Henry and Beezus (4 page)

“That is an excellent reason,” said Miss Mullen. “Chewing gum wastes valuable time. Who else can give me a reason?”

One of the girls timidly raised her hand and said, “Sometimes it gets stuck on the floor and things.”

“Splendid,” said Miss Mullen. “I was hoping someone would mention that, because our janitor tells me he has spent most of his time in the last few days scraping gum off the floors and desks.”

The class began to feel less shy and was suddenly full of reasons why gum should not be chewed in school.

Then Mary Jane raised her hand and said, “Miss Mullen, I know where the gum is coming from.”

Leave it to old tattletale Mary Jane, thought Henry. And after I showed her how to blow bubbles, too.

Miss Mullen said, “That isn't important, Mary Jane. What is most important is that so many boys and girls have been chewing gum in school.”

What a relief! At least, Miss Mullen wasn't going to point him out in front of everyone.

Miss Mullen smiled at the class. “Now that we have talked about our problem, I wonder how many boys and girls have decided not to chew gum in school anymore.”

Thirty-five hands shot into the air. “Splendid,” exclaimed the principal. “I knew I could count on Miss Bonner's room to cooperate.”

When Miss Mullen left, Roger whispered across the aisle to Henry, “Now see what you've done.”

“Aw, keep quiet,” answered Henry out of the corner of his mouth, as he bent over his reader. He knew one thing. Even though the class forgot its promise in a few days, he wouldn't be able to sell any gum around Glenwood for a long time.

After school he wasted no time in finding Mary Jane. “Tattletale!” he yelled.

“Pooh to you,” answered Mary Jane, with her nose in the air. “Everybody's tired of your old gum anyway. It's all that funny cinnamon-peppermint flavor.”

“Come on, Ribsy,” said Henry to his dog, who had been waiting under the fir tree. He popped a ball of gum into his mouth, chewed, and blew a halfhearted bubble that broke with a little
spip
. He spat out the gum. Somehow, he didn't enjoy cinnamon-peppermint flavor anymore.

When Henry reached home, he threw his jacket and Daniel Boone cap onto a chair and went straight to the refrigerator. “Hi, Mom!” he said to Mrs. Huggins, who was frosting a chocolate cake. “That sure looks good.”

“You may lick the bowl when I'm finished.” Mrs. Huggins swirled the icing in a pattern on the cake. “And by the way, I want to talk to you.”

With a swipe of his finger, Henry wiped a drop of frosting from the edge of the bowl. It was peppermint-flavored.

“Henry, your hands aren't very clean,” said his mother. “It's about those boxes of gum you have under your bed. How do you expect me to run the vacuum cleaner in your room? Why don't you give the gum to your friends? I'm sure they'd be glad to have it.”

Henry sighed. That was all his mother knew about his friends. Suddenly he found it made his jaws tired just to think about all those boxes and boxes of gum. He didn't want to think about it. Gum—ugh!

“OK, Mom,” he agreed. “I'll get rid of it. And don't bother saving the bowl for me to lick.”

Henry and Ribsy went out onto the front porch. As Henry was wondering how he would get rid of the gum, Scooter rode by and called out, “Miss Mullen was sure on the warpath because of your old gum. She went to every room in the school. I bet you caught it.”

“I did not,” said Henry. “And anyway, what do I care?” That's right, he thought, what do I care?

He had saved over a dollar for his bike fund, even if he couldn't expect to collect from the rest of the people who owed him money. Not only had he earned some bike money, he had been famous for a few days, too. And for once in his life he had chewed all the gum he wanted. So had his friends. More than they wanted.

It did not take Henry long to make up his mind. “Come on, Ribsy,” he said, and ran down the street to Beezus's house.

When Beezus and her little sister came to the door, Henry stared at Ramona. “Jeepers!” he exclaimed. “What happened to her?” Almost all the hair was cut off the left side of her head. The right side was jagged.

“Doesn't she look awful?” asked Beezus. “After Mother cut the gum out of her hair, she got hold of the scissors and cut it herself. She says she wants to be bald like our Uncle Jack.”

Henry groaned. Now probably everyone would say this was his fault. It certainly was funny the way he kept getting into trouble just because of a bunch of old gum. He would be glad when he saw the last of it. “Say, Beezus,” he said, “could I borrow your red wagon again? I'm going to take that gum back to the lot and dump it where I found it.”

“Sure, you can borrow it,” answered Beezus. “Come on. I'll help.”

O
ne Saturday afternoon Henry was sitting on the front steps amusing Ribsy by throwing a stick for him to retrieve. Every time Henry tossed the stick out onto the lawn, Ribsy bounded after it, brought it back, and dropped it at Henry's feet. Then Ribsy wagged his tail and waited for Henry to throw the stick again. Henry decided that since his dog was so smart about fetching sticks, he would teach him to bring his father's slippers or something useful.

While Henry and Ribsy were playing, Scooter McCarthy rode up on his bicycle and tossed the Huggins' copy of the
Journal
onto the grass. “Say, Huggins,” he said, “I'm going to Scout Camp during Easter vacation next week and I wondered if you knew anybody I could get to take my paper route while I'm gone.”

Henry tossed the stick for Ribsy again. “I'll take it, Scooter. I've always wanted to deliver papers.”

Scooter looked doubtful. “Aw, you're not old enough.”

Henry knew that
Journal
carriers had to be eleven years old, but he said, “It wouldn't matter for three days, would it? It would still be your route and I'd just be a substitute. Aw, come on, Scoot. Let me do it.”

“You don't have a bike,” said Scooter, “and I could only pay a dollar.”

“I could walk,” said Henry. “And it's all right about the dollar, too.” He wouldn't admit it to Scooter, but he thought a dollar would be a lot of money to add to his bike fund all at once. “Please, Scooter. I won't make any mistakes or anything.”

“I've got some pretty cross customers on my route,” warned Scooter. “That old Mrs. Jones phones the
Journal
office if just one teeny corner of her paper gets in the mud, and Mrs. Green gets mad if I throw the paper in her flower boxes. You've got to be careful when you deliver papers.”

“I could do it,” said Henry. “I'd be real careful. Honest, I would.”

“We-l-ll.” Scooter thought a minute. “All right. You can take the route, but you better not get me in trouble. I'll give you a list of customers next week.”

“Gee, thanks, Scooter,” said Henry gratefully.

Jeepers, another dollar for his bike fund! Henry made up his mind he'd do such a good job delivering papers that Scooter would want him to take the route when he went away during summer vacation. Then he would really make some money for the fund. He could see himself walking down Klickitat Street throwing papers onto porches with an experienced flip of his wrist. Still better, he pictured himself riding down the street on a shiny red bike with his snap-on raccoon tail floating from the handle bars. Boy, oh boy, he was getting closer to that bike all the time.

Then he noticed the tightly rolled
Journal
lying on the lawn. That gave him an idea. Instead of training Ribsy to fetch his father's slippers, he would teach him to bring in the paper every night. “Fetch, Ribsy,” he said. “Fetch the paper.”

Ribsy sat thumping his tail on the lawn.

“Aw, come on.” Henry picked up the paper and held it under Ribsy's nose. Then he threw it. Still Ribsy sat. He was used to fetching sticks, not newspapers. He turned and chewed at a flea on his back.

“Come on, you old dog.” Henry showed Ribsy the paper again. Ribsy glanced at it and settled himself with his nose on his paws. Henry threw the paper half a dozen times, but Ribsy paid no attention. Thinking how silly he must look, throwing a paper and fetching it himself while his dog watched, Henry held the
Journal
behind his back. With his other hand he picked up the stick. “Ribsy, look,” he ordered.

At the sight of the stick Ribsy sprang to his feet. “Wuf,” he said, wagging his tail expectantly.

Henry pretended he was going to throw the stick. Instead, he tossed the paper. Before he knew the difference, Ribsy bounded after it and caught it in his mouth.

When the dog dropped the paper at his feet, Henry patted him. “Good dog, Ribsy,” he said. “Good old Ribsy.”

Ribsy wriggled, and wagged his tail with delight. The next time Henry threw the paper, he sprang to fetch it. “Good dog,” Henry said approvingly. “I guess you're just about the smartest dog around here.”

The next day was Sunday. Henry, who always woke up earlier than his mother and father, decided to read the funnies in the
Journal
, which was delivered early on Sunday morning. He tiptoed out to the porch, expecting to pick up the paper as he always did. Instead, he stood staring in horror at what he saw. There was not just one
Journal
on the door mat. There was a whole pile of them. Ribsy sat beside the papers, wagging his tail and looking pleased with himself.

Henry groaned. “Did you pick up all these and bring them here?” he asked Ribsy in a whisper.

Thump, thump, thump. Ribsy wagged his tail. Then he stood up and wagged his whole body.

“You old dog,” muttered Henry crossly, as he counted the papers. There were seventeen
Journals
on his door mat. Fortunately, the
Oregonian
carrier was late this morning. What if Ribsy had collected two kinds of newspapers and piled them on the door mat?

Seventeen
Journals
! Henry wondered how he could ever face Scooter. And now he wouldn't get to earn the dollar. He wouldn't get to deliver papers when Scooter went to camp during summer vacation. But worst of all was the way Scooter would behave after this. He would never, never forget that Henry's dog had got him in trouble with his
Journal
customers.

Henry scowled at Ribsy, who looked puzzled because he hadn't been praised for retrieving all those papers. Henry knew he had to think of something, and fast, too. Then he remembered that Klickitat Street was the beginning of Scooter's route, and because it was so early, Scooter was probably still delivering papers.

“Come on, Ribsy,” he ordered, hurrying into his room. There he pulled on jeans and a sweater over his pajamas and shoved his feet into sneakers. He shut Ribsy in the room, grabbed the papers on the porch, except for one copy which he tossed into the living room, and ran down the street as fast as he could to Scooter's house.

No one on Klickitat Street was up at that hour, and Henry was relieved to see the blinds still down on Scooter's house. He tiptoed up the front steps and, after looking uneasily up and down the street and listening for sounds from within the house, laid the sixteen
Journals
on the door mat. Then he ran home as fast as he could.

After entering as quietly as he could, Henry threw himself on his bed with a gasp of relief. No one had seen him! Scooter would never know how the sixteen papers found their way back to his door mat. The dollar for the bike fund was safe.

Henry felt unusually cheerful after his narrow escape and was enjoying a second helping of hot cakes when the doorbell rang. Mr. Huggins answered it, and Henry heard Scooter say, “Here's your paper, Mr. Huggins. I'm sorry it was late.”

Holding his breath, Henry looked at the breakfast table, strewn with the Sunday
Journal
.

Mr. Huggins said, “There must be some mistake, Scooter. We have our paper.”

“You have?” Scooter sounded surprised. “You're the only people on Klickitat Street that have one.”

“Henry, where did you find the paper this morning?” asked Mr. Huggins.

“On the doormat.” Well, he
had
found it on the doormat. His father didn't ask what else he had found, did he?

“It sure is funny,” repeated Scooter. “I know I delivered all the papers, but…well, thanks anyway, Mr. Huggins. It sure is funny.”

Jeepers, thought Henry. Now he had done it. Why hadn't he thought of putting his own paper on Scooter's doormat along with the others? Now Scooter would get suspicious and might figure out what had happened.

Mr. Huggins folded back the sport section. “Isn't it funny that Scooter's papers should disappear from Klickitat Street?” he remarked to no one in particular. “When I used to deliver papers when I was a kid, I had a lot of trouble with dogs stealing them.”

Henry looked sharply at his father, but Mr. Huggins appeared to be interested in the paper. “What did you do about it?” asked Henry, as if he were just making polite conversation.

“Sprinkled red pepper on the papers for a while until the dogs learned to leave them alone,” answered Mr. Huggins, pouring himself another cup of coffee.

After breakfast Henry waited until his mother had finished the dishes. Then he quietly found the can of red pepper and an old newspaper and called Ribsy out into the backyard, where he was sure Scooter couldn't see him.

He rolled the paper, sprinkled it with red pepper, and threw it out on the grass. Ribsy ran over to it, stopped, and sniffed. He walked all the way around the paper, sniffing. Then he rolled it over with his paw before he picked it up carefully by one end and dropped it at Henry's feet. He wagged his tail and looked pleased with himself.

“You old dog,” said Henry crossly.

Ribsy jumped up on Henry and looked so eager that Henry couldn't help petting him. “What am I going to do with you, anyway?” he asked. Then he sprinkled pepper on the paper again and tossed it onto the grass. Ribsy bounded after it. Again he sniffed, and rolled the paper with his paw before he picked it up and carried it to Henry.

Henry had a feeling that although pepper might work with other dogs, it wasn't going to work with Ribsy. Anyway, he couldn't follow two paper boys around and sprinkle pepper on every single paper they delivered, could he? And then there was the
Shopping News
besides. He would spend all his bike fund buying pepper.

Henry sat down to think of another way to untrain Ribsy. He couldn't keep the dog shut in the house alone very long, because he would howl and scratch on the door to get out. Mrs. Huggins didn't like scratches on her woodwork, and the neighbors didn't like to hear Ribsy howl. He couldn't tie the dog up, either. It never took Ribsy long to chew through a rope or leash.

Henry tried to think what Ribsy didn't like. He didn't like to have his tail pulled. Henry thought about pulling his tail every time he picked up a paper, but that would hurt Ribsy. Ribsy didn't like the egg he was supposed to eat once a week so he would have a glossy coat, but Henry didn't see how he could give him an egg every time he stole a paper. Henry couldn't think of anything else Ribsy didn't like except baths. Ribsy was really a very agreeable dog.

While Henry was still trying to think of a way to untrain Ribsy, he heard Scooter calling. He quickly put the pepper and the paper inside the back door and ran around the house. What would he say if Scooter guessed?

“Hi! Sure is funny how you got a paper when nobody else on this street did, isn't it?”

“Yeah,” said Henry, wondering how he could change the subject.

“And you know what?” asked Scooter.

“What?” said Henry, knowing very well what.

“I know I delivered those papers, and when I got home I found sixteen papers on my porch.”

“Jeepers!” Henry did his best to look surprised. Why couldn't a fire engine or something come down Klickitat Street right now? He heard the jingle of Ribsy's license tag. The dog trotted around the corner of the house and, after scratching, settled himself at Henry's feet. Then he suddenly sat up and looked toward the Grumbies' house next door.

Henry looked, too, and what he saw gave him a terrible sinking feeling in his stomach. There in plain sight on the front steps lay the Grumbies'
Oregonian
.

Ribsy jumped to his feet, and Henry knew he had to do something in a hurry or Ribsy would retrieve the Grumbies' paper before Scooter's very eyes. Shuddering at the thought of what would happen if he did, Henry hastily grabbed his dog around the neck.

“Good old Ribsy,” he said, hanging on tight. Ribsy squirmed. Henry wished as hard as he could that Scooter would go home.

“If anything happens to the papers tomorrow afternoon, I guess I better not go to Scout Camp,” said Scooter. “If I lose my route, I won't have the money to go to camp during summer vacation.”