Henry and the Clubhouse

by Beverly Cleary

  Then one cold November afternoon Henry came home from school to find that his mother had left a note telling him she had gone downtown and would not be back until six o’clock. She also told him not to eat any pie. Henry used his finger to wipe up some juice that had oozed through the piecrust. M-m-m. Blackberry. Then he made himself a peanut butter sandwich and with Ribsy trotting after him, went outside, where he removed a key from under the flowerpot, unlocked the clubhouse, and carefully returned the key to its hiding place.

  Henry stepped inside the clubhouse and patted the owl’s head. Everything was in order. Ribsy curled up in a corner and prepared to go to sleep.

  “Hello.” It was Ramona’s voice.

  Henry turned and saw the little girl sitting on the back steps. She was bundled up, because the day was cold and she, too, was eating a peanut butter sandwich.

  “Oh…hello,” he said. “Where’s Beezus?” “Home.”

  “Why didn’t she come with you?” Henry felt that Ramona could cause enough trouble when she was with Beezus. He did not want her around without her older sister to look after her.

  “Because you are mean to her,” answered Ramona.

  Henry felt slightly uncomfortable, because there was truth in what Ramona said. Even so, boys had a right to do boy things without girls around, didn’t they? And Beezus didn’t have to mess up their clubhouse, did she?

  He looked at Ramona sitting on the steps chewing her peanut butter sandwich. “Why don’t you go home?” he asked, seeing no reason for being hospitable to Ramona.

  “I don’t want to,” said Ramona, and went on chewing.

  Well, as long as she had a sandwich to keep her busy…Henry looked around the clubhouse to see how it could be furnished. An orange crate nailed to the wall would make a good cupboard. He measured the space with his hands. Yes, an orange crate would be just the right size.

  Henry was aware that the clubhouse had suddenly grown darker. He turned and saw that the door must have blown shut. Just then he heard a snap and he had a terrible feeling. He tried the door. It was locked. Locked from the outside and there was only one person who could have done it—Ramona.

  Henry looked out of the window and saw Ramona sitting on the steps, calmly licking her fingers. “You let me out of here!” he yelled.

  Ramona stopped licking long enough to answer. “I don’t have a key.”

  This stopped Henry. Of course she did not have a key. Both keys were carefully hidden and he was not going to tell any girl where they were, either. He could get out some way.

  Henry threw his shoulder against the door. Nothing happened. It was a good, solid door. He threw his shoulder against the walls. Still nothing happened. They were good solid walls. Henry rubbed his shoulder and decided that Murph had done a good job of planning the clubhouse. Maybe too good.

  Next he jumped up and down as hard as he could. The floor was a good solid floor. The whole clubhouse, Henry concluded, was as solidly built as a jail, and right now that was exactly what it was.

  Next Henry considered breaking a window. He looked around, but there was not a hammer or a stick of wood he could use. If he slammed his fist through the glass, he would be sure to cut himself, and even if he did break the glass, the windows were divided into four small panes and he had no way of removing the dividing pieces of wood.

  Next Henry tried yelling. “Help! Help!” he shouted at the top of his voice. “Help! Help!” Ribsy stood up and barked. Nothing happened. Nothing at all unless you counted the pleased look on Ramona’s face. Where was everybody, anyway?

  “Huh-huh-huh-help,” said Ramona, as if she were thinking very hard. Little puffs of vapor came out of her mouth, because the afternoon was so cold. “Help begins with an h!” Plainly Ramona was pleased with herself for making this discovery. Her kindergarten teacher was teaching her class the sounds the letters make.

  Henry knew that his mother was downtown. Robert was getting a haircut, Beezus was home, and he did not know where Murph was. Then he caught a glimpse of Mrs. Grumbie, his next-door neighbor, looking out of an upstairs window. “Help!” he yelled, pounding on the door. “Let me out!”

  Mrs. Grumbie nodded and waved. She was used to boys playing in Henry’s backyard.

  There was nothing to do, Henry decided, but try to make himself comfortable until his mother came home. He sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall. Ho-hum. It was going to be a long, cold wait. He felt cross and disgusted. That Ramona…that pest…

  Suddenly Henry leaped to his feet. His route! His paper route. He had to get out. He could not stay trapped until six o’clock or he wouldn’t get his papers delivered in time. And he knew what his father would say about that. Boy!

  The only thing to do, Henry decided, was to tell Ramona where the key was and to get her to unlock the padlock. That would not be so terrible, now that he stopped to think about it. All he would have to do was find another hiding place after Ramona had gone home.

  Henry looked out of the window. Ramona was no longer on the steps. Apparently she had lost interest in Henry when he was silent, because now she was skipping down the driveway. He couldn’t let her go. She was his only hope.

  “Ramona! Wait!” yelled Henry.

  Ramona stopped and looked back.

  “Come here,” called Henry. “I want to tell you something.”

  This tempted Ramona. She walked back and stood under the clubhouse window, looking up at Henry.

  Henry had a feeling that if he was going to get Ramona to do what he wanted he had better make this good. “Uh…Ramona, I am going to let you in on a secret. A big secret.”

  Ramona, who liked secrets, looked interested.

  Henry decided to build it up. “A secret that only boys know,” he added impressively.

  “I don’t like boys,” Ramona informed him. “Boys are mean.”

  Henry saw that he had better choose his words with more care. At the same time he had to hurry, because it was almost time to start his route. “Only three people in the whole world know the secret.” He watched Ramona’s reaction. She seemed to be waiting for him to go on.

  Henry lowered his voice as much as he could and still make himself heard through the glass. “I am going to tell you where the key to the clubhouse is—”

  “Where?” demanded Ramona.

  “Wait a minute,” said Henry. “First you have to promise something.” He worked hard to look as if there was something mysterious and exciting about the promise he was about to extract, but it was hard work. He was tired of the game and wanted to get out. Now. “If you promise to unlock the padlock, I will tell you where the key is.”

  Ramona stared stonily at Henry. “I don’t want to.”

  “But why?” Henry was desperate.

  “I just don’t,” Ramona informed him.

  Oh-h. Henry groaned. Then he was mad, just plain mad. That Ramona! She was going to make him lose his route, and then he would never get his sleeping bag, and his father would be cross with him, and Mr. Capper would find a bigger boy to take the route…. Henry banged his fist against the side of the clubhouse. For some reason that made him feel better. He began to stamp his feet and pound his fists and yell. At least, he thought grimly, this was keeping Ramona interested. And he couldn’t let her get away. She was his only hope…almost, it seemed, his only contact with civilization. It occurred to him that it must be almost time for the Sheriff Bud program on television, and Ramona never missed Sheriff Bud.

  It seemed silly to yell “help!” and “let me out!” when nobody was going to help him or let him out. Henry tried a Tarzan yell. Ramona sat down on the back steps and propped her chin up on her fist.

  “Open Sesame!” yelled Henry, just in case it might work. The door remained shut.

  Then in desperation Henry tried the club yell, hoping that somehow it would work like a magic spell.

  “Fadatta, fadatta, fadatta,

  Beepum, boopum, bah!

  Ratta datta boom sh-h


  Ahfah deedee bobo!”

  To his surprise it did work like a magic spell. Ramona got up and came over to the clubhouse window. “Say that again, Henry,” she begged.

  This time it was Henry’s turn to say no. To do so gave him great satisfaction.

  “Please, Henry.”

  Henry saw that he had a bargaining point. A girl who would sing television commercials would naturally like something that sounded really good. “I’ll say it again if you get the key and unlock the padlock first.”

  Ramona thought it over. “Puh-puh-puh-pad-lock begins with a p!” she said triumphantly.

  Henry groaned. “I know padlock begins with a p,” he said. “Now will you get the key?” Then he added hastily. “Key begins with a k.”

  “We haven’t had k yet at school.” Ramona seemed suddenly agreeable. “Where is the key?” she asked.

  Feeling like a traitor to Robert and Murph, Henry revealed the secret. “Under the flowerpot on the back porch.”

  Ramona found the key and Henry could hear her fumbling as she inserted it in the padlock. “Say it,” she ordered.

  Henry rattled off the club’s secret words. “Now unlock it,” he begged, and outside he could hear Ramona struggling with the padlock.

  “I can’t,” she said. “I can’t make the key turn.”

  Henry pressed his nose against the window. “Look,” he said, “go get Beezus. If you do, I’ll teach you both to say fadatta, fadatta, fadatta. And…tell her I’m sorry.”

  I am a traitor, thought Henry, a one-hundred-percent traitor. But what else could he do? He had to get his papers delivered somehow. Then he began to worry about Ramona. Maybe she would forget to tell Beezus. Maybe she would remember Sheriff Bud, turn on the television set, and forget all about him.

  There was nothing Henry could do but wait. Actually he did not wait very long, but it seemed that way. It seemed to him that he waited and waited and waited. The clubhouse felt colder and damper and more like a dungeon every minute.

  At last Henry heard footsteps coming up the driveway. Beezus had come to his rescue—he hoped. Beezus was alone, and Henry guessed that Ramona had stayed home to watch television. “Hi, Beezus,” he called through the window. “It’s sure nice of you to come and let me out…after the way I have…uh…acted.” The last words Henry found difficult to speak, but he felt better when he had said them.

  Beezus looked as if she had not made up her mind to let Henry out. “I didn’t say I was going to let you out,” she reminded him. “You don’t want girls around, you know.”

  Henry had no answer for this. “Aw, come on, Beezus,” he pleaded. “I’ve got to start my route.”

  Beezus thought it over. “All right, I’ll let you out, but only because I know you have to start your route,” she agreed, like the sensible girl she was. “But first teach me the secret words.”

  Henry knew when he was licked. “Oh, all right, if that’s the way you feel about it. Fadatta…fadatta…fadatta.”

  “Fadatta…fadatta…fadatta,” Beezus repeated gravely.

  “Beepum, boopum, bah.”

  “Beepum, boopum, bah.” Fortunately Beezus learned quickly and soon mastered the secret words. She was a girl who kept her part of the bargain. She unlocked the padlock and slipped it out of the clasp. “There,” she said.

  “Thanks, Beezus,” said Henry, as he stepped out to fresh air and freedom. He picked up his bicycle. He had no time to talk if he was going to get his papers folded and delivered.

  Beezus did not seem to mind that Henry was in such a hurry. “Fadatta, fadatta, fadatta,” she chanted. “Good-bye, Henry. I’m going home to teach the secret words to Ramona like I promised.”

  Henry threw his leg over his bicycle and pedaled down the driveway. Now the secret words would be all over the neighborhood. Robert and Murph would not like it, but Henry hoped that since they knew Ramona they would understand and not mind too much.

  That Ramona! thought Henry. Always causing him trouble on his route. He would have to do something about her, but what anybody could do about Ramona, he did not know. All he knew was that if he was going to keep his paper route and his clubhouse he had better do something, and do it soon.

  6

  Henry Writes a Letter

  Naturally as soon as Ramona learned the secret words, she recited them every chance she got and soon they were all over the neighborhood. They were all over Glenwood School, too. Everywhere Henry went he heard fadattas and beepum, boopum, bahs. He began to wish he had never heard the silly thing. Quite a few mothers felt this way, too, and asked their children please to stop saying that—that thing. But the whole school went right on saying, “fadatta, fadatta, fadatta.”

  And all because of Ramona. Yes, Henry decided, something was going to have to be done about Ramona, but what he did not know.

  “Say, Mom,” Henry said one evening, “how can I keep Ramona from being such an awful pest all the time?”

  “Just don’t pay any attention to her,” answered Mrs. Huggins.

  “But Mom,” protested Henry. “You don’t know Ramona.”

  Mrs. Huggins laughed. “Yes, I do. She is just a lively little girl who gets into mischief sometimes. Ignore her, and she will stop bothering you. She only wants attention.”

  Henry could not help feeling that his mother did not understand the situation. He had ignored Ramona. That was the whole trouble. He was not paying any attention to her so he had found himself locked in the clubhouse. This was not a little mischief. It was a terrible thing for her to do.

  “Surely you are smarter than a five-year-old,” remarked Mr. Huggins jokingly.

  Henry did not have an answer for his father, who, after all, was safe in his office all day and did not know what a nuisance Ramona could be.

  Next Henry consulted Beezus. “Ramona sure causes me a lot of trouble on my route,” he remarked one afternoon. “Isn’t there some way to get her to stop pestering me?”

  Beezus sighed. “I know. I’ve told Mother, and Mother has told her to behave herself, but you know how Ramona is. She never listens.”

  “I know,” Henry said gloomily. Ramona was a real problem. When Mrs. Quimby persuaded her to stop doing one annoying thing, Ramona promptly thought up something entirely new but equally annoying. If only Henry could find a way to stay ahead of Ramona…

  One afternoon Henry arrived at Mr. Capper’s garage in plenty of time to fold his papers. He counted his stack of forty-three Journals and as long as he was early, he took time to glance through the paper. He looked at the headlines and read the comic section. Then a picture of a smiling lady caught his eye. It was the lady who gave people advice when they wrote to her about their problems.

  Because he had a problem, Henry paused to read her column. A girl who signed her letter “Flat Broke” said that her father did not give her a big enough allowance. Her father did not understand that she needed more money for school lunches, bus fare, and other things. What should she do about it? The smiling lady told her to talk it over with her father and explain to him exactly what her expenses were. The smiling lady was sure he would understand.

  Henry thought this over. Maybe he should write to the lady about Ramona. He could write, I have a problem. A girl in my neighborhood has a little sister who pesters me on my paper route. How can I get her to stop? Then he could sign the letter “Disgusted.”

  Henry tried to think how the lady would answer his letter. Dear Disgusted, she would say, but what would she say next? Probably she would tell him to talk his problem over with Ramona’s mother and everything would be all right. Oh no, it wouldn’t, thought Henry, just as if he had really read an answer to a letter he had really written. Ramona’s mother knew all about his problem and had not been able to solve it. As Beezus said, Ramona never listened very much.

  Henry began to fold his papers. There must be somebody Ramona would listen to. And then a picture in an advertisement gave Henry an idea. Santa Claus! Ramona might listen to Santa Claus. He
nry grinned to himself. He would really fix Ramona if he waited until Christmas Eve and climbed up on the Quimbys’ roof and yelled down the chimney in a deep bass voice, Ho-ho-ho, Ramona Geraldine Quimby, you stop pestering Henry Huggins on his paper route or I won’t leave you any presents. Ho-ho-ho.

  “Ho-ho-ho,” said Henry out loud, to see how much like Santa Claus he could sound.

  Just then Mr. Capper came out of the back door. “Who do you think you are? Santa Claus?” he asked.

  “No, sir.” Embarrassed, Henry went on folding papers.

  Still, Henry was pleased with this picture of himself ho-ho-hoing down the chimney at Ramona, but unfortunately there was just one thing wrong with it. Boys were not allowed to go climbing around on their neighbors’ roofs on Christmas Eve or any other time. And anyway, Ramona might not even listen to Santa Claus. Henry would not be at all surprised.

  Henry was zigzagging down the street on his bicycle, throwing papers to the right and to the left, when he saw Beezus and Ramona hurrying along the sidewalk. Ramona was wearing a mustache cut from brown paper and stuck to her upper lip with Scotch tape. Henry recognized this as another attempt to copy one of Sheriff Bud’s disguises.

  “Hi, Beezus,” he said.

  Ramona pulled at Beezus’s hand. “Come on,” she said. “Come on, or we’ll be late.”

  “I can’t understand it,” remarked Beezus. “She can’t even tell time, but she always knows when it’s time for the Sheriff Bud program.”

  “Like Ribsy,” said Henry. “He can’t tell time either, but he always knows when it’s time to meet me after school.” He pedaled on down the street, when suddenly a thought struck him. Sheriff Bud. If there was anyone Ramona would listen to, it was Sheriff Bud.

  Henry was so excited by this inspiration that he threw a paper on the wrong porch and had to go back to get it. Of course she would listen to Sheriff Bud, but how could Henry get Sheriff Bud to tell Ramona to stop pestering him on his paper route? Write him a letter, that’s what he would do. Sheriff Bud was always waving around handfuls of letters and wishing listeners happy birthdays and hoping they would get over the measles or something. He was always pretending he could see people in the television audience, too. Henry had never heard him tell a listener to stop pestering someone, but there was no reason why he couldn’t. It would be worth trying, anyway.