Henry and the Clubhouse

by Beverly Cleary

  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 endless 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.

  “Well…I guess you might say he is a friend of mine,” said Henry and added, to himself, Now.

  Then Mrs. Quimby spoke to her youngest daughter. “Ramona, have you been pestering Henry on his paper route again?”

  Ramona looked as if she were about to cry. “I—I won’t do it anymore,” she said.

  “That’s a good girl,” said Mrs. Quimby. “Delivering papers is an important job and you mustn’t get in Henry’s way.”

  “I bet I know how Sheriff Bud knew about it,” said Beezus with a s
mile. “Your move, Henry.”

  Henry grinned as he advanced his checker. Beezus promptly jumped and captured two of his men. Oh well, what did he care? It was only a game. His paper route was real.

  Henry grimaced at Ramona who smiled back almost shyly. Henry moved another checker, which Beezus captured. He did not care. His paper route was safe from Ramona. If she pestered him again, all he had to do was to say, “Remember Sheriff Bud,” and his troubles would be over. It was as easy as that. He had finally hit upon a good idea that had nothing wrong with it. Not one single thing.

  “I won!” Beezus was triumphant.

  “I’ll beat you in the next game,” said Henry, and this time he was sure he would.

  7

  Henry’s Little Shadow

  Afterward Henry realized that he should have known something would go wrong with his plan to keep Ramona from pestering him. Now, because he was a friend of Sheriff Bud, Henry had become such a hero to Ramona that she wanted to follow him wherever he went. Next, Mrs. Quimby said that she was disgusted with the Sheriff Bud program and Ramona was not to watch it anymore. Not ever. This left Ramona plenty of time for tagging after Henry.

  The worst part of it was there was nothing Henry could do about Ramona’s tagging along, because she behaved herself. She stood quietly on Mr. Capper’s driveway while Henry folded his papers. Henry began to wish she would pester him so he could yell at her to go away. Fortunately, none of the other paper carriers thought much about her, because many small children in the neighborhood admired the big boys who delivered the papers. Henry was always glad to spring on his bicycle and ride away from her. If he had delivered his papers on foot she would have tagged after him.

  Then one day at school Beezus said, “Henry, I don’t think you are going to like what Ramona is going to get for Christmas.”

  “What is she getting?” asked Henry.

  Beezus looked worried. “I’m not supposed to tell. I just thought I better warn you is all.”

  Henry did not know what to make of this message. He did not see how a doll or whatever it was that a girl in kindergarten was going to get for Christmas could bother him. As for himself, he hoped he would get a sleeping bag, because he had not saved his paper-route money as fast as he had expected. He had spent quite a bit on nails and a padlock for the clubhouse, and when he counted the money he had collected for his paper route he found he was short a couple of dollars and realized he must have made some mistakes in giving change. This cut into his profits, and after he had done his Christmas shopping he was still several dollars short of a sleeping bag.

  Henry was not disappointed on Christmas morning when he opened a big package and found, not a sleeping bag, but a microscope. He could have a lot of fun with a microscope. It was so cold his mother would not let him sleep outdoors anyway, and next month he would have enough money to buy the sleeping bag.

  It was not until Christmas afternoon, when Henry was folding his papers, that Henry found out what Beezus meant. He looked up and saw Ramona standing there on the driveway in her snowsuit. Henry dropped the paper he was folding when he saw that over her shoulders she was wearing a cloth bag, a small copy of the one Journal carriers wore. It even had “Read the Journal” embroidered on it in red yarn. Embroidered! It was terrible. In each half of her bag Ramona carried some old rolled-up newspapers. She also carried a battered Teddy bear in the front half. She was smiling proudly.

  Naturally the other carriers practically laughed themselves sick at the sight of Henry’s admirer. Red with embarrassment, Henry tried to pretend he did not see Ramona. He bent over and folded papers as fast as he could, so he could get out of there.

  “Henry, see what Santa Claus brought me,” said Ramona, ignoring the laughter. “Now I can be a paper boy like you.”

  The other boys whooped.

  “Why don’t you go home?” Henry asked crossly.

  “I want to watch,” said Ramona politely.

  Henry could see that in spite of the boys’ laughter Ramona was proud of her very own Journal bag, and there was nothing he could do about it, because she had kept her promise to Sheriff Bud and was being good. Henry could see that another of his good ideas had turned out wrong. Even when Ramona was good she was a problem.

  Then Beezus, wearing a brand-new Christmas car coat with a hood, came hurrying up the driveway. “Come on home, Ramona,” she said, then turned to Henry. “I tried to warn you. A Journal bag was the only thing she wanted for Christmas and so Mother had to make her one. She had a terrible time. She couldn’t find a pattern.”

  Henry slung his bag of Journals over his shoulders. “Thanks anyway,” he said ruefully, as he threw his leg over his bicycle and rode away from Ramona and the laughter of the other boys.

  The next morning, when Henry woke up, he discovered that snow was beginning to fall, a few light flakes at first and then more and larger flakes. What luck! Snow during Christmas vacation. He looked out of his bedroom window and saw that there was already an inch of snow on the roof of the clubhouse. After breakfast Henry dragged his Flexible Flyer out of the basement to have it ready, in case there was enough snow for coasting.

  All morning snow fell. By noon it was easy to roll up a snowman. The police blocked off a hill not far from Henry’s house and all the boys and girls went coasting. Henry slid so much and got into so many snow fights he had to go home and put his clothes through his mother’s clothes dryer before he could go out again.

  Cars that did not have snow tires slipped on the icy pavement and skidded into the curbs. Some people who were fortunate enough to have their chains with them thump-thumped down the streets as the snow packed down into ice. By three o’clock Mr. Huggins came driving slowly up the street and skidded gently into a drift at the foot of the driveway. He said the stores downtown were closed and many people could not get across the bridges, because the streets were blocked by skidding cars. Mrs. Huggins looked into the refrigerator and the cupboards to see how much food she had on hand, because she could not go to market and there was no telling when the milkman could get through.

  The whole city was in a wonderful state of confusion, and Henry enjoyed every minute of it. He hoped it would be days, even weeks, before the snow thawed. Then the mailman, a muffler tied over his ears and his hat on top of that, came puffing up the steps hours late. The sight of him reminded Henry that he, too, had work to do, and it was not going to be easy in this weather. Snow or no snow, the Journal had to be delivered.

  Henry dried his woolen gloves in the dryer for the third time that day before he started out, this time on foot. At Mr. Capper’s garage he had a long cold wait before the truck that brought the papers was able to get through. “Foot of Snow Blankets City” was the headline that day.

  In spite of the cold Ramona also waited in her snowsuit with her little Journal bag over her shoulders. She kept busy by making a snowman on the driveway. “Fadatta, fadatta, fadatta,” she said to herself as she worked. When the snowman was finished she tried her Journal bag on it. Henry hoped she would leave it there but she did not. She put it over her own shoulders again.

  When Henry had managed to fold his papers with fingers numbed by the cold, he discovered that this time Ramona could tag after him, because he had to cover his route on foot. And follow him through the snow she did, about ten feet behind him, even though walking was not easy. In some places the snow had drifted, in others it was packed down into ice. Henry walked as fast as he could, but Ramona struggled along after him.

  A man who was trying to shovel snow in front of his house grinned at Henry and said, “I see you have a little shadow.”

  Henry was mighty glad to see Beezus clumping through the snow in her boots. “Come on home, Ramona,” she coaxed. “It’s getting colder.”

  “No,” said Ramona. “I want to go with Henry.” She trudged along in her boots and there was nothing for Beezus to do but follow along and keep an eye on her.

  Henry threw the first paper, which landed with
a plop in the snow that had drifted on his customer’s front steps. Softly a few flakes of snow fell on the paper. This isn’t going to work, thought Henry. The papers would get buried on this side of the street, where the snow was drifting. Nobody would be able to find them. He struggled up the front walk, his heavy Journal bag banging against his legs, and picked the paper out of the drift. Then he rang the doorbell and handed the paper to his customer, who thanked him and said with a smile, “I see you have a little shadow.”

  “Yeah,” said Henry, without enthusiasm.

  Henry soon saw that it was too much work to wade through drifts with his Journal bag bumping against his legs. “Beezus, do me a favor, will you?” he asked. “Go get my sled for me.”

  “It will take quite a while if I have to take Ramona with me,” said Beezus. “I could go faster without her.”

  Henry realized this was true. Ramona’s legs were short and the snow was almost to the top of her boots. He did need that sled, though. “OK, she can tag along with me,” he said, knowing she would, whether he wanted her to or not.

  Silently Ramona floundered along after him, and Henry grudgingly admitted to himself that she was not pestering him. She had a perfect right to be on the sidewalk, didn’t she? If only she were not wearing that ridiculous Journal bag. And if only everyone he met would not say, “I see you have a little shadow.”

  Once Ramona said companionably, “There is an easy house number. One zero zero one.” She was proud of her new ability to read numbers. Henry did not answer her.

  It was not long until Beezus came, dragging Henry’s sled behind her. He was mighty glad to lift the papers from his shoulders and set them on the sled.