Ramona's World Page 9

  The other girls’ attention had been diverted from Susan. “Mrs. Quimby, tell us about what happened when Ramona was playing at Daisy’s house,” one of the girls requested.

  Fortunately, at that moment Roberta woke up, felt wet and neglected, and began to cry. Mrs. Quimby, having comforted Susan, went off to change and soothe Roberta.

  Daisy, eager that the question not be answered when Mrs. Quimby returned, said, “Let’s see who has the biggest calluses.” Hands were held out, calluses felt, and it was agreed that those who lived closest to the park were lucky. Ramona felt secure. By the end of summer she would have super calluses.

  Mrs. Quimby finished changing Roberta’s diaper and returned to the table with the smiling baby in her arms. Before anyone could ask again what had happened at her house, Daisy spoke up. “Let’s go play on the rings.”

  The girls, even Susan, scrambled from the table, remembered their manners, and chorused, “Thank you for the party,” before they ran off to the rings. Mrs. Quimby started to clear the table with her free hand, and even though she wasn’t sure a birthday girl should have to clean up after her own party, Ramona felt obliged to help. After all, she lived near the park and would have plenty of time to swing on the rings when school was out.

  “You know, Ramona,” said Mrs. Quimby, “Susan’s mother isn’t the only one who has read a book. The book I read said ten is the nicest age of growing up. It said ten-year-olds are pleasant and agreeable.”

  “That’s me,” said Ramona, suddenly at her pleasant and agreeable best.

  Mrs. Quimby dropped a kiss on Ramona’s hair before she changed the subject. “I wonder what we should do with the rest of this cake,” she said. “Whipped cream doesn’t keep very long.”

  Ramona saw Yard Ape and his merry band of two running across the grass. “Feed it to the boys,” she said to her mother, and called out, “Hey, Yard Ape! Want some birthday cake?”

  “Sure.” Danny picked up a tennis ball a beginning player had batted over the fence and threw it back. Then he and his friends came running.

  Ramona seized the knife and clumsily divided the leftover cake into three pieces. The boys picked up their cake with their fingers and sang, led by Yard Ape, “Happy birthday to you . . . happy birthday, dear Ramona. You belong in a zoo.”

  Ramona could ignore the part about the zoo because she was secretly pleased that Yard Ape had called her dear Ramona even if the words were part of a song everyone knew.

  The boys finished their cake, licked their germy fingers, and wiped them on the seats of their germy pants. “Thank you for the birthday cake,” said Yard Ape, who must have been taught manners, even if they did not show in school. “Happy tenth birthday.”

  “Zeroteenth,” corrected Ramona. “I’m a teenager now.”

  Yard Ape stopped. “I never thought of it that way.” He started off across the grass.

  “And I’m a potential grown-up!” Ramona called after him.

  “Me too!” Yard Ape shouted back.

  “Come on, Ramona,” one of the girls called out. “It’s your birthday.”

  “Run along,” said Mrs. Quimby as she returned Roberta to her car seat.

  “I’m coming,” Ramona answered. Her sticky fingers would help keep her hands from sliding off the rings. The sky was blue, little children still laughed and splashed in the wading pool, the rings clanged. She felt better about Susan. Yard Ape liked her. The day was perfect—well, not really, but close enough.

  EXCERPT FROM HENRY HUGGINS

  Visit

  RAMONA QUIMBY

  and all of her friends in

  The World of Beverly Cleary

  at www.beverlycleary.com

  And turn the page

  for a SNEAK PEEK at

  HENRY HUGGINS

  1

  HENRY AND RIBS

  Henry was in the third grade. His hair looked like a scrubbing brush and most of his grown-up front teeth were in. He lived with his mother and father in a square white house on Klickitat Street. Except for having his tonsils out when he was six and breaking his arm falling out of a cherry tree when he was seven, nothing much happened to Henry.

  I wish something exciting would happen, Henry often thought.

  But nothing very interesting ever happened to Henry, at least not until one Wednesday afternoon in March. Every Wednesday after school Henry rode downtown on the bus to go swimming at the Y.M.C.A. After he swam for an hour, he got on the bus again and rode home just in time for dinner. It was fun but not really exciting.

  When Henry left the Y.M.C.A. on this particular Wednesday, he stopped to watch a man tear down a circus poster. Then, with three nickels and one dime in his pocket, he went to the corner drugstore to buy a chocolate ice cream cone. He thought he would eat the ice cream cone, get on the bus, drop his dime in the slot, and ride home.

  That is not what happened.

  He bought the ice cream cone and paid for it with one of his nickels. On his way out of the drugstore he stopped to look at funny books. It was a free look, because he had only two nickels left.

  He stood there licking his chocolate ice cream cone and reading one of the funny books when he heard a thump, thump, thump. Henry turned, and there behind him was a dog. The dog was scratching himself. He wasn’t any special kind of dog. He was too small to be a big dog but, on the other hand, he was much too big to be a little dog. He wasn’t a white dog, because parts of him were brown and other parts were black and in between there were yellowish patches. His ears stood up and his tail was long and thin.

  The dog was hungry. When Henry licked, he licked. When Henry swallowed, he swallowed.

  “Hello, you old dog,” Henry said. “You can’t have my ice cream cone.”

  Swish, swish, swish went the tail. “Just one bite,” the dog’s brown eyes seemed to say.

  “Go away,” ordered Henry. He wasn’t very firm about it. He patted the dog’s head.

  The tail wagged harder. Henry took one last lick. “Oh, all right,” he said. “If you’re that hungry, you might as well have it.”

  The ice cream cone disappeared in one gulp.

  “Now go away,” Henry told the dog. “I have to catch a bus for home.”

  He started for the door. The dog started, too.

  “Go away, you skinny old dog.” Henry didn’t say it very loudly. “Go on home.”

  The dog sat down at Henry’s feet. Henry looked at the dog and the dog looked at Henry.

  “I don’t think you’ve got a home. You’re awful thin. Your ribs show right through your skin.”

  Thump, thump, thump replied the tail.

  “And you haven’t got a collar,” said Henry.

  He began to think. If only he could keep the dog! He had always wanted a dog of his very own and now he had found a dog that wanted him. He couldn’t go home and leave a hungry dog on the street corner. If only he knew what his mother and father would say! He fingered the two nickels in his pocket. That was it! He would use one of the nickels to phone his mother.

  “Come on, Ribsy. Come on, Ribs, old boy. I’m going to call you Ribsy because you’re so thin.”

  The dog trotted after the boy to the telephone booth in the corner of the drugstore. Henry shoved him into the booth and shut the door. He had never used a pay telephone before. He had to put the telephone book on the floor and stand on tiptoe on it to reach the mouthpiece. He gave the operator his number and dropped his nickel into the coin box.

  “Hello—Mom?”

  “Why, Henry!” His mother sounded surprised. “Where are you?”

  “At the drugstore near the Y.”

  Ribs began to scratch. Thump, thump, thump. Inside the telephone booth the thumps sounded loud and hollow.

  “For goodness’ sake, Henry, what’s that noise?” his mother demanded. Ribs began to whimper and then to howl. “Henry,” Mrs. Huggins shouted, “are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m all right,” Henry shouted back. He never could understand why hi
s mother always thought something had happened to him when nothing ever did. “That’s just Ribsy.”

  “Ribsy?” His mother was exasperated. “Henry, will you please tell me what is going on?”

  “I’m trying to,” said Henry. Ribsy howled louder. People were gathering around the phone booth to see what was going on. “Mother, I’ve found a dog. I sure wish I could keep him. He’s a good dog and I’d feed him and wash him and everything. Please, Mom.”

  “I don’t know, dear,” his mother said. “You’ll have to ask your father.”

  “Mom!” Henry wailed. “That’s what you always say!” Henry was tired of standing on tiptoe and the phone booth was getting warm. “Mom, please say yes and I’ll never ask for another thing as long as I live!”

  “Well, all right, Henry. I guess there isn’t any reason why you shouldn’t have a dog. But you’ll have to bring him home on the bus. Your father has the car today and I can’t come after you. Can you manage?”

  “Sure! Easy.”

  “And Henry, please don’t be late. It looks as if it might rain.”

  “All right, Mom.” Thump, thump, thump.

  “Henry, what’s that thumping noise?”

  “It’s my dog, Ribsy. He’s scratching a flea.”

  “Oh, Henry,” Mrs. Huggins moaned. “Couldn’t you have found a dog without fleas?”

  Henry thought that was a good time to hang up. “Come on, Ribs,” he said. “We’re going home on the bus.”

  When the big green bus stopped in front of the drugstore, Henry picked up his dog. Ribsy was heavier than he expected. He had a hard time getting him into the bus and was wondering how he would get a dime out of his pocket when the driver said, “Say, sonny, you can’t take that dog on the bus.”

  “Why not?” asked Henry.

  “It’s a company rule, sonny. No dogs on buses.”

  “Golly, Mister, how’m I going to get him home? I just have to get him home.”

  “Sorry, sonny. I didn’t make the rule. No animal can ride on a bus unless it’s inside a box.”

  “Well, thanks anyway,” said Henry doubtfully, and lifted Ribsy off the bus.

  “Well, I guess we’ll have to get a box. I’ll get you onto the next bus somehow,” promised Henry.

  He went back into the drugstore followed closely by Ribsy. “Have you got a big box I could have, please?” he asked the man at the toothpaste counter. “I need one big enough for my dog.”

  The clerk leaned over the counter to look at Ribsy. “A cardboard box?” he asked.

  “Yes, please,” said Henry, wishing the man would hurry. He didn’t want to be late getting home.

  The clerk pulled a box out from under the counter. “This hair tonic carton is the only one I have. I guess it’s big enough, but why anyone would want to put a dog in a cardboard box I can’t understand.”

  The box was about two feet square and six inches deep. On one end was printed, “Don’t Let Them Call You Baldy,” and on the other, “Try Our Large Economy Size.”

  Henry thanked the clerk, carried the box out to the bus stop, and put it on the sidewalk. Ribsy padded after him. “Get in, fellow,” Henry commanded. Ribsy understood. He stepped into the box and sat down just as the bus came around the corner. Henry had to kneel to pick up the box. It was not a very strong box and he had to put his arms under it. He staggered as he lifted it, feeling like the strong man who lifted weights at the circus. Ribsy lovingly licked his face with his wet pink tongue.

  “Hey, cut that out!” Henry ordered. “You better be good if you’re going to ride on the bus with me.”

  The bus stopped at the curb. When it was Henry’s turn to get on, he had trouble finding the step because he couldn’t see his feet. He had to try several times before he hit it. Then he discovered he had forgotten to take his dime out of his pocket. He was afraid to put the box down for fear Ribsy might escape.

  He turned sideways to the driver and asked politely, “Will you please take the dime out of my pocket for me? My hands are full.”

  The driver pushed his cap back on his head and exclaimed, “Full! I should say they are full! And just where do you think you’re going with that animal?”

  “Home,” said Henry in a small voice.

  The passengers were staring and most of them were smiling. The box was getting heavier every minute.

  “Not on this bus, you’re not!” said the driver.

  “But the man on the last bus said I could take the dog on the bus in a box,” protested Henry, who was afraid he couldn’t hold the dog much longer. “He said it was a company rule.”

  “He meant a big box tied shut. A box with holes punched in it for the dog to breathe through.”

  Henry was horrified to hear Ribsy growl. “Shut up,” he ordered.

  Ribsy began to scratch his left ear with his left hind foot. The box began to tear. Ribsy jumped out of the box and off the bus and Henry jumped after him. The bus pulled away with a puff of exhaust.

  “Now see what you’ve done! You’ve spoiled everything.” The dog hung his head and tucked his tail between his legs. “If I can’t get you home, how can I keep you?”

  Henry sat down on the curb to think. It was so late and the clouds were so dark that he didn’t want to waste time looking for a big box. His mother was probably beginning to worry about him.

  People were stopping on the corner to wait for the next bus. Among them Henry noticed an elderly lady carrying a large paper shopping bag full of apples. The shopping bag gave him an idea. Jumping up, he snapped his fingers at Ribs and ran back into the drugstore.

  “You back again?” asked the toothpaste clerk. “What do you want this time? String and paper to wrap your dog in?”

  “No, sir,” said Henry. “I want one of those big nickel shopping bags.” He laid his last nickel on the counter.

  “Well, I’ll be darned,” said the clerk, and handed the bag across the counter.

  Henry opened the bag and set it up on the floor. He picked up Ribsy and shoved him hind feet first into the bag. Then he pushed his front feet in. A lot of Ribsy was left over.

  The clerk was leaning over the counter watching. “I guess I’ll have to have some string and paper, too,” Henry said, “if I can have some free.”

  “Well! Now I’ve seen everything.” The clerk shook his head as he handed a piece of string and a big sheet of paper across the counter.

  Ribsy whimpered, but he held still while Henry wrapped the paper loosely around his head and shoulders and tied it with the string. The dog made a lumpy package, but by taking one handle of the bag in each hand Henry was able to carry it to the bus stop. He didn’t think the bus driver would notice him. It was getting dark and a crowd of people, most of them with packages, was waiting on the corner. A few spatters of rain hit the pavement.

  This time Henry remembered his dime. Both hands were full, so he held the dime in his teeth and stood behind the woman with the bag of apples. Ribsy wiggled and whined, even though Henry tried to pet him through the paper. When the bus stopped, he climbed on behind the lady, quickly set the bag down, dropped his dime in the slot, picked up the bag, and squirmed through the crowd to a seat beside a fat man near the back of the bus.

  “Whew!” Henry sighed with relief. The driver was the same one he had met on the first bus! But Ribs was on the bus at last. Now if he could only keep him quiet for fifteen minutes they would be home and Ribsy would be his for keeps.

  The next time the bus stopped Henry saw Scooter McCarthy, a fifth grader at school, get on and make his way through the crowd to the back of the bus.

  Just my luck, thought Henry. I’ll bet he wants to know what’s in my bag.

  “Hi,” said Scooter.

  “Hi,” said Henry.

  “Whatcha got in that bag?” asked Scooter.

  “None of your beeswax,” answered Henry.

  Scooter looked at Henry. Henry looked at Scooter. Crackle, crackle, crackle went the bag. Henry tried to hold it more tightly
between his knees.

  “There’s something alive in that bag!” Scooter said accusingly.

  “Shut up, Scooter!” whispered Henry.

  “Aw, shut up yourself!” said Scooter. “You’ve got something alive in that bag!”

  By this time the passengers at the back of the bus were staring at Henry and his package. Crackle, crackle, crackle. Henry tried to pat Ribsy again through the paper. The bag crackled even louder. Then it began to wiggle.

  “Come on, tell us what’s in the bag,” coaxed the fat man.

  “N-n-n-nothing,” stammered Henry. “Just something I found.”

  “Maybe it’s a rabbit,” suggested one passenger. “I think it’s kicking.”

  “No, it’s too big for a rabbit,” said another.

  “I’ll bet it’s a baby,” said Scooter. “I’ll bet you kidnapped a baby!”

  “I did not!”

  Ribs began to whimper and then to howl. Crackle, crackle, crackle. Thump, thump, thump. Ribsy scratched his way out of the bag.

  “Well, I’ll be doggoned!” exclaimed the fat man and began to laugh. “I’ll be doggoned!”

  “It’s just a skinny old dog,” said Scooter.

  “He is not! He’s a good dog.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALAN MCEWAN

  BEVERLY CLEARY is one of America’s most beloved authors. As a child, she struggled with reading and writing. But by third grade, after spending much time in her public library in Portland, she found her skills had greatly improved. Before long, her school librarian was saying that she should write children’s books when she grew up.

  Instead she became a librarian. When a young boy asked her, “Where are the books about kids like us?” she remembered her teacher’s encouragement and was inspired to write the books she’d longed to read but couldn’t find when she was younger. She based her funny stories on her own neighborhood experiences and the sort of children she knew. And so, the Klickitat Street gang was born!

  Mrs. Cleary’s books have earned her many prestigious awards, including the American Library Association’s Laura Ingalls Wilder Award, presented to her in recognition of her lasting contribution to children’s literature. RAMONA QUIMBY, AGE 8 and RAMONA AND HER FATHER have also been named Newbery Honor Books. Her characters, including Beezus and Ramona Quimby, Henry Huggins, and Ralph, the motorcycle-riding mouse, have delighted children for generations.