Henry and the Clubhouse (10 page)

Next Henry consulted Beezus. “Ramona sure causes me a lot of trouble on my route,” he remarked one afternoon. “Isn’t there some way to get her to stop pestering me?”

Beezus sighed.“I know. I’ve told Mother, and Mother has told her to behave herself, but you know how Ramona is. She never listens.”

“I know,” Henry said gloomily. Ramona was a real problem. When Mrs. Quimby persuaded her to stop doing one annoying thing, Ramona promptly thought up something entirely new but equally annoying. If only Henry could find a way to stay ahead of Ramona . . .

One afternoon Henry arrived at Mr. Capper’s garage in plenty of time to fold his papers. He counted his stack of forty-three
Journal
s and as long as he was early, he took time to glance through the paper. He looked at the headlines and read the comic section.

Then a picture of a smiling lady caught his eye. It was the lady who gave people advice when they wrote to her about their problems.

Because he had a problem, Henry paused to read her column. A girl who signed her letter “Flat Broke” said that her father did not give her a big enough allowance. Her father did not understand that she needed more money for school lunches, bus fare, and other things.What should she do about it? The smiling lady told her to talk it over with her father and explain to him exactly what her expenses were. The smiling lady was sure he would understand. 

Henry thought this over. Maybe he should write to the lady about Ramona. He could write, I have a problem. A girl in my neighborhood has a little sister who pesters me on my paper route. How can I get her to stop? Then he could sign the letter “Disgusted.”

Henry tried to think how the lady would answer his letter. Dear Disgusted, she would say, but what would she say next? Probably she would tell him to talk his problem over with Ramona’s mother and everything would be all right. Oh no, it wouldn’t, thought Henry, just as if he had really read an answer to a letter he had really written.  Ramona’s mother knew all about his problem and had not been able to solve it. As Beezus said, Ramona never listened very much.

Henry began to fold his papers. There must be somebody Ramona would listen to.

And then a picture in an advertisement gave Henry an idea. Santa Claus! Ramona might listen to Santa Claus. Henry grinned to himself. He would really fix Ramona if he waited until Christmas Eve and climbed up on the Quimbys’ roof and yelled down the chimney in a deep bass voice, Ho-ho-ho, Ramona Geraldine Quimby, you stop pestering Henry Huggins on his paper route or I won’t leave you any presents. Ho-ho-ho.

“Ho-ho-ho,” said Henry out loud, to see how much like Santa Claus he could sound.

Just then Mr. Capper came out of the back door. “Who do you think you are? Santa Claus?” he asked.

“No, sir.” Embarrassed, Henry went on folding papers.

Still, Henry was pleased with this picture of himself ho-ho-hoing down the chimney at Ramona, but unfortunately there was just one thing wrong with it. Boys were not allowed to go climbing around on their neighbors’ roofs on Christmas Eve or any other time. And anyway, Ramona might not even listen to Santa Claus. Henry would not be at all surprised.

Henry was zigzagging down the street on his bicycle, throwing papers to the right and to the left, when he saw Beezus and Ramona hurrying along the sidewalk.

Ramona was wearing a mustache cut from brown paper and stuck to her upper lip with Scotch tape. Henry recognized this as another attempt to copy one of Sheriff Bud’s disguises.

“Hi, Beezus,” he said.

Ramona pulled at Beezus’s hand. “Come on,” she said. “Come on, or we’ll be late.”

“I can’t understand it,” remarked Beezus. “She can’t even tell time, but she always knows when it’s time for the Sheriff Bud program.”

“Like Ribsy,” said Henry. “He can’t tell time either, but he always knows when it’s time to meet me after school.” He pedaled on down the street, when suddenly a thought struck him.
Sheriff Bud
. If there was anyone Ramona would listen to, it was Sheriff Bud.

Henry was so excited by this inspiration that he threw a paper on the wrong porch and had to go back to get it. Of course she would listen to Sheriff Bud, but how could Henry get Sheriff Bud to tell Ramona to stop pestering him on his paper route?  Write him a letter, that’s what he would do.

Sheriff Bud was always waving around handfuls of letters and wishing listeners happy birthdays and hoping they would get over the measles or something. He was always pretending he could see people in the television audience, too. Henry had never heard him tell a listener to stop pestering someone, but there was no reason why he couldn’t. It would be worth trying, anyway.

As soon as Henry finished his route he went home and turned on the television set. There was Sheriff Bud in his ten-gallon hat.

This time he was wearing a false nose. He held a microphone in one hand, and between commercials was interviewing a row of children who had microphones hung around their necks. All the children said hello to many, many friends out in television land. Henry thought it was a silly program, although he still sometimes watched the cartoons that were shown between the end-less commercials.

Ordinarily when Henry wrote a letter he used the typewriter, because it was more fun than pen and ink, but today he was in too much of a hurry to hunt around and poke all those keys. He found a piece of paper and a pen, and after his address and the date, began,

“Dear Sherrif.” That looked peculiar so he added another
f
. “Dear Sherriff ” still looked peculiar so he consulted the dictionary.

Then Henry tore up his letter and started over. “Dear Sheriff Bud,” he wrote in his best handwriting.“I need your help.There is this girl who pesters me on my paper route.

She always watches your program so could you please tell her to stop pestering me? Her name is Ramona Geraldine Quimby.Thank you.”Then he signed his name, addressed an envelope to Sheriff Bud in care of the television station, found a stamp, and went out to mail the letter.

As soon as the mailbox clanked shut, Henry knew his scheme would not work.

Sheriff Bud received thousands of letters every week. He was always talking about the thousands of letters he received. He waved great handfuls of them around. Why would he pay any attention to one letter and a pretty smudgy one, at that?

But doubtful as he was, Henry somehow hung on to a faint hope that Sheriff Bud might really read his letter and help him out.

The letter would be delivered the next day but he might not have time to read it before the program went on the air. Maybe the day after . . .

Two days later Henry rang the Quimbys’ doorbell about the time the Sheriff Bud program was starting. “Hello, Beezus,” he said, when his friend opened the door. “I was wondering—how about a game of checkers before I start my route?”

Beezus looked surprised. She and Henry used to play checkers often, but since he had become a paper carrier and spent so much time working on the clubhouse, he had not found time to play with her. “Why . . . yes, come on in.”

As Henry had expected, Ramona was sitting on a hassock in the living room watching Sheriff Bud, who today was wearing sideburns.While Beezus got out the checker set, Henry watched the program.

“And I want all you little folks out in TV land to do something for old Sheriff Bud,” the Sheriff was saying. “I want you to tell Mother right now,
right this very minute
, to put Crispy Potato Chips, the potato chips positively guaranteed never to bend, on her shopping list.Yes, sirree, this
very minute
.” His smile filled the whole screen.

“Mother!” called Ramona. “Sheriff Bud says—”

“I don’t care what Sheriff Bud says,” answered Mrs. Quimby from the kitchen. She sounded very cross.“I can make out my grocery list without that man’s help.”

Beezus set up the checkerboard on the coffee table and, kneeling, she and Henry began to play. For once Ramona did not bother them, but Henry found it difficult to think about the game and try to follow Sheriff Bud at the same time. They both stopped playing whenever a cartoon came on, but Beezus had no trouble beating him twice in succession.

Once when the sheriff waved a sheaf of letters Henry’s hopes rose, but Sheriff Bud only wished a lot of people happy birthday and told how many people had written in to say they liked Nutsies, the candy bar chock-full of energy. Henry wished he had said in his letter that both he and Ramona ate Nutsies all the time. And Crispy Potato Chips, too.

By the time the program had ended Beezus had defeated Henry a third time.

Naturally Henry could not let this record stand. “I bet I can beat you tomorrow,” he volunteered.

“I bet you can’t,” said Beezus, “but you can come over and try.”

Henry left, and by working fast delivered all his papers on time.The next afternoon he once more presented himself at the Quimbys’ front door, this time to show Beezus he really could beat her at checkers. He would forget all about Sheriff Bud. It had been silly of him to think his letter would be read out of all the thousands the television station received. Beezus had the checkers waiting on the coffee table and as usual Ramona was sitting on the hassock watching Sheriff Bud, who was wearing a pair of large false ears. His voice filled the living room.

“Ramona, turn that program down!” called Mrs. Quimby from the kitchen.

Ramona did not budge.

This time Henry was determined to ignore even the cartoons. Beezus made the first move with a red checker and Henry moved his black checker. Beezus jumped him, he jumped her, and the game was on.

“And now, kiddies out there in TV land, if Mother doesn’t have a cupboard full of—” Sheriff Bud was saying.

Mrs. Quimby appeared in the living room. “Ramona, turn that thing off. I am sick and tired of listening to that man tell me what to buy.”

“No!” screamed Ramona. “No! I don’t want to turn it off.”

“Then turn it
down
,” said Mrs. Quimby, and went back into the kitchen. This time Ramona lowered the sound of the television set slightly.

“Your move,” Beezus reminded Henry.

Henry studied the board. If he moved there, Beezus could jump him. If he moved there, he could jump her if she moved her man in the right direction.

“And now for today’s mail,” announced Sheriff Bud.

Henry could not help glancing at the television screen. Sheriff Bud was holding the usual handful of letters, but this time he was pointing straight ahead at someone in the television audience.“Ramona Geraldine Quimby, I see you out there,” he said. “I see you out in TV land.”

Henry and Beezus dropped their checkers. Mrs. Quimby stepped out of the kitchen. Ramona clasped her hands together and her eyes grew round. “He sees me,” she said in awe.

“Ramona Geraldine Quimby,” said Sheriff Bud, “I want you to do something that will make old Sheriff Bud very, very happy.”

“Whatever it is, I’m not going to buy it.” Mrs. Quimby sounded indignant.

Ramona leaned forward, her eyes wide, her mouth open.

Henry’s eyes were just about as wide and his mouth was open, too.

Sheriff Bud sounded as if he and Ramona were alone. “Ramona, it will make old Sheriff Bud very, very happy if you stop pestering”—he stopped and squinted at a letter in his hand—“Henry Huggins on his paper route. Do you promise?”

“Yes.” Ramona barely whispered.

“Good,” said Sheriff Bud. “We’ve got to get those papers delivered. If you stop pestering Henry on his route, you will make me just about as happy as it would if you told Mother you wanted Crispy Potato Chips for lunch every day. And now—”

But no one was listening to the television set.

“Henry!” shrieked Beezus.“Did you hear that?”

“I sure did.” Henry was feeling a little awed himself. It had seemed as if Sheriff Bud really could see Ramona. He could not, of course, but . . . 

“Honestly!” Mrs. Quimby snapped off the television set. “That man will do anything to squeeze in more commercials. Crispy Potato Chips! Really!”

Only Ramona was silent. She did not even object to her mother’s turning off the television set. She turned to Henry with her eyes wide with awe. “Do you really know Sheriff Bud?” she asked.