Henry groaned. It was even worse than he had expected. Pajamas! Good-night kiss! Did they think he was going to stand up there on the stage in front of all the girls in the school in his pajamas? And be kissed by some dumb old eighth grade girl who was supposed to be his mother? It was horrible even to think about.
He had to find a way out! Already Robert was whispering across the aisle, “Hey, Little Boy!”
Henry ignored him. Maybe if he did stretching exercises for a whole hour every morning he would grow fast enough to outgrow the part. No, that wouldn’t work. There wasn’t time. He would have to think of something else.
During the rest of the afternoon Henry had trouble keeping his mind on Social Studies. He was too busy trying to find a way out of playing Timmy, the Little Boy. When the last bell rang, he grabbed his beanie and raincoat from the cloakroom. He was first out of Room Four and first out of the school building.
Ribs was waiting under the fir tree out of the rain. “Come on, Ribsy,” Henry yelled, “let’s keep ahead of the rest of the kids!”
But he wasn’t quite fast enough. Beezus and Robert and Scooter were right behind him. “Hi there, Timmy!” they yelled. “How’s the Little Boy?” Then they began to chant, “Henry is a Little Boy! Henry is a Little Boy!”
Henry slowed down. “Aw, shut up!” he yelled back. “You think you’re smart, but you’re not. You’re just an old Rag Doll and a Brown Dog. And I’ll bet Scooter is something dumb, too!”
“You wouldn’t catch me being in any old operetta,” said Scooter loftily. “I’m on the stage crew. I get to pull the curtain and turn on the lights and paint the scenery and stuff.”
Mary Jane came skipping down the street, jumping across the puddles on the sidewalk. “Here comes the old Dancing Doll!” yelled Henry.
“Yes.” Mary Jane smiled proudly. “I’ll wear my new ballet slippers and my pink taffeta party dress and have my hair curled.”
The other children were disappointed. They couldn’t tease Mary Jane if she wanted to be a Dancing Doll. It gave Henry an idea. He waited until Scooter said, “I’ll bet the Little Boy will look real cute in his pajamas. Are you going to wear the kind with feet in them, Little Boy?”
“Aw, you’re just jealous because you don’t have an important part like I have. I have the most important part in the whole operetta!”
“Don’t be funny!” Scooter laughed. “I wouldn’t learn all those lines and run around in front of a bunch of people in my pajamas for a million trillion dollars!”
It was a good idea but it didn’t work. Henry would have to think of something else. Maybe he could pretend to be sick. No, that wouldn’t do. His mother would make him go to bed and if it did happen to snow, he would have to stay in the house while all the other children were out sliding on the Thirty-third Street hill.
By the time Henry reached his house on Klickitat Street, he decided to say nothing about the operetta to his mother and father until he could work things out. He said hello to his mother, who was writing a letter on the typewriter, and then he went into the kitchen to fix himself a snack of peanut butter, jam, and pickle relish on graham crackers. He spread a cracker with peanut butter and gave it to Ribsy. Then he leaned against the refrigerator to munch and think.
Tap-tap-tap went the typewriter. Henry fixed himself another cracker. Tap-tap-tap. He heard his mother pull the sheet of paper out of the machine. Then he heard her go into the bedroom. The typewriter—that was it!
“Hey, Mom, can I use the typewriter?”
“May I use the typewriter.”
“May I use the typewriter?” asked Henry patiently.
“Yes, Henry, but don’t pound too hard.”
Henry gulped down his graham cracker with peanut butter, jam, and pickle relish. He wiped his fingers on the seat of his jeans and went into the living room. There he sat down at the desk, took a sheet of paper from the drawer, and put it into the typewriter. He thought a while and then began to type. He didn’t make the typewriter go tap-tap-tap the way his mother did. He made only one tap at a time and then, after a long pause while he looked for the right letter, he made another tap. He had to remind himself to push the extra key to make capital letters.
Henry worked a long time. Fortunately his mother did not pay any attention to his typing. Tap. Tap. Tap. At last it was finished. Henry pulled the paper out of the typewriter and read:
Somehow it didn’t look the way he had thought it would. The capitals were not in the right places. He knew much wasn’t spelled with a j or yours with a z. His fingers had just put themselves on the wrong keys. Henry tore his letter into little pieces and threw them in the fireplace. He ran another piece of paper into the typewriter and started again. Tap. Tap. Tap. When the second letter was finished, it read:
Henry studied it. Those capitals again. He pushed the thing too soon or not soon enough. And who ever heard of a word like ezcude? Or doat? His fingers just didn’t hit the right keys. No, the letter was not a finished product. Henry tore this one up, too, and threw it in the fireplace. He would have to think of something else.
When rehearsals started after school the next day, Henry still had not thought of a way out.
Miss Roop said that today the children would read their parts, but by next week they must have them memorized. “Henry, you and Alice are on the stage first,” she directed. Alice was the eighth grade girl who was to play the part of Timmy’s mother. “Come on, Henry, don’t waste time.”
Henry slouched up the steps to the stage. He pulled his crumpled part out of his hip pocket and looked at it. He decided to pretend he couldn’t read it. Maybe if he read everything wrong, Miss Roop would give someone else the part.
Alice read, “Hurry up and get into bed, Timmy. This is Christmas Eve and good little boys should be asleep when Santa Claus comes.”
Henry held the paper almost against his nose. He frowned and squinted. He didn’t say, “Yes, Mother.” He said, after scowling and twisting the paper around, “Yeah, Ma.”
“Henry Huggins!” Miss Roop interrupted. “You read what is typed on that paper!”
“Well, gee whiz, Miss Roop, it’s so blurry I can hardly see what it says.”
“Bring your part to me.”
Henry slouched off the stage and handed it to her. “Now Henry, it isn’t as blurred as all that. However, since you have such a long part you had better trade with me.”
Well, that’s that, thought Henry. None of his ideas seemed to work.
“Continue,” ordered Miss Roop.
The operetta proceeded. It seemed to Henry that it took a long time to go through it. The music teacher played the music for the songs they were supposed to learn by next week. Henry discovered that in the second act he was supposed to stand in the center of the stage and sing a song all by himself. It went:
Hurrah for Santa! Hurrah for Saint Nick!
He comes from the North with reindeer and sleigh,
Riding on clouds up high in the sky
With a pack full of toys so children can play.
It was the dumbest song Henry had ever heard. Hurrah for Santa! It was just plain stupid. He felt a little better when he learned that Robert had to sing an even dumber song called “Woof, Woof, I’m a Big Brown Dog.”
As Christmas drew near, Henry became more and more discouraged. Everybody in Glenwood School called him Little Boy. His mother and father found out about his part in the play, because Mary Jane told her mother and she told Henry’s mother. He had to learn his lines and recite them every evening while his father looked at the part and prompted him. He scarcely had time to go out to the garage to peek at the Flexible Flyer package.
Mrs. Huggins went downtown to buy him a pair of new pajamas to wear in the first act. They were made of pink-and-blue-and-white-striped flannel. Henry felt that any pajamas were bad enough—but pink-and-blue pajamas! He didn’t even like to think about them.
Henry swallowed hard every morning. He hoped his throat might be a little bi
t sore but it never was. Finally he gave up. There was no way out. Now all he wanted was to get it over.
One afternoon during fifth period Henry looked out of the window and saw a few feathery snowflakes drifting down. They were so light he wasn’t sure at first. When Miss Roop wasn’t looking, he leaned over closer to the window. It was snow, all right! It wasn’t going to be a green Christmas after all! Now he would get to use his Flexible Flyer!
The rest of the class soon noticed the snow, too, and everyone began to whisper. Miss Roop smiled and pretended not to hear. As soon as the bell rang, the children all scrambled for their wraps and rushed out to see the snow—all except those who had parts in the operetta. They took their wraps from the cloakroom and went to the auditorium.
The auditorium was a busy place. In one corner of the room, mothers from the Parent Teacher Association were altering costumes for the polar bear chorus. Henry remembered those white suits. He had worn one when he had been an Easter bunny in a spring program. Now the mothers were ripping off the long ears and fuzzy tails, and were sewing on short ears and straight tails to change the suits into polar bear costumes.
The stage crew was at work. Some of the eighth grade boys were turning different-colored lights on and off. At the back of the stage, Scooter, standing on a board laid across two stepladders, was painting scenery with green paint.
Henry sat down to wait for his turn, while Mary Jane and Beezus rehearsed their dance, and Robert, wearing his dog suit, practiced walking on all fours.
Henry waited and waited. He sat on the hard auditorium chair and looked out of the window at the snowflakes. He could hear the other kids laughing and yelling outside, so he knew there must be enough snow for snowballs. He wished his turn would come so he could leave. Now the tin soldiers were practicing their steps. At the end of their song and dance one of the stage crew threw a basketball across the stage in front of them. It was supposed to look like a cannonball, and the tin soldiers were supposed to fall over with one leg in the air. Miss Roop didn’t like the way they fell and she made them do it over several times.
Henry wandered up on the stage behind the tin soldiers to watch Scooter paint scenery. “What’re you supposed to be painting?” he asked him.
“Trees,” answered Scooter. “With real paint.”
“Where did you get it?”
“A fellow in my room’s father has a paint store and he gave it to us.”
Just then Henry heard a bark. It sounded like Ribsy. It was Ribsy. He bounded in through the door of the auditorium, ran up the steps to the stage, and wormed his way behind the row of tin soldiers to get to Henry. He shook himself and wagged his tail.
“Well, Ribsy, old boy!” said Henry. “Did you get tired of waiting out in the cold?” Ribsy shook himself again. Henry patted him. “Why, Ribs, you’re all wet! It must be snowing hard.”
“He’s a dumb-looking dog,” said Scooter.
“Aw, he is not. He’s a smart dog. Aren’t you, Ribsy?”
“I’ll bet he can’t climb a stepladder like my dog can,” said Scooter.
“I’ll bet he can. Call him and see.”
Scooter looked down at the dog. “Here, Ribsy,” he called. “Come on, boy.” Ribsy looked at him and then at Henry.
“Go on,” said Henry. “Up the ladder.” He pointed to the ladder. Ribsy put one paw on the bottom step. “Atta boy, go on!” Ribsy carefully put a paw on the next step. “Good dog!” said Henry, urging him on.
“Come on, Ribsy,” coaxed Scooter. Ribsy cautiously made his way up to the board on top of the stepladders.
“Good old Ribsy!” said Henry. “See, I told you he could do it!”
Pleased with himself, Ribsy looked down at his master, wagged his tail, and said, “Woof!”
“You be quiet!” ordered Henry in a loud whisper. “If Miss Roop hears you, she’ll throw you out!”
Ribsy sat down on the board and looked around the auditorium.
“Beat it!” said Scooter. “Can’t you see I have work to do?”
“Here, Ribsy!” whispered Henry. “You don’t want Miss Roop to see you, do you?”
Ribsy liked sitting on the board.
“See, I told you he was a dumb dog.” Scooter picked up his can of paint and stepped over Ribsy. He set the can down and went on painting treetops.
“Come on, Ribsy!”
“Aw, he’s too dumb to go down the ladder.”
“He is not! Here, Ribsy!”
Ribsy stood up and sniffed at the can of paint. “Here, Ribsy! Come on down,” begged Henry, looking up at his dog. “Come on, you old dog. I’ll catch it if Miss Roop sees you.”
Miss Roop clapped her hands for attention, the music ceased, and the tin soldiers stopped falling down.
“How did that dog get in here?” she demanded.
“I don’t know,” answered Henry. “I guess he just walked in.”
“Well, take him out!”
Henry did not move.
“Quickly, Henry! We have a lot to do this afternoon.”
“Gee whiz, Miss Roop, I’m trying to take him out but he won’t come down.”
“I’ll carry him down, Miss Roop,” offered Scooter. “I don’t think he knows how to go down a ladder.”
Henry glared at Scooter.
“No, he’s too heavy to carry down a ladder. You might fall,” said Miss Roop.
Just then Ribsy sat down to scratch behind his left ear. Thump. Thump. Thump. His hind leg bumped against the can of paint. The can tipped. Scooter yelled. Ribsy barked.
“Henry! Look out!” screamed Miss Roop.
The can fell over and green paint poured down over Henry.
“Glub!” said Henry as he heard Miss Roop run up onto the stage. He heard her but he couldn’t see her. He had to keep his eyes shut. The cold, oily paint was dribbling down his face and neck. He could feel it dripping off his ears.
Miss Roop made a squeaking noise. Then Henry could feel her rubbing his head with something made of cloth.
“Run and get some paper towels!” she called to the other children. She wiped away at his face. “I knew I shouldn’t have let those boys use real paint. They should have used poster paint. It would have washed off. Oh dear, I’m afraid your shirt is ruined.”
Henry heard Ribsy barking. When he could see again he found all the tin soldiers and polar bears and P.T.A. mothers crowded around him. Miss Roop began to scrub his hair with paper towels. “Oh, that’s all right,” he said to Miss Roop. “It’s an old shirt anyway.” The towels she was wiping him with felt scratchy on his ears and neck.
Ribsy continued to bark and to pace back and forth across the board as he looked down at his master.
“Quiet, Ribsy!” ordered Henry.
Ribsy stopped barking and looked anxiously at the floor. Then he looked at Henry. Before Henry realized what was happening, Ribsy leaped from the board, sailed over the heads of several tin soldiers and polar bears, and landed on all fours in the puddle of paint. He skidded and sat down.
“Ribsy!” groaned Henry. Then he said to Scooter, “See, he was smart enough to get down by himself.”
The dog began to bark and run around Henry. He left a circle of green footprints on the floor of the stage.
“Oh, Henry,” wailed Miss Roop and then said sharply, “Scooter, take that dog out of the building! And carry him. I don’t want any green footprints in the halls!”
“Yes, Miss Roop.” Scooter lugged the barking dog away.
Mary Jane squirmed through the crowd to look at Henry. “Henry Huggins!” she exclaimed. “Wait till your mother sees you! Your hair is green and so is your skin!”
Beezus laughed. “Henry, your face looks just like a green apple!”
“Henry, I’m afraid this isn’t going to come off for a long time,” said Miss Roop.
Someone handed Henry a mirror. “Golly!” breathed Henry. He stared into the mirror. His hair and eyebrows were pale green. His face was all green at the forehead and streaked wi
th green toward his chin. His ears were green all over. “Jeepers! Green ears!” He couldn’t take his eyes off the mirror. Secretly he thought he looked fascinating. Like a leprechaun in a fairy tale. Now maybe the kids would stop calling him Little Boy! That gave him an idea.
“Miss Roop, I can’t be in the operetta when I’m all green, can I?” he asked hopefully.
Miss Roop sighed. “No, Henry, I guess you can’t.” She looked at him. Then she smiled. “I’ll give your part to someone else and you can play the part of the Green Elf! Now run along home.”
The Green Elf! That was a good part. The Green Elf turned somersaults and didn’t have to say anything.
Henry put on his raincoat and beanie and went out into the snow. It was deep enough to scrunch under his feet. He scooped up a handful and threw it at Ribsy, who was waiting under the fir tree. The snow would be just right for coasting on the Thirty-third Street hill when his mother and father surprised him with the Flexible Flyer at Christmas. In the meantime he would make a snowman on the front lawn. Maybe he would make a whole snow family. Even a snow dog.
“Good old Ribsy. I don’t know how I’d ever get along without you.” He took out his handkerchief and wiped green paint from his dog’s tail.
Then Henry followed a set of big footprints in the snow. He took big steps and carefully put his feet into the marks someone else had made in the snow. “Jeepers!” he exclaimed. “I’m going to have a green Christmas and a white Christmas at the same time. Won’t Mom be surprised?”
5
The Pale Pink Dog
When Henry woke up one Monday morning in the spring, the first thing he thought was, Five more days till Saturday. On Tuesday the first thing he thought was, Four more days till Saturday. By Wednesday he felt as if Saturday would never come.
It all began when Henry and Ribsy made their weekly trip to the Lucky Dog Pet Shop to buy horse meat.
“Well, if it isn’t Henry and Ribs!” exclaimed Mr. Pennycuff. “Do you have your entry blank for the dog show?”
Henry Huggins Page 5