Harriet and Beth Ellen naturally voted for themselves, Harriet’s arm flying up like a Nazi salute and Beth Ellen’s creeping tentatively and trembling as though she were waving.
Two and two, thought Harriet.
Sport’s hand went up. He thinks what Marion writes is stupid, thought Harriet; it has nothing to do with being on my side. Janie’s hand went up. Same for her, thought Harriet; she just wants to be able to read the paper.
Laura Peters, Pinky Whitehead, and The Boy with the Green Socks did not have their hands up.
Uh-oh, thought Harriet, that makes five to four. Or have they just not decided? Where is Carrie Andrews? Absent today.
Very slowly, and in his own particular creepy way, Pinky Whitehead put his hand up. Well, thought Harriet, I never thought I’d see the day when Pinky Whitehead would save my life. He looked back at her. She gave him a radiant smile and felt like a first-class hypocrite.
“That,” said Miss Elson, “decides that. I think we can learn from this, children, and particularly Marion, not to count your eggs before they vote for you.” Beth Ellen giggled helplessly, then stopped and looked around at everyone as though suddenly aware of her responsibilities.
CHAPTER
Sixteen
Harriet got out the first edition in record time. When she took in her finished page, the senior who was chief editor said that it was the fastest she had ever seen anyone write.
On the day the paper appeared, Harriet was horribly nervous. Suppose, she thought on her way to school, I stink? Suppose everyone looks at each other and says, Why did we ever get rid of Marion Hawthorne? Maybe she wasn’t Dostoievsky, but she was readable at least. Suppose—Harriet bit her lip in her musing—they insist on a recount. She was trembling by the time she got to class.
Everyone at every desk had a paper. Everyone had his nose buried in the Sixth Grade Page. Harriet couldn’t bear to look around. She slid into her seat and guiltily started looking at her own copy which had been put there.
She read her own printed words with a mixture of horror and joy.
MRS. AGATHA K. PLUMBER IS A RICH LADY ON EAST END AVENUE WHO THOUGHT SHE HAD FOUND OUT THE SECRET OF LIFE WHICH WAS TO STAY IN BED ALL THE TIME. SHE IS A VERY STUPID LADY. THEN LO AND BEHOLD THE DOCTOR TOLD HER SHE HAD TO STAY IN BED AND SHE FAINTED AWAY IN SURPRISE. THEN HE TOLD HER HE HAD MADE A MISTAKE, AND SHE HASN’T HIT THE BED SINCE. I THINK HE TRICKED HER BECAUSE SHE THOUGHT SHE WANTED TO STAY IN BED WHICH IS STUPID. WHICH GOES TO SHOW YOU TWO THINGS—THAT WHAT YOU WANT IS MAYBE STUPID AND THAT DOCTORS ARE FINKS.
Harriet felt in rereading that it had a strong ring to it. She looked around at everybody reading. They are only looking for mistakes, she thought. I wonder what each one is reading. I wonder if writers ever see anyone reading their books, on the subway maybe. She turned back to the paper. She had had a hard time deciding between a story about Fabio and a story about the Robinsons. She had finally decided to do a story about Franca Dei Santi because she was closer in age to the class and therefore might interest them more.
FRANCA DEI SANTI HAS ONE OF THE DUMBEST FACES YOU COULD EVER HOPE TO SEE. I DON’T KNOW HOW SHE GETS THROUGH THE DAY. SHE EVEN HAS TO LEAN ON THINGS ALL THE TIME. SHE IS ABOUT OUR AGE AND GOES TO PUBLIC SCHOOL WHERE SHE IS ALWAYS FLUNKING THINGS LIKE SHOP THAT WE DON’T HAVE. MAYBE THEY TEACH THEM HOW TO RUN A SHOP THERE. ANYWAY IT WON’T DO FRANCA A BIT OF GOOD BECAUSE SHE WON’T EVER LEARN ANYTHING ANYWAY. HER FATHER OWNS A STORE ON EIGHTY-SIXTH AND ANYONE WHO WANTS TO CAN GO ANY DAY AND LOOK THROUGH THE BACK WINDOW AND SEE FRANCA. SHE IS THE SHORTEST GIRL THERE AND IS ALWAYS MOONING AROUND. YOU WOULD KNOW HER ANYWHERE. ONE DAY I SAW FRANCA ON THE STREET. SHE WAS WALKING ALONG IN FRONT OF ME DRAGGING HER FEET. I KNEW IT WAS HER BECAUSE SHE ALWAYS HANGS HER HEAD OVER TO ONE SIDE. I DON’T KNOW WHY. MAYBE IT’S TOO HEAVY. ANYWAY I WATCHED HER AND SHE DID THE DUMBEST THING. SHE WENT INTO THE PARK AND STRAIGHT OVER TO SOME PIGEONS. THEY LOOKED LIKE THEY WERE EXPECTING HER. THEN SHE HAD A LONG CONVERSATION WITH THOSE PIGEONS. I HID BEHIND A TREE AND I STILL COULDN’T HEAR A WORD BUT FRANCA LOOKED LIKE SHE WAS HAVING A GOOD TIME. SHE DOESN’T HAVE A GOOD TIME AT HOME BECAUSE EVERYONE KNOWS HOW DUMB SHE IS AND DOESN’T TALK TO HER.
By the time Harriet finished reading, Miss Elson had walked in. Harriet watched everyone put their papers away. Each one looked at Harriet surreptitiously as they did so, but she couldn’t tell anything by their faces. They just looked at her curiously.
She noticed, however, that at lunchtime all the noses were stuck in the paper again.
That night at dinner Harriet suddenly felt like one big ear. Every single thing her mother and father said seemed to be important. Some of the things she didn’t understand, but they were none the less intriguing.
“I really don’t understand Mabel Gibbs. She starts out with this big thing about the kids going to dancing school—you’d think from the way she talked that they would be absolute apes in the drawing room if we didn’t send them—and I told her at the time, of course, that I thought Harriet was too young. Naturally, she’s going to dancing school but I think twelve is perhaps a better age, that’s all. Well, then, after all that, Mabel says to me ever so calmly the other day, ‘I just don’t think that Janie is ready yet.’ Can you imagine?”
“She wants to save the money,” interjected Harriet.
“Harriet, you mustn’t say such things,” said Mrs. Welsch.
“Why shouldn’t she? It’s the God’s truth,” said Mr. Welsch.
“Well, we don’t know that. She said, in fact, that she couldn’t do a thing with Janie and she just didn’t want the job of having to force her into a black velvet dress every Friday night. It just wasn’t worth it. She’s hoping Janie will change suddenly—”
“Into a pumpkin,” said Harriet.
“Into a lady,” continued Mrs. Welsch.
“Time enough for that,” said Mr. Welsch.
“You know, I was thinking the other day”—Mrs. Welsch seemed to be changing the subject—“that Milly Andrews really hasn’t got good sense. Did you see her at the Peters’ party? Well, I don’t know what you were doing. Everybody was talking about it. Jack Peters was stoned out of his mind and falling off the bar stool, and there was Milly Andrews just smiling at him like an idiot.”
Mr. Welsch said nothing. He was swallowing. He was about to speak, when the phone rang. He threw his napkin down and stood up. “That better be from the Times. If they don’t print that retraction tomorrow I’m going to be mad as a hornet.”
He stormed angrily to the telephone.
“What’s a retraction?” asked Harriet.
“Well, it’s like this. If a newspaper makes a mistake and they are told about it, then they print the fact that they have made a mistake and at the same time they print the correct information.”
“Oh,” said Harriet. That night when she went up to bed she took copious notes. Later, under the covers, she read a book on newspaper reporting that she had found in the school library.
In the next edition of the paper the Sixth Grade Page carried the following items:
JANIE GIBBS HAS WON HER BATTLE. THIS SHOULD BE A LESSON TO ALL OF YOU IN COURAGE AND DETERMINATION. IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT, THEN ASK HER.
JACK PETERS (LAURA PETER’S FATHER) WAS STONED OUT OF HIS MIND AT THE PETERS’ PARTY LAST SATURDAY NIGHT. MILLY ANDREWS (CARRIE ANDREWS’ MOTHER) JUST SMILED AT HIM LIKE AN IDIOT.
FOR ANYONE WHO DOESN’T KNOW IT, A RETRACTION MEANS THAT A NEWSPAPER IS CORRECTING ITS MISTAKES. SO FAR THIS PAGE HASN’T MADE ANY MISTAKES.
During the ensuing weeks the following entries held the class enthralled.
MR. HARRY WELSCH ALMOST LOST HIS JOB LAST WEEK FOR BEING LATE. HE IS ALWAYS SLOW IN THE MORNING.
ASK CARRIE ANDREWS IF SHE FEELS ALL RIGHT.
And a week later:
ASK LAURA PETERS IF ALL IS WELL AT HOME.
MISS ELSON WAS TRAILED HOME FROM SCHOOL THE OTHER DAY AND IT TURNS OUT SHE LIVES IN A REAL RAT HOLE OF AN APARTMENT. MAYBE THE
SCHOOL DOESN’T PAY HER ENOUGH MONEY TO LIVE IN A GOOD PLACE. THERE WILL BE A SIZZLING EDITORIAL ON THIS NEXT WEEK.
A very hot item was:
THERE ARE CERTAIN PEOPLE IN A CERTAIN CLUB WHO OUGHT TO WATCH OUT BECAUSE THERE ARE CERTAIN OTHER PEOPLE WHO WANT TO TAKE OVER FROM CERTAIN OTHER PEOPLE BECAUSE CERTAIN OTHER PEOPLE DON’T WANT TO SPEND ALL AFTERNOON DRINKING TEA AND PLAYING A CERTAIN GAME.
After this last item Harriet watched the group very carefully. She detected a touch of uneasiness, but nothing actively happened at school.
She went therefore that afternoon to spy on the clubhouse. She was completely gratified by what she saw and heard. Marion, Rachel, Laura, Carrie, The Boy with the Green Socks, and Pinky Whitehead were all there by the time she got there. A discussion was in progress.
“Well, it’s just outrageous,” said Marion in a huff.
“Scandalous,” echoed Rachel.
“The things she writes anyway are just absurd,” continued Marion. “Whoever heard of such a thing in a newspaper? When I ran that paper no one read things like that. Things like that don’t belong in a paper. She should be stopped.”
“I like reading them,” said Pinky.
That’s Pinky, thought Harriet.
“She can’t be stopped,” said Carrie. “She’s the editor.”
“Even so,” said Marion, “somebody should.” She paused dramatically. “We should.”
“But what was she talking about? About the club, I mean,” asked Pinky.
Marion, Rachel, Laura, and Carrie all looked into the distance. Obviously, thought Harriet, those four play bridge.
“Uh-oh,” said Marion, “here comes trouble.”
Sport and Janie appeared at the back door. They were both furious. They walked across the yard like a pair of Gestapo agents come to question.
“I think,” said Janie, “that we had better have this out.”
“This has gone far enough,” said Sport and looked at Pinky and The Boy with the Green Socks. “I can’t imagine what you MEN think you’re doing here.”
“What? What?” said both boys together.
“Well, think about it,” continued Sport. “How many men play bridge in the afternoon?”
“My father plays bridge,” said Pinky defensively.
“But not in the afternoon,” sneered Janie. “He plays bridge at night.”
“When he’s forced to,” said Sport.
“What”—Marion stood up—“are you two talking about?”
“You know perfectly well what,” said Sport. “You’ve been rattling around here with tea cups and packs of cards for two weeks now, and why we even listened to you for one minute I don’t know because we have just as much right in this club as you do.”
“Well, I am PRESIDENT.”
“Oh, no, you’re not, as of now,” said Janie.
Beth Ellen sidled in. Janie flung her a long look.
“And you’re not secretary-treasurer either.”
Beth Ellen spoke up suddenly. “I don’t give a hang. I never wanted to be and besides I hate bridge.”
Everyone stared at her because it was the longest sentence she had ever been heard to say.
“People,” said Marion in a slow, hard way, “who do not belong, can LEAVE.”
“This is our clubhouse too,” shouted Sport. “You couldn’t even have BUILT it without me.”
“Precisely,” said Janie, “and I think the point is we should discuss exactly what this club is supposed to be for.”
There was a long silence. Some of them kicked the dirt with their feet. Others looked at the sky. Harriet suddenly noticed that Rachel was giving Janie a long hateful look. Finally Rachel said, “It may be your CLUB but it’s my BACKYARD.”
The remark fell heavily into the group. What now? thought Harriet with excitement.
“That,” said Janie finally, “settles that.” She turned and walked toward the back door.
“You bet your nose it does,” said Sport and followed Janie. They slammed the back door, producing a distant shriek from Mrs. Hennessey.
“I agree with them,” said Beth Ellen and stomped out. What in the world has happened to Beth Ellen? thought Harriet. She’s not a mouse anymore. Harriet watched with glee as one by one the other children left. Marion and Rachel finally sat alone. They looked at each other and then looked away.
“I guess,” said Rachel with some embarrassment, “that I’ll go see if the cake is ready.” She was getting up rather forlornly when suddenly Laura and Carrie came back.
“We decided that there wasn’t anything else to do anyway, so we might as well play bridge,” said Laura.
“Besides,” said Carrie, “I’m rather fond of it.”
Harriet watched while they set up a dinky little card table, put out some chipped cups, and cut the cake. When they dealt the cards, she left. As she went over the fence she thought to herself, I’m glad my life is different. I bet they’ll be doing that the rest of their lives—and she felt rather sorry for them for a moment. But only for a moment. As she walked along the street she thought, I have a nice life. With or without Ole Golly, I have a nice life.
The time is ripe, Harriet thought as she went into the senior editor’s office. She had a long private conversation with the senior editor, who was called Lisa Quackenbush. She was a tallish girl who spit a lot when she talked and who seemed to find Harriet as funny as a TV comedian. Harriet couldn’t see anything funny whatever in what she was relating to Miss Quackenbush and so made some rapid notes after leaving the office.
MISS QUACKENBUSH IS EITHER INSANE OR SHE HAS A VERY NERVOUS LAUGH.
The week after the conference there appeared on the Sixth Grade Page the following announcement. It was placed quite prominently in the center of the page with a border around it.
THIS PAGE WISHES TO RETRACT CERTAIN STATEMENTS PRINTED IN A CERTAIN NOTEBOOK BY THE EDITOR OF THE SIXTH GRADE PAGE WHICH WERE UNFAIR STATEMENTS AND BESIDES WERE LIES. ANYONE WHO SAW THESE STATEMENTS IS HEREBY NOTIFIED THAT THEY WERE LIES AND THAT A GENERAL APOLOGY IS OFFERED BY THE EDITOR OF THE SIXTH GRADE PAGE.
The day the announcement appeared Harriet stayed home from sheer embarrassment. She managed to convince her mother that she was just about to come down with a terrible cold, the type of cold that could be nipped in the bud by only one little day home from school. There is, of course, no kind of a cold in the world like this, but Harriet’s mother had become convinced of this because it had happened to work so many times. Harriet knew just what signs of listlessness it took to put her mother’s mind into this track. She languished, therefore, until she heard her mother leave to go shopping. The moment the door shut Harriet leaped from the bed as though shot from a cannon.
She worked all day on her story, that is from ten in the morning until three in the afternoon. Then she got up, stretched, and feeling very virtuous, she took a walk by the river. There was a cold wind off the water, but the day was one of those bright, brilliant, shining days that made her feel the world was beautiful, would always be, would always sing, could hold no disappointments.
She skipped along the bank, stopping once to watch a tugboat, following an old woman once all the way to the mayor’s house. She took a few notes, concentrating on description which she felt to be her weakest point.
YESTERDAY WHEN I WENT INTO THAT HARDWARE STORE IT SMELLED LIKE THE INSIDE OF AN OLD THERMOS BOTTLE.
I HAVE THOUGHT A LOT ABOUT BEING THINGS SINCE TRYING TO BE AN ONION. I HAVE TRIED TO BE A BENCH IN THE PARK, AN OLD SWEATER, A CAT, AND MY MUG IN THE BATHROOM. I THINK I DID THE MUG BEST BECAUSE WHEN I WAS LOOKING AT IT I FELT IT LOOKING BACK AT ME AND I FELT LIKE WE WERE TWO MUGS LOOKING AT EACH OTHER. I WONDER IF GRASS TALKS.
She sat there thinking, feeling very calm, happy, and immensely pleased with her own mind. She looked up and down the walk. No one was in sight.
She looked out over the water to the neon sign whose pink greed spoiled the view at night. When she looked back she saw them coming toward her. They w
ere moving so slowly they hardly seemed to be in motion. Sport had his hands in his pockets and looked out over the water. Janie walked with her eyes as nearly skyward as possible. If there had been anything in front of her she would have broken her neck. They didn’t appear to be talking, but they were so far away Harriet couldn’t really tell.
They were so far away that they looked like dolls. They made her think of the way she imagined the people when she played Town. Somehow this way she could see them better than she ever had before. She looked at them each carefully in the longish time it took them to reach her. She made herself walk in Sport’s shoes, feeling the holes in his socks rub against his ankles. She pretended she had an itchy nose when Janie put one abstracted hand up to scratch. She felt what it would feel like to have freckles and yellow hair like Janie, then funny ears and skinny shoulders like Sport.
When they reached her they just stood there in front of her, each looking in a different direction. The wind was terribly cold. Harriet looked at their feet. They looked at her feet. Then they looked at their own feet.
Well, thought Harriet. She opened her notebook very carefully, watching their eyes as she did. They watched her back. She wrote:
OLE GOLLY IS RIGHT, SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO LIE.
She looked up at Sport and Janie. They didn’t look angry. They were just waiting for her to finish. She continued:
NOW THAT THINGS ARE BACK TO NORMAL I CAN GET SOME REAL WORK DONE.
She slammed the book and stood up. All three of them turned then and walked along the river.
READ HARRIET THE SPY’S FABULOUS NEW ADVENTURE—HARRIET SPIES AGAIN
“I won’t go,” Harriet told her parents. She glared at them.
Harriet the Spy Page 18