “It’s not a lunch box,” said Ramona, as a little river of ice cream dribbled off her chin.

  “It is too a lunch box,” said Henry.

  Beezus ran her tongue all the way around her ice-cream co
ne. “Ramona’s pretending it’s a camera,” she explained.

  “How can she pretend a lunch box is a camera?” Henry wanted to know. A lunch box for a camera! What a dumb idea!

  “Oh, she has lots of imagination,” said Beezus. “Daddy says she has too much.”

  “I’m going to take your picture,” announced Ramona. She held one end of the lunch box against her stomach. The other end she pointed at Henry.

  “Ramona, look out for your ice cream cone,” Beezus warned. “You’re tipping it.”

  That was just what Ribsy was waiting for. With one sweep of his long pink tongue he knocked Ramona’s ice cream cone to the porch. In three greedy licks the ice cream was gone. Then the cone crunched between his teeth.

  Ramona let out a scream of rage.

  “Look what you’ve done, you old dog,” said Henry crossly. He looked around to see if any of the neighbors were watching. He didn’t want people to say he had a dog that stole ice cream from little children.

  Ribsy gave the porch a couple of licks to make sure he had not missed any ice cream. Ramona stopped screaming and started to hit Ribsy with the lunch box.

  Beezus grabbed her little sister with one hand and held her own cone out of Ribsy’s reach with the other. “I told you to be careful,” she scolded.

  “I want my ice cream cone,” howled Ramona.

  “Well, it’s gone now,” said Beezus.

  Looking guilty, Ribsy slunk down the steps. He turned his back to Henry and the girls and began to gnaw an old bone in the corner of the yard.

  “I want my ice cream cone,” shrieked Ramona.

  “Well, you can’t have mine. I licked it all the way around.” Beezus bit off the top of her cone and sucked out the melting ice cream. “Anyway, you were getting most of yours on your chin.”

  “I was not!” howled Ramona.

  “Aw, I’ll buy her another one,” said Henry. Anything to quiet Ramona so he and Beezus could get started on their checker game. Besides, since his dog had taken the cone, he guessed he really owed her another one.

  “Now?” With her grubby fist Ramona scrubbed at the tears that had rolled down into the ice cream on her chin.

  “Oh, all right.” Henry decided he might as well get it over with. “Wait a sec.” He went into the house, where he took a dime out of a marble sack in his dresser drawer.

  When Henry returned to the porch, he saw Ramona walking across the lawn with her lunch box in her hand. She stopped, opened the box, and laid it on the grass. Then she ran over to Ribsy, grabbed the bone from between his paws, and put it in the lunch box. “There!” she said, as she snapped the lunch box shut.

  Ribsy looked surprised. “Wuf!” he said.

  “Hey,” said Henry, “you can’t do that.”

  “Ramona, you give Ribsy his bone this minute,” ordered Beezus.

  “No,” said Ramona.

  Ribsy sniffed at the lunch box. Then he looked hopefully at Ramona and wagged his tail.

  “That’s a camera,” Henry reminded Ramona. “You can’t put a bone in a camera.”

  “Now it’s a lunch box,” said Ramona.

  “Ramona, give Ribsy his bone,” coaxed Beezus. “Whoever heard of carrying a dirty old bone in a lunch box?”

  “I have a samwidge in my lunch box.” Ramona was firm. “I’m going to eat it.”

  “Oh, dear, now she’s pretending his bone is a sandwich,” said Beezus apologetically. “I don’t suppose there’s anything we can do about it. Maybe Mother has a bone Ribsy could have.”

  Henry had trouble keeping up with Ramona’s thinking. At least she was quiet and that was something. “Ribsy’s got lots of old bones buried around. He can dig up another one. Come on, let’s go to the store and get her the ice cream cone and get it over with. I want to play checkers.”

  Ribsy, however, did not want another bone. He wanted the one Ramona had snatched. Sniffing at the lunch box, he trotted at Ramona’s heels all the way to Glenwood School, which was across the street from the store where Henry and Beezus planned to buy the ice cream cone.

  “I guess all these cars are parked here because of the P.T.A. meeting,” Henry remarked, as they took a short cut across the playground. “Did your mother go?”

  “No, not this time.” Beezus took a Kleenex out of her pocket and tried to scrub some of the chocolate ice cream off Ramona’s chin. “Mother said she was too tired after watching Ramona all day.”

  “I want some,” announced Ramona.

  “Some what?” asked Beezus.

  “Some P.T.A.,” said Ramona firmly.

  “You can’t have any P.T.A.” Henry didn’t see how one little girl could have so many dumb ideas. “It’s the Parent-Teacher Association—just a bunch of ladies talking. Come on, we’ll get you the ice cream cone.”

  Ramona stopped by the jungle gym on the playground. “I want some P.T.A.!” she shrieked.

  “But, Ramona,” protested Beezus, “how can you have any P.T.A.? Like Henry said, it’s just a bunch of ladies talking in the school auditorium and the seventh grade singing some songs for them.”

  “It is not,” sobbed Ramona. “I want some now.”

  “What’s she talking about anyway?” Henry was disgusted. All he wanted was a game of checkers and now it looked as if he had to stand around all afternoon arguing with a little kid about the P.T.A.

  “I don’t know what she means.” Beezus sounded worried. “Come on, Ramona.”

  Still clutching the lunch box, Ramona threw her arms around one of the pipes on the jungle gym and screamed. Ribsy put his paw on the lunch box. Ramona snatched it from him. “Go away,” she cried. “I want some P.T.A.”

  Ribsy gave a short bark.

  “I like P.T.A.,” sobbed Ramona and with her lunch box in one hand she began to climb the jungle gym to get out of Ribsy’s reach.

  “You’ve got to find out,” Henry told Beezus. “If you don’t, she’ll just sit there and yowl.”

  “I know it.” Beezus sounded tired. “What do you want to do with the P.T.A., Ramona?”

  “Eat it,” shrieked Ramona, as she climbed higher on the jungle gym.

  “Aw, how can you eat P.T.A.? I told you P.T.A. was just a bunch of ladies talking.” Henry kicked at a pebble in his disgust.

  “Wait a minute! Now I know what she means,” exclaimed Beezus. “She thinks we’re spelling something in front of her.”

  “How do you mean?” asked Henry.

  “Well, at home when we talk about something to eat that she’s not supposed to have, we spell it.” Here Beezus lowered her voice to a whisper. “Like C-o-k-e and c-a-n-d-y. She thinks we’re spelling something we don’t want her to have. That’s why she wants it.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake. Leave it to Ramona.” Henry could see he was not going to get to play checkers that day. “Well, now what are we going to do?”

  Beezus kept her voice to a whisper. “Let’s go across the street to the store and get her some cookies or something and tell her it’s P.T.A.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Henry thought that for a girl Beezus was pretty sensible.

  Ribsy started to follow Henry and Beezus to the store. Then he looked back at Ramona, sobbing on top of the jungle gym with the lunch box still in her hand, and decided to stay near his bone. Henry did not call Ribsy, because he knew dogs were not allowed in food stores.

  Henry and Beezus looked around the store for something that cost a dime that they could tell Ramona was P.T.A. This was not easy to do, because Ramona was familiar with cookies, popsicles, and peanuts. They finally decided on a small bag of potato chips, because Beezus was sure Ramona did not know potato chips by name and because they wouldn’t drip.

  When Henry and Beezus started back to the school grounds, they saw that Ribsy had his paws on the first rung of the jungle gym. “Wuf!” he said, and looked hungrily at the lunch box.

  Henry also noticed two women looking at Ribsy and Ramona. One of the women was Mrs. Wisser, a friend of his mother’s. Sh
e pointed to Ribsy and then to Ramona.

  Now what, thought Henry, hurrying across the street. He hoped Ribsy wasn’t in trouble. Not just before the fishing trip.

  Mrs. Wisser was saying, “Look at the poor little thing. She’s frightened out of her wits.”

  “I think it’s simply outrageous the way dogs are allowed to run loose in the schoolyard,” said the other woman. “I wonder if we dare try to pull him away so she can climb down.”

  “I’d be afraid to go near him,” said Mrs. Wisser. “I know the dog. He belongs to the Huggins boy and I understand he’s dangerous. He bit the garbageman a week or so ago.”

  The Huggins boy looked at Beezus and sighed. All he wanted was to play checkers, just one little old game of checkers, and now look what had happened. How was he ever going to explain to Mrs. Wisser? And now that Mrs. Wisser thought Ribsy had chased Ramona up on the jungle gym, she would tell everybody what a dangerous dog he was. And that meant more trouble. It probably meant his father wouldn’t take him fishing.

  “Come on, Beezus,” said Henry. “Let’s try to tell her.”

  “Oh, there you are, Henry Huggins,” said Mrs. Wisser. “Does your mother know your dog is loose on the school grounds?”

  “No, Mrs. Wisser,” said Henry. “She’s—”

  “I thought she didn’t,” interrupted Mrs. Wisser.

  “My little sister isn’t afraid of the dog,” said Beezus quickly.

  Ramona, who had stopped crying to listen, let out a howl. Mrs. Wisser and the other woman looked at each other and nodded.

  “Wuf!” said Ribsy again.

  “Henry, you hold your dog and I’ll try to get her down,” said Mrs. Wisser.

  Henry took hold of Ribsy’s collar. He wondered if Mrs. Wisser would climb the jungle gym. He hoped so. “But she’s got—” he started to say.

  “Don’t be frightened, dear,” Mrs. Wisser called to Ramona. “We won’t let the doggy hurt you.”

  “Come on down, sweetheart,” coaxed the other woman.

  Just then the seventh grade burst out of the school building. Several boys began to play a noisy game of catch. Ribsy barked excitedly.