Henry and Ribsy (4 page)

Robert and Scooter whooped and pounded each other on the back. Ribsy, sensing that they were laughing at him, hung his head and slunk over to Henry, who hugged him and went on laughing.

“Boy, oh, boy,” gasped Scooter. “I can just see the Hugginses' backyard a year from now when it's ten feet deep—”

“In Henry's very own valuable precious garbage,” finished Robert, and the boys whooped some more.

Henry stopped laughing. The picture of his backyard ten feet deep in garbage was too terrible to think about.

Mr. Huggins appeared in the kitchen door. “What's all this about?” he asked, as he joined the group on the driveway. When he heard the story, he laughed, too. He snapped his fingers at Ribsy and when the dog bounded over to him, he slapped his side and said, “You're a pretty good dog, aren't you?” Ribsy wriggled with delight.

Henry's friends, knowing it must be nearly dinnertime, started to leave. “I'll look at your horn tomorrow if you'll get your bike out of the garage yourself,” promised Scooter.

“Take good care of your garbage,” said Robert.

“Aw, keep quiet,” answered Henry, and grinned. When the others were gone he turned to his father. “Say, Dad, about this garbage…”

“What about it?” asked his father.

“Well, we didn't have any trouble with Ribsy protecting it from the garbage man when Mom took it out and I was wondering…” Henry paused and looked at his father.

Mr. Huggins smiled. “Wondering what?”

“Well, I was wondering if there wasn't something else you would rather have me do for the extra fifteen cents than take out the garbage.”

Mr. Huggins thought it over. “All right,” he said, “I'll take out the garbage if you'll clip around the edge of the lawn after I mow it each week.”

It was Henry's turn to think it over. Clipping the edge of the lawn was harder than taking out the garbage. It meant crawling around on his hands and knees for about an hour. Still, as far as Henry knew now, there was no possible way either he or Ribsy could get into trouble doing it. “OK, Dad,” he said. “It's a deal!”

“OK,” said Mr. Huggins. “But just to make sure, we'd better put Ribsy in the basement when we hear the garbageman coming.”

“He won't mind for a little while,” said Henry, giving the garbage can a good hard whack as he and his father went into the house.

H
enry was looking through the refrigerator for something to eat, something that wasn't too hard and wasn't too chewy, because he had two teeth so loose he could wiggle them with his tongue. They were upper teeth, one on either side of his four grown-up front teeth. Henry wanted to keep them three more days, so he would have something to show off to the other boys the first day of school.

Ribsy pawed at the refrigerator door. “All right,” said Henry, “you've been pretty good about keeping out of trouble lately.” He tossed a piece of horse meat to him.

Let's see, thought Henry, poking first his loose right tooth and then his loose left tooth with his tongue, peanut butter is too sticky. I guess I'll have some bread and apricot-pineapple jam.

As he reached for the jam jar, Henry heard his mother come in the front door. “Hi, Mom,” he called.

“Hi,” she answered, and entered the kitchen with her arms full of packages. “Wait till you see what I bought.”

“What?” asked Henry. He wiggled first his right tooth and then his left tooth as he took a slice of bread out of the bread box.

Mrs. Huggins dumped her packages on the draining board. “Electric clippers,” she announced. “The Colossal Drugstore was having a sale. Only six dollars and ninety-five cents, marked down from nine ninety-five.”

“Clippers for what?” Henry asked, as he spread butter on the bread. He wiggled his left tooth. Hm-m, he thought, it's a little bit looser than the right tooth.

“Hair clippers, of course,” answered his mother.

Henry stopped wiggling his teeth. “Clippers for whose hair?” he asked suspiciously.

“Now, Henry,” said Mrs. Huggins soothingly, “I'm sure that with a little practice I can do just as good a job as the barber. And with the price of haircuts, think of the money we'll save.”

“Mom!” wailed Henry, clutching his hair. He didn't want to save money. He wanted to save his hair. “Are you going to cut Dad's hair, too?”

Mrs. Huggins laughed as she unwrapped the clippers. “Your father's hair is precious, now that it's getting so thin on top. We can't afford to take chances with it.”

“My hair's precious, too,” said Henry, deciding he wasn't hungry after all. He handed Ribsy the bread and butter and watched him gulp it down. Then he leaned gloomily against the refrigerator and wiggled first his right tooth and then his left tooth. Jeepers, he thought, now what am I going to do?

Mrs. Huggins took a sheet out of a drawer. “Henry, why do you keep making such awful faces?” she asked.

“I'm not making faces,” said Henry. “I'm wiggling my loose teeth.”

“Which teeth are loose?” Mrs. Huggins asked.

Maybe she'll forget about cutting my hair, thought Henry, as he went to his mother and bared his teeth. “Thee, thith and thith,” he lisped, as he wiggled first his right tooth and then his left tooth with his tongue.

“They're your canine teeth,” remarked Mrs. Huggins.

“Canine?” repeated Henry, delighted that he was distracting his mother. “I thought canine meant dog.”

“It does,” answered his mother. “The cuspids are called canine teeth, because they're pointed like a dog's teeth.”

“Hey, teeth like a dog,” said Henry. He bared his teeth and growled at Ribsy.

Then Mrs. Huggins said briskly, “Now, Henry, don't try to change the subject. You sit on this chair and put this sheet around your neck and I'll go to work.”

“Right this minute?” Henry asked mournfully.

“Right this minute,” said Mrs. Huggins. “Your hair is so scraggly on the back of your neck it looks like fringe.”

“Mom,” wailed Henry, “you can't do this to me.”

“Now, Henry, don't worry,” said his mother reassuringly. “On the way home I stopped and watched a barber cutting hair, so I know just how it's done.”

“Do you think Dad will want you to cut my hair?” Henry asked.

“Oh, yes,” answered Mrs. Huggins. “I phoned him and talked it over with him before I bought the clippers. He thought it was a good idea.”

I might have known they'd stick together, Henry thought miserably, as he slid down in the chair. Why can't the phone ring or something?

Mrs. Huggins plugged the clippers into the wall and turned on the switch. They chattered so furiously that Henry could not help ducking. Ribsy tucked his tail between his legs and hastily left the kitchen.

Henry felt his mother's hand on top of his head and heard the clippers at the back of his neck. Then he felt them touch his skin. “Ow,” he exclaimed, and pulled away. “They're cold.”

“Now, Henry, I haven't even begun to clip,” said his mother.

Henry gritted his teeth. The clippers touched the back of his neck and whizzed up his head. “Mom!” protested Henry, feeling the back of his head. “That's too short.”

“The clippers do cut awfully fast.” For the first time Mrs. Huggins sounded doubtful.

Once more the clippers tickled Henry's neck and chattered up the back of his head. “There,” said Mrs. Huggins. “I didn't get it quite so close that time.”

“But it's supposed to match,” said Henry.

“I'll take a little off right here to even it up,” said Mrs. Huggins.

The clippers swooped down on Henry's head. Then they whizzed up the back again. Just wait till the kids see this, thought Henry gloomily.

“Hey, what's going on in here?” It was Henry's father. The clippers made so much noise that neither Henry nor his mother had heard him come in.

“Dad,” wailed Henry, “look what Mom's done to me.”

“Hm-m,” said Mr. Huggins, “your hair looks as if the moths had got into it.”

Mrs. Huggins began to laugh, but Henry did not think it was very funny. Who wanted to go around with moth-eaten hair? He slid farther down in his chair and scowled at the kitchen wall.

“Here, let me try,” said Mr. Huggins. “I ought to know how to cut hair. I've watched the barber cut mine often enough.” He started the clippers chattering again.

Henry sat up. Maybe his father would be better at cutting hair. He felt his right ear being folded down and heard the clippers whiz up the side of his head.

“Oops!” said Mr. Huggins.

“What do you mean, oops?” demanded Henry crossly.

Instead of answering, Mr. Huggins put his hand under Henry's chin, tipped his head back, and looked first at the right side and then at the left. He folded down Henry's left ear and ran the clippers up the side of his head. Then he stepped back to look at the results. “Not too bad,” he observed.

Henry groaned.

“What'll we do with the top?” asked Henry's father. “Mow it?”

“Dad!” yelled Henry.

Mrs. Huggins giggled. Henry scowled.

Mr. Huggins held a lock of Henry's hair up with a comb and sheared the ends off with the clippers. “This isn't so easy,” he said. “Your hair grows every which way back here.” He combed and clipped another lock and then another. “There,” he said at last, and turned off the clippers.

Neither of Henry's parents spoke.

“Let me see.” Henry jerked off the sheet and ran to the mirror in his room. He stared, too horrified to speak. His hair was shorter on the left side than on the right. Both sides were rough and the top looked chewed. Henry ran his hands over the back of his head. He did not need to see it. He could tell what his father meant about moths. He could never go outdoors looking like this. He would have to stay in the house for weeks, even months, until his hair grew out.

Mrs. Huggins came into the room and put her arm around Henry's shoulders. “I'm sorry, Henry. I thought I could do a better job,” she said. “I'm sure it will look all right in a few days.”

“Don't worry, son,” said Mr. Huggins. “It'll grow out in no time and next time we'll do better.”

“Next time!” Henry stared at himself in the mirror. “I can't go to school looking like this. I'll have to stay home. I'll get behind in arithmetic and I won't know the folk dances and—”

“Oh, Henry,” interrupted his mother, “it isn't that bad. It will be grown out before you know it.”

“But it won't grow out by Monday and that's when school starts.”

When Henry's mother and father left the room, Henry threw himself on the bed and pounded the pillow with his fist. He would have to think of something to do about his hair. He would just have to, that was all. Maybe he could get a wig. Or have all his hair cut off and say he was tired of having hair. There was one thing he was sure of. He couldn't face the kids, especially Scooter, looking like this. Some bits of hair that had fallen down Henry's back made him itch. He scratched and thought.

Then he got up and pulled his Daniel Boone coonskin hat out of a drawer. He put it on and looked at himself in the mirror. No, it wouldn't do. Even with the tail hanging down, too much hair showed. He put it back and pulled out his sailor hat. No, it wouldn't do either. Wait a minute, he thought, and turned down the brim. Yes, that did it. The turned down brim hid every bit of his hair. It hid his eyebrows, too, but he didn't care.

Henry looked at himself in the mirror, wiggled first his right tooth and then his left tooth, and felt a little better. Maybe he could find something to rub into his scalp to stimulate the growth of hair the way the advertisements said.

Ribsy whimpered at the front door. Henry let him out and then decided to go out with him. Even if he did look funny, he'd better keep his eye on Ribsy every minute. He wasn't going to miss that fishing trip if he could help it.

Henry sat on the front steps with his arm around Ribsy's neck and laid his cheek against Ribsy's ear. Good old Ribsy. He seemed to understand. Funny how Ribsy's ears were so silky when the rest of his hair was so rough. And he smelled good, too—a nice doggy smell. Henry scratched Ribsy behind his right ear. Thump, thump, thump went Ribsy's tail on the step.

Then Ribsy trotted into the shrubbery and came back with his rope, which he dropped at Henry's feet. He looked at Henry and wagged his tail.

“Oh, so you want to play tug-of-war.” Henry tossed one end of the rope to his dog, who grabbed it with his mouth and growled a pretend growl. Henry pulled at the rope. Ribsy hung on and pulled harder. “Good old Ribsy,” said Henry. It wasn't every dog that would play tug-of-war.

Henry was still playing with Ribsy when he noticed Scooter McCarthy pedaling down Klickitat Street on his bicycle with Robert riding on the back fender. It was too late for Henry to retreat into the house. His friends had already seen him.

Scooter stopped in front of Henry. “Hi,” he said. “What are you wearing that sailor hat like that for?”

“None of your beeswax,” answered Henry.

The two boys got off the bicycle and joined Henry on the steps. Henry watched Scooter in case he tried to snatch the sailor hat.

“I bet all your hair fell out,” said Scooter. “I bet you're bald.”

“My hair didn't either fall out,” said Henry.

“Then why—” began Robert.

Henry quickly interrupted. “I have two loose teeth,” he said to change the subject. “Thee, thith and thith. They're canine teeth. That means teeth like a dog.”

“Aw, I lost those teeth ages ago,” boasted Scooter.

“Sure you did,” said Henry. “You're older than me.”

“How about letting me pull them for you?” suggested Scooter.

“No, let me,” begged Robert.

“Nope,” said Henry, pleased at getting their attention away from his hat.

“Aw, come on, Huggins,” coaxed Scooter. “I'll give you a piece of Chinese money that has a hole in the center.”

Henry shook his head. He hoped he could keep them talking about his teeth until his mother called him in to dinner.

“Please, Henry,” said Robert. “I'll let you make a tunnel out of a coffee can for my electric railroad.”