Henry and the Clubhouse

by Beverly Cleary

  “Gee, Mrs. Morgan…” Henry was almost speechless, he was so busy considering the possibilities of a stuffed owl. In his room on his chest of drawers…or in the clubhouse. That was it! In the clubhouse. A stuffed owl was exactly what they needed for a finishing touch. “Gee, could I really have it?”

  “Certainly,” said Mrs. Morgan. “You boys just climb up on that apple box and lift it down.”

  The boys quickly obeyed before Mrs. Morgan could change her mind. Henry could scarcely believe his good fortune. The owl was at least five feet from wing tip to wing tip. Why, this was better than all the peanuts and popcorn balls in the world. “Thanks, Mrs. Morgan,” said Henry. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Oh, don’t thank me,” said Mrs. Morgan. “I’ve been looking for a way to get rid of that thing for years. It’s too big to go into the garbage can, and the Goodwill refused to take it.”

  “Are you going to put it in the clubhouse?” asked Murph, when the boys had left Mrs. Morgan’s garage.

  “Sure,” said Henry. “Then we can call it a hunting lodge.”

  “Nobody hunts owls,” Murph pointed out.

  Henry could see no reason for continuing the rounds of the neighborhood. Nothing he would get could possibly be as good as a stuffed owl. Besides, carrying his paper bag and lugging his owl, which was an awkward size and shape, did not leave him a free hand for ringing doorbells.

  On their way home Henry and Murph met a gypsy and a small red devil who turned out to be Beezus and—appropriately, Henry felt—Ramona. They were carrying a jack-o’-lantern that had been carved too long before Halloween. Now its lips were shriveled and there was a smell of cooking pumpkin in the air.

  “A stuffed owl!” exclaimed Beezus. “How spooky! What are you going to do with it?”

  “Put it in the clubhouse,” said Henry, “but no girls are allowed.” Henry really would not have minded Beezus’s visiting the clubhouse, but Murph had been firm from the beginning. No girls allowed. And perhaps Murph was right. A boy who was in the business of delivering papers was too old to play with girls.

  Before Beezus could answer, Ramona held up her paper bag. “We each got a Nutsie,” she said and began to recite. “Nutsies give both children and adults quick energy. Avoid that midafternoon slump with a Nutsie, chock-full of protein-rich nuts!”

  “Jeepers,” said Henry. “What does she do? Memorize commercials?”

  “Oh, Ramona,” said Beezus impatiently, “stop reciting commercials. You don’t have to believe things just because you hear them on TV.” Then she turned to Henry and Murph. “Stay away from that house on the corner,” she advised. “When we said ‘Trick or treat,’ they said they would like to see us do a trick for them and why didn’t we sing a little song. I guess they don’t understand about Halloween.”

  “I sang a little song,” boasted Ramona, twitching her red devil’s tail. “I sang ‘Crispy Potato Chips are the best, North or South, East or West, Crispy Chips, hooray, hooray! Get your Crispy Chips today.’”

  “And the people thought it was cute,” said Beezus crossly. “They asked her to do it again each time.”

  “It’s a nice song,” said Ramona. “I like it.”

  While they were standing under the streetlight, Scooter McCarthy appeared out of the darkness. He was wearing his father’s old Marine uniform, without even a mask, and was licking a candy apple. “Hey, where did you get the owl?” he asked.

  “Mrs. Morgan,” answered Henry, who suspected Scooter of wanting to let everyone know that his father had been a Marine.

  Scooter looked closer. “Sort of beat-up, but not bad,” he conceded.

  “Where did you get the candy apple?” asked Murph.

  “That house where the people moved in last week.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Murph asked Henry. “Come on, let’s get some candy apples.”

  “Oh…I don’t know.” Henry did not think he cared to meet Ranger when he was wearing an Indian blanket and carrying a stuffed owl. He might trip if he tried to run. There was Ribsy to think of, too. Henry did not want his dog to get in another fight with Ranger.

  “Henry is scared of their dog,” said Scooter.

  “I am not!” said Henry indignantly.

  “Then why do you let him chase you every day?” asked Scooter.

  Henry wondered how Scooter knew about this. “Come on, Murph, let’s go ring the new lady’s doorbell.” Henry spoke with more assurance than he felt. He only hoped that the dog would feel more friendly toward him when he was not delivering papers and perhaps would not even recognize him in his war paint. Ranger would probably be in the house and, anyway, Henry was not going to be pushed around by a dog. If his owner was giving out candy apples, Henry was going to have a candy apple. If the worst came to the worst he could use the owl to fend off Ranger. He also had the happy thought that it might be pretty hard for Ranger to bite him through the folds of a blanket.

  “Sit, Ribsy,” Henry ordered, when they were in front of the house. To be on the safe side he pulled off the rubber wolf mask. “Sit!” he said again.

  For once Ribsy sat. Probably he was no more eager to meet Ranger than Henry was. As the boys advanced toward the front steps Henry noted that the wind was blowing his scent away from the house. He also thought that since he was disguised with war paint the lady would not recognize him as the boy whose friend had told her that only she could prevent forest fires. That was a good thing. “You ring,” he said to Murph, as he rested his bag of treats in front of his feet and held the owl in his left hand. This left his right hand free to accept the candy apple.

  Murph turned on his outer-space eyes and rang the doorbell while Henry braced himself. The door opened and the new neighbor, the one to whom Henry was so anxious to sell the Journal, appeared.

  “Oh!” She clapped her hands to her chest and stepped back, pretending great fright.

  “Trick or treat!” shouted Henry and Murph, who could not help being pleased by her performance. Henry was glad that the lady could not possibly recognize him.

  Ranger, who was trotting toward the door, saw the owl with its outstretched wings, sharp claws, and glittering eyes, looking as if it were about to attack. He skidded to a stop on the hardwood floor, turned, and tried to run, but his claws could not dig into the slippery wood. He slipped and skidded to the edge of the carpet, where his claws could take hold. He slunk under the chair, whimpering with fright.

  Old Ranger wasn’t so brave after all, Henry thought, as he heard a growl behind him in the dark. Now that Ranger had turned tail, Ribsy was ready to protect his master.

  “Go home!” Henry ordered even though he could not see Ribsy.

  The lady bent over and looked under the chair. “What’s the matter with Ranger?” she asked. “What’s the matter with the boy? Come on out, baby. It’s just a stuffed owl. It can’t hurt you.”

  Baby! The lady called that ferocious animal “Baby”! Henry heard the jingle of license tags behind him. He noticed that Ranger had heard them, too. Henry wished he had not bothered with a candy apple when he already had a whole bag full of things his mother would not want him to eat.

  At that moment Ribsy poked his head around the door.

  “Why, it’s that dog that got into the fight with Ranger,” exclaimed the lady, holding out a tray of candy apples to Henry, “and you must be the paperboy.”

  Henry accepted an apple. “Uh…yes,” he admitted now that his disguise had been penetrated. He used his foot to give Ribsy a shove down the steps. “I—I’m sorry about the fight and what Ramona said about not causing forest fires.”

  “Oh, children and pets!” said the lady, with an airy laugh. “You never can tell what little children are going to say, and I have had a lot of pets and they are always into something. Don’t worry about the little girl and please don’t worry about Ranger. He’ll get over it.”

  Suddenly a word the woman had spoken repeated itself in Henry’s mind. Pets. She was interested in pets! He looke
d at Ranger whimpering under the chair, steadied his owl, and decided to speak up. Now that the lady knew who he was he had nothing to lose, and somehow he had a feeling it would be easier when he was disguised as an Indian. It was almost as if someone else was speaking instead of Henry. “My name is Henry Huggins,” he began. “I am your Journal carrier. I deliver the Journal to many of your neighbors. The Sunday supplement has a good column about pets you might enjoy reading….” Here he paused to catch his breath, and try to think what to say next.

  “Well, it’s about time,” said the lady with a smile. “I am Mrs. Peabody, and I have been waiting for you to come and sell me a subscription.”

  “You have?” This possibility had never occurred to Henry.

  “Yes, I thought you might want to get credit for selling a subscription,” answered Mrs. Peabody.

  “Oh, he does,” Murph assured her earnestly.

  “It took you so long I was about to give up and phone the paper myself,” Mrs. Peabody continued.

  “Please don’t do that,” said Henry, lest the lady change her mind about the subscription.

  “I won’t,” Mrs. Peabody assured him. “I have a grown son who used to deliver papers when he was your age and I know all about it.”

  Henry wondered if she really did know everything about a paper route—things like dogs who chased paper boys. Ranger, it seemed to him, was getting over his scare. He had poked his nose out from under the couch.

  “Now don’t you worry about my dog,” said the lady a second time. “He felt he had to defend his property against intruders, but now that he sees we are friends, he will be all right.” She leaned over and spoke to her dog. “Won’t you, Ranger, baby?”

  Ranger peered out from under the couch and thumped his whiplike tail.

  “He’s really just a lamb,” said Ranger’s owner.

  Some lamb, thought Henry, but he felt that he should try to make friends with Ranger, so he gave Ribsy another shove with his foot and said, “Hiya, Ranger? How’s the fellow?”

  Ranger did not growl or bare his teeth. That was progress.

  “Well…uh…thanks a lot for the subscription and the candy apple,” said Henry. “I’ll start leaving the paper tomorrow.”

  “Good!” said Mrs. Peabody. “I’ve missed the crossword puzzle.”

  She did not say one word about having the paper left in some special place, not a word about being careful not to hit the shrubs or the windows. Henry could tell this lady was going to be a good customer. Probably she would always be home when he came to collect and would always have the exact change ready.

  “Good night, Harry,” the lady called after him. She was such a nice lady Henry did not want to tell her his name was Henry, not Harry.

  “Well, what do you know,” Henry remarked to Murph when they were out on the sidewalk once more. “Two treats—a candy apple and a Journal subscription.” He felt as if a burden had been taken from him. He had actually sold a subscription, and now that he had sold one, he was sure he could sell others. From now on it would be easy.

  Murph laughed. “The way that old Ranger dived under that couch! He sure thought something was after him, but he didn’t know what.”

  Henry laughed, too. He laughed at the thought of Ranger skidding on the floor. He laughed because he felt good.

  “I’ve had enough,” said Murph. “Let’s go home.”

  “Not yet,” said Henry, who no longer felt like going home. “Just one more house.”

  “What for?” asked Murph. “We have more junk than we can eat now.”

  “Aw, come on, Murph,” coaxed Henry. “Let’s stop at Mr. Capper’s. I’ll bet he’s giving something good.”

  “You just want to tell him about the subscription,” said Murph.

  “Yup,” answered Henry. It was true. News like this could not wait until tomorrow. Now it would be safe for his father to talk to Mr. Capper, who would tell him Henry was a good salesman. There was no danger of his father’s telling him to tear down the clubhouse now.

  “OK,” agreed Murph, and the boys started toward Mr. Capper’s house with the good news.

  4

  Henry Collects

  The day after Halloween was the first of November. Henry regretfully had to leave the building of the clubhouse to Robert and Murph, while he called on his subscribers to collect for the Journal.

  Beezus visited the Hugginses’ backyard and offered to pound nails in Henry’s place. “Ramona is playing over at Lisa’s house,” she said, “so she won’t get in the way.”

  Murph scowled. “No girls allowed.”

  “Oh, all right,” said Beezus, and flounced down the driveway.

  “It won’t take me long to collect,” said Henry cheerfully, but it was not long before his cheerfulness faded. First of all, he started out to collect without taking any money along. He had to go home and rob his piggy bank so he would have change to give his customers. That took time.

  As usual, Henry found that not everyone was home when he rang the doorbell. Sometimes he had to go back a second and even a third time. That took more time. One man who was home had only a twenty-dollar bill. Henry did not have that much change, so he had to make a second trip. And all the time he was eager to get back to the clubhouse.

  Henry did have one customer who was just about perfect to collect from. That was Mrs. Peabody. She not only had the exact change ready, she had it waiting on a table by the front door so that Henry was not delayed while she went to get her purse. She also had some cookies wrapped in a paper napkin for him. Ranger behaved himself, too. He watched Henry, but he did not move.

  There was only one thing wrong with Mrs. Peabody. She opened the door and said, “Well, here is Harry Higgins to collect for the paper!”

  Naturally, since she was such a good customer to collect from, Henry did not like to speak up and say, “Excuse me, my name is Henry Huggins.” He just gave her the receipt and thanked her for the cookies.

  “You’re welcome, Harry,” said Mrs. Peabody.

  Harry Higgins! Henry wondered how Mrs. Peabody would feel if he started calling her Mrs. Beanbody, not that he intended to. Now that Ranger behaved himself, Mrs. Peabody was his nicest customer, and he would never hurt her feelings.

  Then in contrast to Mrs. Peabody there was Mrs. Kelly, who was Henry’s most difficult customer when it came to collecting. The first time Henry walked up the Kellys’ walk, which was strewn with tricycles, kiddie cars, and battered kitchen utensils, and rang the doorbell, a little voice inside screamed, “Doorbell, Mommy!”

  Mrs. Kelly called from an upstairs window, “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Henry Huggins,” Henry answered. “I’m collecting for the Journal.”

  “You’ll have to come back some other time,” Mrs. Kelly called down. “I’m giving the baby a bath.”

  The second time Henry rang the doorbell, Mrs. Kelly answered. She wore pedal pushers and an old blouse, and her hair was bound up in a faded scarf. Two small children followed her to the door, and another was crying somewhere in the house. Behind Mrs. Kelly, Henry caught a glimpse of Ramona playing with a little girl her own age.

  “Oh, it’s you again,” said Mrs. Kelly, before Henry had a chance to speak. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a cent in the house. You’ll have to come back after payday.”

  Henry realized as he tripped over an old muffin tin on his way down the front steps that he had forgotten to ask Mrs. Kelly when payday was.

  Henry was able to drive quite a few nails into the clubhouse before he got up his courage to go back to the Kellys’. The building, under Murph’s direction, was going along smoothly when it was not interrupted by Ramona, who was sometimes accompanied by Lisa, her little friend from kindergarten. They wanted to know if they could have nails to take home. They also asked the same riddles over and over.

  “How is a dog different from a flea?” Ramona would ask.

  “I don’t know.” Henry was the only boy who bothered to answer.

>   “Because a dog can have fleas, but a flea can’t have dogs,” Ramona would answer, and no matter how many times she asked the riddle, she and Lisa screamed with laughter at the answer.

  “What is black and white and red all over?” Ramona always asked next.

  “No girls allowed!” Murph yelled at this point. Then Ramona and Lisa would walk down the driveway, scuffing the toes of their shoes on the cement to show they were angry. The next day they would be back.

  “Can’t you find a way to get rid of those pesty girls?” Murph asked.

  Henry could only shrug. There was no easy way to get rid of Ramona.

  Finally Henry decided he had to get up his courage to go back to the Kellys’, or Mr. Capper would start asking him why he had not finished collecting.

  This time Mrs. Kelly met him at the door with a baby balanced on her hip. “Oh, it’s you again,” she said for a second time, glancing over her shoulder toward the kitchen, where Henry could hear an automatic washing machine running. “Come in while I find my purse.”

  Henry stepped into the living room, which was scattered with toys, children’s clothing, and crumpled pages torn from magazines. There was a bowl of soggy breakfast food on the coffee table. A little boy who was sucking his thumb and holding an egg beater looked out of the kitchen door.

  “Don’t pinch your fingers in the egg beater, Kermit,” said Mrs. Kelly. She looked wearily at Henry. “Would you mind keeping an eye on the children while I go find my purse? They are all in the kitchen. Kermit, Bobby, Lisa, and her little friend.”

  “Sure.” What else could Henry say? Anything to collect and get back to his clubhouse. He stepped into the kitchen where the washing machine was busily swish-swashing. Lisa and her little friend, who turned out to be Ramona, were kneeling on chairs at the kitchen table, cutting circles out of Play-Doh with cookie cutters.

  “I know him,” said Ramona to Kermit and Bobby. “That’s Henry Huggins.”

  “Let’s cross him out,” suggested Lisa. Laughing wildly, the two little girls made big crisscross motions in the air in front of Henry.