Henry and the Paper Route

by Beverly Cleary

  The door opened and Henry found himself facing, not Mr. Capper, but his daughter, who was, Henry knew, practically grown-up. She went to high school.

  “Uh…is Mr. Capper home?” Henry managed to say to the girl. She was waving one hand back and forth to dry her red nail polish.

  “Just a minute,” the girl answered. “Daddy!” she called. “A boy wants to see you.” She continued to stand in the doorway, blowing on her red fingertips and ignoring Henry as if he were too young to bother about.

  Henry stood up even straighter and in a moment a tall, thin man with crinkly gray hair appeared. He was wearing paint-spattered overalls and wiping his hands on a smeary rag, which he then stuffed into his hip pocket.

  “Hello there,” said Mr. Capper pleasantly. “What can I do for you?”

  “Good afternoon,” Henry recited, in what he hoped was a businesslike voice, while he tried to look eleven years old. “My name…” Henry stopped. He felt something move under his jacket. “My name…” he began again and stopped once more. A large police dog appeared from somewhere back of the house and joined Mr. Capper, who stood rubbing the dog’s head and waiting for Henry to continue.

  Henry eyed the dog. The dog eyed Henry. Henry’s already dry mouth felt like old flannel. Again something moved under his jacket. “My name is Henry Huggins,” he managed to say, and gulped. His name sounded peculiar when he said it aloud—almost as if it were someone else’s name. For an instant Henry had a funny feeling that maybe he wasn’t really Henry Huggins after all.

  “How do you do?” answered Mr. Capper, by now plainly puzzled as to what Henry’s visit was all about.

  “How do you do?” said Henry. No! That wasn’t right. That wasn’t what he meant to say. Now everything was all mixed up.

  Mr. Capper’s daughter giggled, and Henry felt his face grow hot. He did not feel businesslike at all. He unzipped his jacket a couple of inches. The dog stepped forward and sniffed at Henry. His ears perked up, giving him an alert look.

  “Here, Major!” said Mr. Capper sharply.

  Major barked. He looked eager and his teeth were long and white.

  Henry’s jacket began to move and then to heave. Henry no longer felt eleven years old. He did not even feel ten years old. He winced as a kitten dug its sharp little claws into his skin.

  “R-ruf!” said Major.

  Mr. Capper grabbed the dog by the collar and jerked him back. The kittens began to scramble around under Henry’s jacket. Henry felt one of them climbing up the back of his T-shirt. The pinpricks of its tiny claws made him squirm. He clasped his hands around his waist and tried to hold the other kittens down.

  Mr. Capper looked amused and puzzled at the same time. Major strained at his collar. “What have you got inside your jacket, son?” Mr. Capper asked kindly.

  “Uh…” said Henry, keeping one eye on the dog and at the same time reaching around and poking through his jacket at the kitten between his shoulder blades. Another kitten scrambled up the front of his T-shirt, and before Henry could answer Mr. Capper, it poked its head out of Henry’s jacket and announced its presence with a small mew. Mr. Capper grinned, and his daughter went off into a gale of giggles.

  Hastily Henry stuffed the kitten back into his jacket, but the kitten promptly popped out again. Henry stuffed it back and pulled the zipper all the way up. “Just some kittens I got at a rummage sale,” he explained, as his jacket rose and fell.

  Mr. Capper’s daughter thought this was very, very funny. Henry did not see anything funny about it at all. The kittens grew more and more lively. Henry could not think what to say next, with that dog staring at him. He wished he could turn and run down the steps, but he knew he could not do that. Mr. Capper would want to know why he happened to be standing on the porch, with his jacket full of kittens.

  “R-ruf!” said Major eagerly.

  Quickly Henry decided the best thing to do, now that Mr. Capper knew what was making his jacket behave so strangely, was to ignore the kittens and the dog as best he could and end his visit quickly. “Mr. Capper, could I have that paper route?” he blurted, and instantly he was sorry. That was not the way he had meant to ask for the job.

  “Well, Henry, I’ll tell you what you do,” said Mr. Capper kindly, and for an instant Henry felt hopeful. “You wait until you are a year or two older, and then come back and talk to me about a paper route.”

  Still Henry could not give up. “I know I’m not very tall for my age, but I can ride a bike, and throw straight, and…things.”

  “There’s more to a paper route than riding a bicycle and throwing papers,” said Mr. Capper. “A boy has to be able to handle money and see that the papers are delivered on time in every kind of weather and left on the porch, or in the mailbox, or wherever the subscribers want them delivered. There is more to a paper route than most people know about.”

  “Ouch!” Henry could not help exclaiming, as he reached inside his jacket and unhooked a kitten’s claws from his T-shirt. “I mean, I’m sure I can do all those things, Mr. Capper.”

  “I’m sure you can, too, in a year or two,” said Mr. Capper.

  His smile was friendly, but Henry knew he meant what he said. “Well…thank you just the same,” said Henry uncertainly. He turned and started down the steps.

  “Thank you for coming to see me,” said Mr. Capper. “And don’t forget what I said. Come back in a year or two.”

  “R-ruf!” said Major.

  A year or two, thought Henry, as he walked down the steps. Didn’t Mr. Capper realize that a year or two was practically forever?

  Just before Mr. Capper shut the door, Henry heard his daughter exclaim, “Oh, Daddy, did you ever see anything so funny in your whole life? Can you imagine carrying kittens around inside a jacket? I thought I’d die laughing!”

  How unbusinesslike can I get, anyway, Henry wondered, as he rode glumly toward home. Nothing ever turned out the way he planned. He started out to get a paper route, and what did he have instead? Kittens. Four little old kittens. That was what he had. And what, Henry began to wonder, would his mother say about his bringing home four kittens? And what would Ribsy do?

  “Can’t you be still a minute?” Henry asked a kitten that had climbed up his T-shirt and poked its furry little head out under his chin.

  Well, just the same, Henry decided, somehow he would manage to get a paper route and he wouldn’t wait a year or two, either. He didn’t know how he would do it, but his mind was made up.

  2

  Henry and the Premiums

  When Henry returned home with his jacketful of kittens, Ribsy, who was waiting on the front porch, came eagerly up to him and wagged his tail. Then, sensing something strange, the dog stopped, pricked up his ears, and sniffed suspiciously at Henry’s jacket.

  “It’s all right, fellow,” said Henry. “You just stay outside a few minutes while I get things straightened out.” He knew he would not be allowed to keep all four kittens, but surely he could talk his mother and father into letting him keep one. He opened the front door and called, “Hi, Mom. Oh, hi there, Dad. I didn’t know you were home yet. Guess what I’ve got?”

  “I can’t imagine,” answered Mr. Huggins. “What is it this time?”

  “Kittens,” Henry announced, trying to sound as if he knew his mother and father would be delighted.

  “Kittens!” exclaimed Mrs. Huggins. “Oh, Henry, not kittens!”

  “They’re nice kittens,” Henry said reassuringly. He unzipped his jacket and produced a sample, the black-and-white kitten, which he set carefully on the rug. The kitten looked uncertainly around the room and gave a tiny mew. One by one, Henry produced its brothers and sisters and set them on the rug. He thought they looked cute, standing there with their little pointed tails sticking straight up like exclamation points.

  Ribsy, who was standing on the porch with his front paws on the windowsill, did not miss a move Henry made. He whimpered anxiously and scratched at the window with a paw.

  “Qu
iet, Ribsy,” Henry ordered.

  Ribsy answered with a short, sharp bark that showed quite plainly he did not like what was going on.

  For a minute neither of Henry’s parents spoke. They just looked at the kittens, which were beginning to explore this strange new room. Then Mrs. Huggins said, “Henry, I don’t know how you think up things like bringing home four kittens. It must be something you inherit from your father.”

  “He didn’t get it from my side of the family,” replied Mr. Huggins. “Nobody in my family ever brought home four kittens.”

  Ribsy barked furiously, ran back and forth in front of the window, and barked again, as if to say, “Let me in and I’ll get rid of those undersized cats for you. Come on, let me in!” All the dogs in the neighborhood immediately took an interest in Ribsy’s problem and began to bark with him.

  “I said ‘quiet’!” Henry shouted through the glass, plucking a kitten from the curtain at the same time.

  “Ouch,” exclaimed Mrs. Huggins, unhooking a tiny claw from her stockings. “There go my nylons.”

  Ribsy scratched at the glass and gave several short yelps, as if he were trying to tell Henry how much he needed to get inside and clear out those kittens.

  “Quiet!” ordered all three Hugginses at the same time.

  “Well, anyhow, Dad,” said Henry, and explained to his mother and father about finding the kittens at the rummage sale. He did not mention the paper route or how he had happened to be at the rummage sale. From the way his parents were looking at him, he could see that the kittens were going to be a problem, and one problem at a time was all he could handle.

  “And so you can’t take the kittens back where you got them,” concluded Mr. Huggins, picking a kitten from his trouser leg.

  “No,” admitted Henry.

  “But Henry,” said Mrs. Huggins, “you can’t keep four kittens.”

  “No,” said Mr. Huggins. “You can’t keep even one kitten. A dog is enough—too much sometimes, with his fleas and muddy paws. Besides, Ribsy would never stand for it. Tomorrow morning you take all four kittens down to the pet shop and give them to Mr. Pennycuff.”

  “Aw, Dad,” protested Henry, who did not like the idea of his kittens’ being sold to strangers. He looked at the four of them frisking around the room and sighed. If he could not keep them himself, he wanted to know that they had good homes. He would rather sell them to the neighbors—the nicest neighbors, of course.

  “Can’t I sell them around the neighborhood myself?” Henry asked.

  “If you want to. Just so you get rid of them,” said Mr. Huggins. “You know, there is just one thing wrong with kittens.”

  “What?” asked Henry.

  “They grow up to be cats,” answered Mr. Huggins with a grin.

  Henry knew his father thought this was funny, but he did not. Of course kittens grew up to be cats. Puppies grew up to be dogs. Boys grew up to be policemen or pilots or something, but this took a long time.

  Henry felt that he had one thing in his favor. He did not have to take the kittens to the pet shop until the next morning, and perhaps something would happen in the meantime to make his mother and father change their minds. Maybe Ribsy would make friends with the kittens, and then his mother and father would see how nice it would be to have a kitten around the house.

  The way things turned out, Henry had a busy evening. The first thing to do, he decided, was to feed the kittens and get them out of the way before he fed Ribsy. Feeding them was easy enough, but getting them out of the way was not so easy. Henry put an old towel in a box beside the stove and lifted the kittens into it. They climbed right out and scattered over the kitchen floor.

  “Hey, come back here,” said Henry, while Ribsy, who had come around to the back of the house, barked and scratched at the back door. All the other dogs on Klickitat Street barked in sympathy.

  “Quiet!” yelled Henry, out of the kitchen window.

  Mrs. Huggins, who was trying to make gravy, stepped on a kitten. The kitten screeched, and Mrs. Huggins was so startled that she dropped her spoon, spattering gravy on the linoleum. She did not need to wipe it up, though. The kittens took care of that.

  “See how useful they are,” Henry pointed out.

  “I know there are only four kittens,” said Mrs. Huggins, “but they seem like a dozen.”

  Ribsy barked. He told the whole neighborhood that he was hungry and neglected out there, all alone on the back porch.

  “I’m coming, Ribsy,” Henry called, as he scooped up the kittens and put them in the box once more. Because the box did not have a lid, he laid newspapers across the top. Maybe the kittens would go to sleep if it was dark inside the box. Then he hurriedly served Ribsy’s dinner and opened the back door. After a good dinner Ribsy might feel more friendly toward the kittens.

  Ribsy trotted in, his toenails clicking on the linoleum, and headed straight for his dish, where he began to gulp down his food. The newspaper over the box moved up and down. An exploring black paw appeared, followed by a black nose and a set of white whiskers. The black-and-white kitten popped out of the box and was followed by the rest of its brothers and sisters. They scampered across the floor, straight for Ribsy’s dish, and acted as if Ribsy were not even there.

  Ribsy was not going to let any kittens get away with his dinner. He growled deep in his throat and went right on eating. The kittens did not care to be growled at. They arched their backs, hissed, and puffed up their fur so that their tails changed from exclamation points to bottle brushes.

  Anxious to avoid trouble, Henry snatched up the hissing, spitting kittens and tried to hang on to them. As they struggled to get free, their sharp little claws felt like needles through his T-shirt. “Hey!” protested Henry, while Ribsy gulped his food without stopping to chew.

  The black-and-white kitten leaped out over Henry’s arms and skittered up to Ribsy. Ribsy growled. The kitten swatted Ribsy on the end of his nose.

  Ribsy yelped in surprise and backed away. Then he began to growl as if he really meant it, and lunged at the kitten. Henry managed to snatch it up while the other three kittens escaped from his arms and jumped to the floor.

  Three kittens at once were too much for Ribsy. He barked furiously and tried to run in three directions at the same time.

  “Ribsy!” yelled Henry, trying to rescue at least one more kitten.

  “Dinner is ready!” Mrs. Huggins called out above the bedlam.

  Henry dropped the black-and-white kitten. Grabbing Ribsy by the collar, he dragged him across the kitchen to the basement door and shoved him onto the top step of the basement stairs. “You be quiet, see?” he said sternly. “How am I going to get to keep a kitten if you act this way?” Before he closed the basement door, Henry snapped on the light so Ribsy would not have to sit in the dark. The house was quiet.

  “Peace at last,” said Mr. Huggins, as Henry sat down at the table.

  Ribsy whimpered. Then he barked and finally he howled. His voice came through the floor beneath the Hugginses’ feet, loud and mournful. From the kitchen came the rattle of pans that were being explored by kittens.

  Mr. and Mrs. Huggins were silent. Henry was silent, too. Leave it to old Ribsy, he thought crossly. He’s spoiling everything.

  In the kitchen a milk bottle crashed into the sink. For a moment Ribsy was silent, and then he began to howl even more dismally. Long, quivering wails came up through the floor—wails that said Ribsy was the unhappiest dog in the whole world.

  When the Hugginses had almost finished their uncomfortable meal, the telephone rang. “Yes…oh, no, Mrs. Grumbie,” Henry heard his mother say to the next-door neighbor. “No, Ribsy isn’t sick. He just sounds that way.”

  “That does it,” said Henry’s father, when Mrs. Huggins had finished the conversation. “We can’t have Ribsy bothering the neighbors. Let him out, Henry. That dog knows he has a corner of the living room that he’s supposed to stay in when he’s in the house. For once, he will have to mind.”

&nbs
p; “All right, Dad,” said Henry doubtfully, and opened the basement door. Ribsy bounded up the steps and wagged his tail to show Henry he was willing to forgive him for shutting him in the basement.

  “Down, boy,” said Henry, “and in your corner.” Henry knew it would be a good idea to get the kittens out from under his mother’s feet while she washed the dishes, so he picked them out of the cupboards and off the draining board and carried them into the living room, where they promptly decided that Ribsy was something they should investigate. With a low growl, Ribsy rose to his feet.

  “Ribsy, in your corner,” ordered Mr. Huggins.

  Ribsy slunk to his corner, where he settled himself with his nose on his paws and glared at the carefree kittens. Henry was kept busy plucking kittens from the curtains and trying to keep them away from Ribsy. Every time Ribsy started to get up, Henry ordered him back to his corner. It was plain to see that Ribsy was not going to allow any cats around his house.

  I guess Ribsy is too old to get used to a kitten, thought Henry, but it was a good idea, even if it didn’t work out. He was not sorry he had rescued the kittens, although they certainly had caused a lot of trouble. Now he would have to figure out some other way to convince Mr. Capper that he really was a good businessman.

  The black-and-white kitten was especially lively that evening. One by one, the other three curled up and went to sleep; but the black one frisked across the rug in little sideways hops and sprang at Mr. Huggins’s ankles.

  “Shoo! Scat!” said Henry’s father, who was trying to read the paper.

  The kitten promptly climbed onto his lap and poked an inquiring nose under the newspaper. Mr. Huggins unhooked the kitten’s claws from his slacks and set it on the floor. It trotted over to look at Ribsy, who gazed hopefully at Henry, as if to say, “Aw, come on. Let me at him.” When Henry looked sternly at him, Ribsy gave up. He kept a wary eye on the kitten, but he did not growl.

  The kitten skittered past Ribsy, venturing closer this time, and returned to Henry’s father. This time it climbed the arm of his chair and patted the edge of his newspaper with a playful paw.