This morning Otis was an Indian. He was thinking of a movie he had seen last Saturday at the Kiddie Matinee at the Laurelwood Theater. Instead of walking through the snow on the sidewalk, he slipped from tree to tree. When he had crept silently through the forest for a block, he saw Ellen and Austine ahead of him. He stopped being an Indian and became a boy again. He began to run.
Ellen looked over her shoulder. “Here he comes,” she cried, as she grabbed Austine’s hand and started to run.
Otis ran after the two girls. He did this nearly every morning on the way to school. Sometimes Otis ran as fast as he could. Other times he ran just fast enough to keep the girls running. After all, he did not want to catch them. He just wanted to tease them. Especially Ellen.
But this morning Otis did not chase the girls all the way to school. They had run only a block when Austine’s brother, Bruce, cut through a vacant lot and caught up with them. Otis noticed he was wearing his Boy Scout uniform under his leather jacket.
“Hey, what are you kids running for?” Bruce called to his sister and her friend.
The girls stopped and Otis slowed to a walk.
“He’s chasing us,” Austine panted.
“Him?” asked Bruce scornfully.
“Yes,” said Ellen. “He chases us every morning.”
“What would he do if he caught you?” Bruce asked.
Otis saw the girls look at each other. They didn’t know. All three were silent while he walked past. He was tempted to yank Austine’s hair ribbon as he went by, but he decided he’d better not with Bruce there.
Bruce said, “He wouldn’t do anything!”
Otis thought this over as he continued down the street. What would he do if he caught them? He didn’t know either. He guessed he would have to think of something. Now that there was snow on the ground, he might wash their faces.
Then he heard Bruce say, “I’ll tell you what. You chase him.”
Startled, Otis stopped and looked back. Ellen and Austine were staring at each other in surprise. Such an idea had never occurred to them. They giggled.
“Go on,” urged Bruce. “I’ll watch you.” With Bruce to protect them, the girls began to run. Otis stood his ground an instant and then he began to run too. There was no telling what two girls might do if they caught him.
“That’s it,” yelled Bruce. The girls ran faster, their feet scrunching in the snow.
Otis ran faster too. That old Boy Scout, he thought, as his feet pounded through the snow and he unzipped his jacket to cool off. Probably thinks he’s done his good deed for the day. I’ll fix him. Otis made up his mind to let the air out of Bruce’s tires as soon as the snow melted and he rode his bicycle to school again.
To Otis’s embarrassment, the girls, protected by Bruce, chased him all the way to school. Of course, everyone on the school grounds saw him. They left their snowmen and snowball fights to watch.
“Hey, Otis,” yelled Stewy. “What are you running for?” Everyone laughed.
“What’s the matter?” yelled a boy, throwing a snowball at him. “You scared of a couple of girls?”
Otis didn’t know what to do. He was running because he didn’t know how to stop.
“You go that way and I’ll go this way,” he heard Austine say, as they ran into the schoolyard.
They’re surrounding me, thought Otis. Now what am I going to do? He turned and ran to the right. He nearly bumped into Ellen. He ran to the left. Austine was ahead of him. She reached out to grab him but he dodged away from her. There was Ellen again.
Otis tried to dodge a second time, but he was too late. Ellen grabbed his collar. With a quick twist of his body he wrenched himself out of her grasp. He felt something give and saw the top two buttons of his shirt pop out into the snow. Otis glared at Ellen. “Now see what you’ve done.”
Then the bell rang, and the breathless girls left Otis and went into the building. He heard them giggling about the way they had made him run.
Several boys gathered around Otis and laughed.
“Jeepers, letting a couple of girls chase you,” George said.
“Aw, keep quiet,” muttered Otis, looking down at his shirt. Quickly he pulled it together at the neck, but he was not quick enough.
“Hey, fellows!” Stewy whooped. “Did you see his undershirt? It’s pink!”
“Aw,” growled Otis, taking hold of the rabbit’s foot on his zipper and zipping up his jacket.
“Pink underwear! Whoever heard of a boy wearing pink underwear?” someone wanted to know.
“It isn’t really pink,” said Otis.
“It is, too,” contradicted Stewy. “I saw it.” “Well, it isn’t supposed to be pink,” protested Otis. “My mother put one of my glow-in-the-dark socks in the washing machine by mistake, and it faded and dyed everything pink. Sheets and towels and everything.”
The boys laughed. Otis’s explanation did not change the color of his undershirt. They were not going to let him forget it.
And they didn’t, either. Word soon spread around Rosemont School that Otis was wearing pink underwear. Otis took off his jacket in the cloakroom and went to his desk, where he fastened his shirt with a paper clip and slid down in his seat with a scowl on his face. Every boy in Room Eleven stopped at his desk and asked to see his pink underwear. The more Otis thought about it, the more he didn’t like being chased. He didn’t like losing his buttons, either. And it was all Bruce’s fault for not minding his own business. And that Ellen…she’d be sorry!
As the boys and girls struggled out of boots, sweaters, jackets, coats, scarves, earmuffs, caps, and mittens they babbled not only about Otis’s pink underwear, but also about the snow and the coasting they were going to do after school. They could hardly wait.
Mrs. Gitler had to clap her hands several times for attention. Then she said, “I know we are all excited about the snow and are eager to go coasting, but that does not mean we may neglect our schoolwork. Let’s forget about the snow until school is out.”
The class exchanged glances. What a silly thing for Mrs. Gitler to say. How could they forget about the snow when it was falling past the windows this very minute?
“Who has something to share with the class during Telling Time?” Mrs. Gitler asked.
Stewy shot up out of his seat. “Otis Spofford wears pink underwear,” he announced in a loud voice, and sat down.
Instantly the class was in an uproar. Otis felt himself turn red. He glared at Stewy and drew back his fist to show Stewy he had better look out.
Mrs. Gitler rapped on her desk with a ruler. “Stewart, I’m disappointed in you. You know that is not the sort of thing we talk about in Telling Time. The class is not interested in the color of Otis’s underwear.”
That’s what she thinks, thought Otis.
Ellen was next to tell something to the class. “This morning the milk was frozen in the bottles on our front porch. The cream stuck way up above the tops of the bottles and the caps were sitting on top of the cream.”
“That’s nothing. Ours has been that way for a week,” said Tommy. The rest of the class agreed, and Ellen looked embarrassed because she had not noticed the frozen milk sooner.
“That means the temperature went down to freezing, doesn’t it?” Mrs. Gitler remarked, before she called on George.
“Last night my dad took my brother and me in the car over to Laurelwood Park to see if the lake had frozen over. There was ice all over it except in the very middle where the ducks swim around, so it can’t freeze. Some men from the fire department were looking at it. They said if it was as cold last night as it has been the last few nights, the ice would be thick enough to skate on.” George looked pleased to have brought this news to the class.
Boy, I’m sure going to the lake, thought Otis, as an excited murmur ran through the class. Not every winter was cold enough for outdoor skating.
“Thank you, George,” said Mrs. Gitler. “From what Ellen told us about the frozen milk we know that we had freezing
weather last night. How many of you plan to go skating?”
Half the boys and girls raised their hands. Otis and the rest of the class buzzed with plans for skating and coasting until Mrs. Gitler told them to take out their arithmetic books.
Otis enjoyed the air of excitement, but Mrs. Gitler had a difficult time teaching arithmetic. Because of the weather, the class had to stay in during recess. Mrs. Gitler said it was like being in a room with thirty-five wild Indians.
After lunch, when everyone had again scrambled out of boots, sweaters, jackets, coats, scarves, earmuffs, caps, and mittens, half the class complained about being hit by snowballs by the other half. Everyone was saying either “I did not,” or “You did, too,” until Mrs. Gitler clapped her hands, blew on her pitch pipe, and had everyone sing Jingle Bells. That helped for a few minutes. The rest of the afternoon, while Mrs. Gitler tried to teach, the boys and girls looked out of the windows to see if more snow was falling or at the clock to see how much time was left before they could be out in it. Mrs. Gitler looked at the clock too, and said she was glad when the last period of the day came and she could tell the class to take out their readers.
Reluctantly, Otis took With Luke and Letty on the Oregon Trail out of his desk. With a feeling of great dislike, he looked at the picture on the cover. Another couple of dopes, thought Otis. Boys and girls in readers were always dopes. They were always polite and they never used slang and they hardly ever did anything they shouldn’t. Except for wearing old-fashioned clothes and saying “Yes, Pa,” instead of “Yes, Father,” Luke and Letty were just like all the rest. Dopes!
Yesterday the class had read about Luke and Letty crossing the North Platte River in their covered wagon. Nothing much happened. The wagon tipped a little and Letty said, “Oh, Pa, what will we do if the wagon tips over?” It didn’t tip over, though. Otis thought that if he had written the story he would have dumped the whole bunch of them into the river and had them chased by a herd of buffalo besides.
With no enthusiasm at all, Otis turned to the next chapter. There was a picture of an Indian at the top of the page. That was a good sign. Something might happen in this chapter. If he had his way about it, the Indian would scalp old Luke and Letty and that would be the end of the reader.
Mrs. Gitler called on Stewy to read first. He read, without expression, “‘Look, Pa, Indians,’ said Luke. ‘Oh, Ma, what shall we do?’ asked Letty.”
Otis made a face. That was the way Luke and Letty always talked. It sounded even worse the way Stewy read. Well, he knew what he would do if Indians were coming after him. He’d grab a gun and get down inside the covered wagon where the Indians couldn’t see him and then when they got close enough…
“Otis.” Mrs. Gitler’s voice broke into his thoughts. “You may read next.”
Otis got to his feet. He wasn’t sure where the place was, but he took a chance. “Uh…Letty climbed into the wagon to hide from the Indians while Luke helped Pa round up the cattle that followed—”
Mrs. Gitler interrupted. “Otis, I don’t know where you have been, but the rest of the class has traveled to the top of the next page. Please begin there.”
Otis continued. “Then Pa said, ‘Do not be afraid. These Indians are friends of the white man. They bring us robes made of buffalo skins.’” Otis paused. How do you like that! he thought. Friendly Indians! Who wanted to read about friendly Indians?
“Go on, Otis,” said Mrs. Gitler.
“But, Mrs. Gitler,” objected Otis, “I thought the Indians went on the warpath and burned the pioneers’ wagons and stuff. They do in the movies.”
All the other boys nodded in agreement. George spoke up. “I went to the show Saturday and there was this Indian that—”
“Never mind, George,” said Mrs. Gitler sharply. “Many of the Indians were friendly to the pioneers. Right now we are studying the reader, not the movies.”
Most of the boys and girls in the class had seen the same movie. They, too, preferred movie Indians to reader Indians. The room buzzed with talk about the movie.
Stewy said, “And there was this Indian creeping up on—”
“Never mind,” said Mrs. Gitler even more sharply, as she glanced at the clock. “You may continue, Otis.”
But Otis had lost the place once more. He was thinking what he would do if he were an Indian. He could see himself covered with war paint, riding down on a wagon train.
Mrs. Gitler sighed and looked at the clock as if she were afraid this day might last forever. “That will do, Otis. Ellen, you may continue reading the story.”
Ellen stood up, but she did not have a chance to read. The buzzer sounded on the telephone that connected Room Eleven with the principal’s office. The class was silent, because it wanted to hear what Mrs. Gitler said.
“Thank you. I’ll be right down,” she said into the telephone. Then she turned to the class. “Boys and girls, Mr. Howe wants me to come to the office for a few minutes. While I am gone, you will continue reading to yourselves. Remember, I’m putting you on your honor.”
This meant the class was supposed to behave, even though no one was watching to see that they did. And they did behave until they were sure Mrs. Gitler was safely out of hearing. Then, except for a few unusually good girls who went on with their reading, the room began to hum with activity. Several children went to the window to see how much snow had fallen since lunchtime. Tommy threw an eraser across the room at George. Gary appointed himself a sentry at the door to watch for Mrs. Gitler’s return.
Austine ran up to the front of the room and sat at Mrs. Gitler’s desk. “Boys and girls, I’m waiting,” she said, the way Mrs. Gitler did when she wanted the class to be quiet.
“Austine Allen, I’m going to tell on you,” said Linda.
Austine made a face at Linda and ducked as Tommy threw an eraser at her.
Otis was still thinking about those friendly Indians in the reader. It wouldn’t be any fun to be a friendly Indian. If he were an Indian, he would be unfriendly. Chief Otis, the unfriendly Indian, that’s what he was. He jumped out of his seat. “I’m an Indian,” he announced. “I’m on the warpath.” He put one hand behind his head and held up two fingers to look like feathers. The other hand he patted over his mouth while he war-whooped.
“You better keep quiet or they’ll hear you in the next room,” someone said.
Otis whooped more softly. Then he did a sort of war dance. “Me heap big chief,” he said. “Me chase ’um paleface.”
“Heap Big Chief Lose-Place-in-Reader,” scoffed Stewy, and pegged him with an eraser.
Otis went on with his war dance. Some of the other boys joined him and pranced up and down the aisles whooping softly.
Stewy ran around the chalk rail, gathering erasers for ammunition. He passed them out to the other boys, who pelted the Indians with them. The Indians dodged these bullets. Two who were hit clutched their chests and fell to the floor, where they died before they got up and grabbed some chalk to throw back at the palefaces.
Otis looked around for a weapon. A pair of snub-nosed scissors lay on Mrs. Gitler’s desk. He snatched them and held them like a hunting knife. “Paleface squaw better run or big chief scalp ’um,” he said to Austine, who was still sitting at the teacher’s desk.
“I’m not a squaw,” Austine giggled. “I’m a beautiful maiden.”
The boys hooted at this, and Austine let Otis chase her back to her seat.
“Austine,” whispered Ellen, “be careful. Mrs. Gitler will be back any minute.” Then she went on reading, and as she read she tugged at a lock of hair to make it grow faster.
Now I’ll have some fun, thought Otis, as he watched Ellen tug at her hair and look so neat and clean and well behaved. He had not forgotten about those two shirt buttons. Advancing with his scissors, he said, “Big chief scalp paleface maiden.”
Ellen glanced up from her book. “Otis Spofford, you stop it,” she said, and went on reading.
“Ugh,” answered Otis, disappoin
ted at not getting a rise out of Ellen.
“Woo-woo,” whooped the braves. Ellen continued to ignore Otis.
“Paleface maiden better run for her life,” he ordered, trying not to laugh. That ought to make her forget her old reader.
“Otis Spofford, stop being silly,” said Ellen, and turned a page.
Otis flipped her book shut and danced down the aisle and up the other side of the row of desks.
“Big Chief Pink Underwear,” Ellen scoffed, as he passed her desk. Then she and Austine began to giggle.
Otis held up the scissors threateningly. “Take it back!” he demanded. Maybe Ellen did pull the buttons off his shirt, but she was not going to call him Big Chief Pink Underwear and get away with it.
Ellen pulled away from the scissors. “I take it back,” she cried.
She better, thought Otis, as he started to prance away from her desk. He guessed he’d showed her.
Then Ellen took her right hand out from under her desk and held it up with two fingers crossed. “I fooled you,” she said. “I had kings when I took it back.”
The class laughed. Otis could see everyone was delighted to have Ellen get the better of him. He felt his face grow hot and he quickly grabbed a handful of Ellen’s hair.
Ellen halfway stood up in her seat. “Ouch,” she protested. “Otis Spofford, you stop it. You’re pulling my hair.”
“Do you really take it back?” Otis raised the scissors. What would it feel like to cut off a big hunk of hair?
Ellen tried to jerk her hair out of his hand. “Ouch!” she said again, as silence fell over the class.
Otis opened the blades of the scissors. He knew the class waited breathlessly. They thought he wouldn’t dare…or would he?
He watched Ellen’s horrified stare as the scissors came closer and closer. Much as he had always wanted to cut someone’s hair, he wouldn’t really cut Ellen’s. He would just tease her a little.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, Otis saw Austine spring from her seat. “You leave Ellen alone,” she shouted. “You’re not going to cut her hair!”
Beverly Cleary_Ellen & Otis 02 Page 6
