Henry and Beezus by Beverly Cleary Page B

Huggins,” she exclaimed. “And Beatrice.”
    â€œHello, Mrs. Wisser,” said Henry and Beezus politely.
    â€œMy, Henry, how you have grown! And you’re getting to look more like your father every day. I was telling your mother only yesterday that every time I see you, you look more like your father.”

    Another boy hurried down the street. Was every boy in town going to the auction? Henry smiled as politely as he could at Mrs. Wisser and looked uneasily in the direction of the police station. The best bikes would be gone, he was sure, by the time he got there. Maybe he could find an older bike that just needed a little paint or something. He had plenty of time before the parade to fix it up. He tried not to show how impatient he felt.
    â€œDon’t you think he looks more like his father every day?” asked Mrs. Wisser of Beezus.
    â€œYes, I guess he does,” said Beezus. She had also noticed the boys going in the direction of the police station, but she felt she should say something. “Especially the way his hair sticks up,” she added.
    Henry gave her a disgusted look.
    â€œAnd is this Ribsy?” asked Mrs. Wisser. “Nice doggie.”
    Ribsy sat down and scratched. Thump, thump, thump went his hind leg on the sidewalk.
    â€œAnd this must be Ramona. How are you, sweetheart?”
    Ramona was silent.
    â€œWhat a pretty dress you’re wearing,” said Mrs. Wisser. “And it has a pocket, too. Do you have something in your pocket?”
    â€œYes,” said Ramona.
    â€œIsn’t she sweet?” said Mrs. Wisser to Beezus. “What do you have in your little pocket, dear?”
    Ramona poked her fist into her pocket and pulled out a fat slimy garden slug, which she held out to Mrs. Wisser.
    â€œOh,” gasped Mrs. Wisser. “Oh!”
    â€œRamona, throw that thing away,” ordered Beezus.
    Henry couldn’t help grinning, Mrs. Wisser looked so horrified.
    â€œWell…I must be running along,” said Mrs. Wisser.
    â€œGood-bye, Mrs. Wisser,” said Beezus and Henry. Ramona put her slug back in her pocket, Beezus wound her up again, and they went on.
    Until they reached the Glenwood shopping district, Henry almost thought girls were good for something after all. Then Ramona stopped in front of the supermarket. “I’m hungry,” she announced.
    â€œCome on, Ramona,” coaxed Beezus. “We’re in a hurry.”
    â€œI’m hungry,” repeated Ramona.
    Henry groaned. He knew they couldn’t go any farther until Ramona had something to eat. That was the kind of little girl she was.
    â€œI have a quarter,” said Beezus. “I better get her something.”
    â€œOK,” agreed Henry reluctantly. “I could stand something myself.” Then Henry noticed a sign on the door of the market. It said, “No dogs allowed in food stores.”
    â€œLie down, Ribsy,” he ordered, as he went through the swinging door.
    On the next swing of the door Ribsy came in, too. “Sorry, sonny,” said a clerk. “You’ll have to take your dog outside.”
    â€œBeat it,” said Henry to his dog. Ribsy sat down. “Come on, you old dog,” said Henry, seizing his pet by the collar and dragging him out onto the sidewalk.
    Henry hurried back into the market and was trying to decide between a bag of Cheezy Chips and a box of Fig Newtons when the clerk said, “Say, sonny, I thought I told you to get that dog out of here.”
    Once more Henry dragged Ribsy out. This time he dug into his pocket and pulled out a piece of heavy twine. He tied one end to Ribsy’s collar and fastened the other end securely to a parking meter. “Now don’t you chew the twine,” he said, before he went back into the store. He chose the Cheezy Chips and stood impatiently behind Beezus in line at the cashier’s counter.
    Finally they were out on the sidewalk again, where they