The Berenstain Bear Scouts and the Evil Eye by Stan & Jan Berenstain Page A

machine in front of Biff Bruin’s Pharmacy.
    â€œOr Grizzly Gus’s flannel pajamas,” said Lizzy as they passed the Gus place, where Mrs. Gus was hanging out the wash.
    They’re right, thought Ralph as he looked out over the town. The whole town seemed to be mocking him: the fire hydrants, the gumball machines, the flannel pajamas. Also the houses, stores, and garages. Even the birdies in the trees seemed to be laughing at Ralph’s pitiful effort to sell those fake four-leaf clovers.
    Ralph slowed to a stop. He sat on the curb. It was as though he were a balloon and suddenly the air had gone out of him. The scouts were taken aback. They weren’t used to seeing Ralph in such a condition. They were used to seeing him striding along in his green plaid suit, straw hat, and spats, twirling his cane, always prepared to pick a pocket, cheat an orphan, or rob a widow. It almost seemed as if suddenly the rain had started to fall up, as if fleas had dogs, as if pigs could fly.
    Ralph was mumbling something. The scouts moved in close to hear. “It’s over,” he was saying.
    â€œWhat’s over?” asked Fred.
    â€œMy career. I’m finished,” said Ralph. “Mighty Ralph Ripoff—winner of the Swindler of the Year Award, king of pickpockets, master of the sleeve card—is down to selling phony four-leaf clovers.”
    He sighed. “You have no idea how bad it’s been. I just seem to have lost my touch. Why, I tried to pick a pocket the other day and all I got for my trouble was a mousetrap.”
    â€œWhat about that shell game?” asked Brother. “You know, the one where you have three shells and you move ’em around real quick and there’s a bean under one of them.”
    â€œAh, yes. The old shell game.” He laughed bitterly. “My hand used to be quicker than the eye. But, alas, no more. I was working it the other day. Not only did the sucker pick the right shell, but when I picked it up there was a mouse under it eating the bean.” Ralph shook his head. “No, I’ve got to face it. I’ve lost my touch. But even worse: I’ve lost my confidence. And when someone in my line of work loses his confidence, then it’s time to . . .”
    â€œLOOK FOR A REGULAR JOB!” shouted the scouts as one.

    â€œA regular job?” said Ralph.
    â€œThat’s right,” said Brother. “A regular, honest job.”
    â€œHmm,” said Ralph. “What sort of job?”
    â€œYou could be a clerk in a store,” said Sister.
    â€œInteresting idea,” said Ralph. “I could give the wrong change and pocket the difference.”
    â€œOr checkout bear at the supermarket,” said Lizzy.
    â€œUh-huh,” said Ralph. “Think of all the coupons I could steal!”
    â€œYou could work in the forest with my dad, chopping down trees,” said Brother.
    â€œIn these clothes?” said Ralph, standing up and dusting himself off. Somehow the air had gotten pumped back into Ralph’s balloon. “Look, friends, I appreciate your concern. I really do. But I have to look at myself in the mirror every day just as everyone else does, and I don’t think I could handle the shame of it.”
    â€œThe shame of what?” asked Brother.
    â€œThe shame of a regular, honest job,” said Ralph. He reached into his pocket and took out the plastic bag of fake four-leaf clovers. “I can let you have the whole bunch real cheap.”
    â€œRalph,” said Sister, “you’re impossible.”
    â€œI try to be,” said Ralph. And off he went, twirling his cane.

Chapter 3
Soil Scouts
    The scouts headed back to the library, where they had some important merit-badge work to do. They had been disappointed when Professor Actual Factual suggested that they try for the Soil Conservation Merit Badge next. “Soil conservation?” they’d complained.
    â€œI know it