Henry Huggins by Beverly Cleary Page A

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.”
    â€œHenry Huggins!” Miss Roop interrupted. “You read what is typed on that paper!”
    â€œWell, gee whiz, Miss Roop, it’s so blurry I can hardly see what it says.”
    â€œBring 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.
    â€œContinue,” 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