Beezus and Ramona (2 page)

“It's a very nice scab,” said Mrs. Wisser's friend, but she did not look as if she really thought it was nice.

“Well, we must be going,” said Mrs. Wisser.

“Good-by, Mrs. Wisser,” said Beezus politely, and hoped that if they met anyone else they knew she could somehow manage to hide Ramona behind a bush.

“By-by, Ramona,” said Mrs. Wisser.

“Good-by,” said Ramona, and Beezus knew that she felt that a girl who was four years old was too grown up to say by-by.

Except for holding Ramona's hand crossing streets, Beezus lingered behind her the rest of the way to the library. She hoped that all the people who stopped and smiled at Ramona would not think they were together. When they reached the Glenwood Branch Library, she said, “Ramona, wouldn't you like me to carry your ears for you now?”

“No,” said Ramona flatly.

Inside the library, Beezus hurried
Ramona into the boys and girls' section and seated her on a little chair in front of the picture books. “See, Ramona,” she whispered, “here's a book about a duck. Wouldn't you like that?”

“No,” said Ramona in a loud voice.

Beezus's face turned red with embarrassment when everyone in the library looked at Ramona's ears and smiled. “Sh-h,” she whispered, as Miss Greever, the grown-ups' librarian, frowned in their direction. “You're supposed to speak quietly in the library.”

Beezus selected another book. “Look, Ramona. Here's a funny story about a kitten that falls into the goldfish bowl. Wouldn't you like that?”

“No,” said Ramona in a loud whisper. “I want to find my own book.”

If only Miss Evans, the children's librarian, were there! She would know how to select a book for Ramona. Beezus noticed Miss
Greever glance disapprovingly in their direction while the other grown-ups watched Ramona and smiled. “All right, you can look,” Beezus agreed, to keep Ramona quiet. “I'll go find a book for myself.”

When Beezus had selected her book, she returned to the picture-book section, where she found Ramona sitting on the bench with both arms clasped around a big flat book. “I found my book,” she said, and held it up for Beezus to see. On the cover was a picture of a steam shovel with its jaws full of rocks. The title was
Big Steve the Steam Shovel
.

“Oh, Ramona,” whispered Beezus in dismay. “You don't want that book.”

“I do, too,” insisted Ramona, forgetting to whisper. “You told me I could pick out my own book.”

Under the disapproving stare of Miss Greever, Beezus gave up. Ramona was right. Beezus looked with distaste at the big
orange-colored book in its stout library binding. At least it would be due in two weeks, but Beezus did not feel very happy at the thought of two more weeks of steam shovels. And it just went to show how Ramona always got her own way.

Beezus took her book and Ramona's to Miss Greever's desk.

“Is this where you pay for the books?” asked Ramona.

“We don't have to pay for the books,” said Beezus.

“Are you going to charge them?” Ramona asked.

Beezus pulled her library card out of her sweater pocket. “I show this card to the lady and she lets us keep the books for two weeks. A library isn't like a store, where you buy things.”

Ramona looked as if she did not understand. “I want a card,” she said.

“You have to be able to write your own name before you can have a library card,” Beezus explained.

“I can write my name,” said Ramona.

“Oh, Ramona,” said Beezus, “you can't, either.”

“Perhaps she really does know how to write her name,” said Miss Greever, as she took a card out of her desk. Beezus watched doubtfully while Miss Greever asked Ramona her name and age. Then the librarian asked Ramona what her father's occupation was. When Ramona didn't understand, she asked, “What kind of work does your father do?”

“He mows the lawn,” said Ramona promptly.

The librarian laughed. “I mean, how does he earn his living?”

Somehow Beezus did not like to have Miss Greever laugh at her little sister. After
all, how could Ramona be expected to know what Father did? “He works for Pacific Gas and Electric Company,” Beezus told the librarian.

Miss Greever wrote this down on the card and shoved it across the desk to Ramona. “Write your name on this line,” she directed.

Nothing daunted, Ramona grasped the pencil in her fist and began to write. She bore down so hard that the tip snapped off the lead, but she wrote on. When she laid down the pencil, Beezus picked up the card to see what she had written. The line on the card was filled with

“That's my name,” said Ramona proudly.

“That's just scribbling,” Beezus told her.

“It is too my name,” insisted Ramona,
while Miss Greever quietly dropped the card into the wastebasket. “I've watched you write and I know how.”

“Here, Ramona, you can hold my card.” Beezus tried to be comforting. “You can pretend it's yours.”

Ramona brightened at this, and Miss Greever checked out the books on Beezus's card. As soon as they got home, Ramona demanded, “Read my new book to me.”

And so Beezus began. “Big Steve was a steam shovel. He was the biggest steam shovel in the whole city….” When she finished the book she had to admit she liked Big Steve better than Scoopy. His only sound effects were tooting and growling. He tooted and growled in big letters on every page. Big Steve did not shed tears or want to be a pile driver. He worked hard at being a steam shovel, and by the end of the book Beezus had learned a lot about steam shovels. Unfortunately, she did not want to learn about steam shovels. Oh, well, she guessed she could stand two weeks of Big Steve.

“Read it again,” said Ramona enthusiastically. “I like Big Steve. He's better than Scoopy.”

“How would you like me to show you how to really write your name?” Beezus asked, hoping to divert Ramona from steam shovels.

“O.K.,” agreed Ramona.

Beezus found pencil and paper and wrote
Ramona
in large, careful letters across the top of the paper.

Ramona studied it critically. “I don't like it,” she said at last.

“But that's the way your name is spelled,” Beezus explained.

“You didn't make dots and lines,” said Ramona. Seizing the pencil, she wrote,

“But, Ramona, you don't understand.” Beezus took the pencil and wrote her own name on the paper. “You've seen me write
Beatrice
, which has an
i
and a
t
in it. See, like
that. You don't have an
i
or a
t
in your name, because it isn't spelled that way.”

Ramona looked skeptical. She grabbed the pencil again and wrote with a flourish,

“That's my name, because I like it,” she announced. “I like to make dots and lines.” Lying flat on her stomach on the floor she proceeded to fill the paper with
i
's and
t
's.

“But, Ramona, nobody's name is spelled with just…” Beezus stopped. What was the use? Trying to explain spelling and writing to Ramona was too complicated. Everything became difficult when Ramona was around, even an easy thing like taking a book out of the library. Well, if Ramona was happy thinking her name was spelled with
i
's and
t
's, she could go ahead and think it.

The next two weeks were fairly peaceful.
Mother and Father soon tired of tooting and growling and, like Beezus, they looked forward to the day
Big Steve
was due at the library. Father even tried to hide the book behind the radio, but Ramona soon found it. Beezus was happy that one part of her plan had worked—Ramona had forgotten
The Littlest Steam Shovel
now that she had a better book. On Ramona's second trip to the library, perhaps Miss Evans could find a book that would make her forget steam shovels entirely.

As for Ramona, she was perfectly happy. She had three people to read aloud a book she liked, and she spent much of her time covering sheets of paper with
i
's and
t
's. Sometimes she wrote in pencil, sometimes she wrote in crayon, and once she wrote in ink until her mother caught her at it.

Finally, to the relief of the rest of the family, the day came when
Big Steve
had to
be returned. “Come on, Ramona,” said Beezus. “It's time to go to the library for another book.”

“I have a book,” said Ramona, who was lying on her stomach writing her version of her name on a piece of paper with purple crayon.

“No, it belongs to the library,” Beezus explained, glad that for once Ramona couldn't possibly get her own way.

“It's my book,” said Ramona, crossing several
t
's with a flourish.

“Beezus is right, dear,” observed Mother.

“Run along and get
Big Steve
.”

Ramona looked sulky, but she went into the bedroom. In a few minutes she appeared with
Big Steve
in her hand and a satisfied expression on her face. “It's my book,” she announced. “I wrote my name in it.”

Mother looked alarmed. “What do you mean, Ramona? Let me see.” She took the
book and opened it. Every page in the book was covered with enormous purple
i
's and
t
's in Ramona's very best handwriting.

“Mother!” cried Beezus. “Look what she's done! And in crayon so it won't erase.”

“Ramona Quimby,” said Mother. “You're a very naughty girl! Why did you do a thing like that?”

“It's my book,” said Ramona stubbornly.

“I like it.”

“Mother, what am I going to do?” Beezus demanded. “It's checked out on my card and I'm responsible. They won't let me take any more books out of the library, and I won't have anything to read, and it will all be Ramona's fault. She's always spoiling my fun and it isn't fair!” Beezus didn't know what she would do without her library card. She couldn't get along without library books. She just couldn't, that was all.