Henry and Ribsy (7 page)

“Don't be frightened, dear,” Mrs. Wisser called to Ramona. “We won't let the doggy hurt you.”

“Come on down, sweetheart,” coaxed the other woman.

Just then the seventh grade burst out of the school building. Several boys began to play a noisy game of catch. Ribsy barked excitedly.

“Hi! We've been singing for the P.T.A.,” said one of the boys, as he ran past Henry.

“I want some,” howled Ramona.

Ribsy grew more excited. He strained at his collar and managed to get his paws on the lower rung of the jungle gym again.

“This is outrageous,” said Mrs. Wisser. “I'm going to report this dog to the principal.”

“But she's got his bone,” said Henry desperately.

Ramona and Ribsy and the boys playing catch made so much noise that the two women did not hear Henry. “I think the principal should call the pound and have this dog taken away,” remarked the second woman, as Mrs. Wisser started toward the building.

“But he has a license,” protested Henry, wishing Ribsy would not bark so much.

“What's the old garbage hound up to now?” one of the boys shouted, as he ran off to play catch.

“You shut up!” Henry yelled after the boy, who was a friend of Scooter's. “And he isn't a garbage hound!”

The doors of the school opened and the mothers who had attended the P.T.A. meeting poured out of the building. There was such a crowd that Mrs. Wisser was unable to enter.

“Quick, get her down,” Henry begged Beezus. If only they could get Ramona down and go home before Mrs. Wisser got back!

“Ramona, here's your P.T.A.,” said Beezus, waving the bag of potato chips. “Come down and get it.”

“No,” said Ramona.

“Ramona Geraldine Quimby, you come down this instant,” ordered Beezus. “You come down or you can't have any P.T.A.”

“Can't you climb up and get her?” Henry was desperate. What if Miss Mullen, the principal, really did call the pound?

Beezus started up the jungle gym. “You just wait, Ramona. I'm going to tell Mother on you.”

Ramona began to shriek all over again. This excited Ribsy, who barked harder than ever and attracted the attention of some of the mothers, who walked over to the jungle gym to see what the commotion was about.

“Shut up, Ribsy,” ordered Henry. “Can't you see the trouble you're getting into?”

“How can I get her down?” Beezus asked. “I can't carry her down and if I pry her loose, she might fall.”

“Why, the little girl is afraid of the dog,” one of the mothers said.

“No, she isn't.” Henry spoke up, but no one paid any attention to him. They were all looking at Ramona.

“She's so frightened she's crying,” someone said. “Look at her little face all streaked with tears.”

And chocolate ice cream, thought Henry.

“I think it's a shame a little girl can't play on the school grounds without being annoyed by a dog,” said another mother.

“My dog isn't annoying her. She's annoying him.” Henry tried to explain the situation to the mother nearest him, but she looked at him as if she did not believe he was telling the truth.

“Maybe we should discuss this at the next P.T.A. meeting,” someone suggested.

“Next meeting! We'd better do something now,” said another mother. “It's the Huggins dog. One of my neighbors says she has a terrible time with him because he sits and waits for her cat to come out of the house so he can chase it up a tree.”

Henry wished he and Ribsy could disappear. Now all the mothers in the whole school would think Ribsy was awful.

“Do you think we should call the police?” someone asked.

“Oh, I wouldn't do that,” said one of the mothers. “I know that little Ramona Quimby. She's a perfect terror.”

Henry felt better. At least he had one friend in the crowd.

“Well, really,” said another mother, “just because the poor little thing is too young to have established acceptable behavior patterns doesn't mean we can let her be terrified by that dog.”

Henry did not know what the lady meant but he felt it didn't sound very good for Ribsy.

“I think we should call the pound,” someone said. “You can see how frightened she is.”

“Why, Henry!” It was Mrs. Huggins. “What on earth is happening?”

“His dog chased that little girl up on the jungle gym and won't let her come down,” explained one of the women, before Henry could open his mouth.

Mrs. Huggins glanced at Ramona and then looked sympathetically at Henry. “He's not a vicious dog,” she told the woman.

“Mom, he didn't chase her. Honest,” said Henry.

Then Mrs. Wisser, followed by Miss Mullen, the principal, pushed her way through the crowd of mothers. “There's the dog,” Mrs. Wisser said, pointing at Ribsy.

Miss Mullen! thought Henry. Now I suppose I'll really catch it. Miss Mullen was nice, but when she said something she meant it.

Miss Mullen was tall and gray-haired. When she spoke, other people listened. “Hello, Henry, what's the trouble?” she asked pleasantly. The other women stopped talking.

Feeling uneasy, Henry looked around at all the mothers. He licked his lips and began. “Well, it looks like my dog chased Ramona up the jungle gym, but he didn't really.” Henry gulped and went on. “She took his bone away from him and put it in her lunch box and he just wants his bone back, is all.” Henry decided it was not necessary to tell about the ice cream cone.

“That's right, Miss Mullen,” said Beezus, from the middle of the jungle gym.

“I have a samwidge in my lunch box,” screamed Ramona.

“But the child was obviously frightened,” said Mrs. Wisser. “She was crying as if her little heart would break.”

“She was crying before she climbed up there,” said Beezus.

“I'm sure Ribsy wouldn't hurt anyone,” said Miss Mullen.

Henry was surprised to learn that the principal knew his dog's name.

Miss Mullen smiled. “We all know Ribsy very well at Glenwood School,” she said. “He meets Henry under the fir tree every day after school. I've been watching him from my office window for a long time and he has never annoyed any of the children. In fact, he's unusually good-natured.” Then Miss Mullen looked up at Ramona. “You may come down now,” she said, pleasantly but firmly.

Ramona scowled but she climbed down.

“Now give Ribsy his bone,” said Miss Mullen.

Ramona looked sulky as she unfastened the lunch box and handed Ribsy his bone. He took it in his mouth and looked at Henry as if to say, “Can't we go home now?”

The crowd of mothers, some looking a little embarrassed, began to drift away.

“Thank you, Miss Mullen,” said Mrs. Huggins.

“Gee, thanks, Miss Mullen,” said Henry gratefully. “I didn't know what I was going to do. They were going to send Ribsy to the pound.”

Miss Mullen smiled. “That's all right, Henry. I understand. I have three dogs of my own at home, you know.”

“You do?” Henry was astounded. Miss Mullen with three dogs! He had never thought of her as having any life outside Glenwood School at all. But three dogs!

As the principal went back into the building, Beezus took a Kleenex out of her pocket and held it to Ramona's nose. “Blow,” she said. Ramona blew.

“It really wasn't Ribsy's fault,” Beezus said to Mrs. Huggins.

Henry's mother smiled. “I understand.”

Then Beezus handed her little sister the potato chips. “Here's your P.T.A.,” she said crossly. “I hope you're satisfied.”

Mrs. Wisser, however, did not give up easily. “I know you're fond of the dog,” she said to Mrs. Huggins, “but he really did frighten the child.” Then she squatted down on her heels so she could look into Ramona's face. “Did the doggy frighten you, dear?” she asked.

“No,” said Ramona, staring at Mrs. Wisser. Then she squatted down on her heels, too. Henry thought this made Mrs. Wisser look very silly. Ramona stuffed another potato chip into her mouth as Mrs. Wisser hastily stood up. “I
like
P.T.A.,” announced Ramona.

“I just bet you do,” said Henry. “Come on, Beezus. If we hurry, maybe we'll have time for one game of checkers before dinner.” And then because he knew his fishing trip was safe, Henry began to sing, “Woofies Dog Food is the best.”

Beezus joined him on the second line and together they sang, “Contains more meat than all the rest!”

I
can't find my tin pants,” Mr. Huggins announced Friday evening after supper.

“Dad!” shouted Henry. When his father got out his tin pants, which were not tin at all but heavy canvas, Henry knew it meant only one thing. His father was going fishing—salmon fishing. “I get to go, too, don't I? Don't I, Dad?”

Mr. Huggins grinned at Henry. “Think you can get up at three in the morning?”

“Sure, I'll get up! Boy, oh, boy, I bet I catch a bigger salmon than anybody!”

“I wouldn't count on it,” said Mr. Huggins. “I'm afraid a twenty-or thirty-pound chinook would be too much for you to handle.”

“Aw, I bet I could land one,” boasted Henry. After all, if he could lift Robert when they practiced tumbling, a twenty-five-pound fish couldn't be so heavy. He could see himself having his picture taken with his salmon in one hand and his rod in the other. Well, maybe he couldn't hold up such a big fish with one hand but he could prop it up some way.

“Henry,” Mrs. Huggins looked thoughtfully at her son, “you mustn't be too disappointed if you don't catch anything.”

“I won't, Mom, but I just know I'll catch a salmon.” Henry patted his dog, who was dozing in front of the fireplace. “Did you hear that, Ribsy? We're going fishing!”

“Hey, who said anything about Ribsy?” asked Mr. Huggins.

“Aw, Dad, he wouldn't be any trouble,” protested Henry. “Would you, fellow?” Ribsy opened one eye and looked at Henry.

“If Henry is old enough to go fishing, so is Ribsy,” said Mrs. Huggins. Then she smiled and said, “Tomorrow is my vacation. I'll pack your lunches tonight and you can get your own breakfast. I'm going to sleep late and I don't want to have to get up to let Ribsy in and out.”

“All right, Ribsy goes fishing,” agreed Mr. Huggins.

“Where are we going?” Henry wanted to know.

“I thought we'd try our luck at the mouth of the Umptucca River,” answered Henry's father.

“That's where Scooter went last week,” remarked Henry.

“Henry, you'd better run along to bed if you're going to get up at three in the morning,” said Mrs. Huggins. “And be sure you wear warm clothes tomorrow. It will be cold over on the coast.”

For once Henry did not object to going to bed early. Even so, it seemed as if it were still the middle of the night when his father woke him. They could see the stars shining as they ate a hurried breakfast, standing at the draining board. When Ribsy padded into the kitchen to see what was going on, Henry gave him half a can of Woofies and some horse meat.

The Grumbies' screen door slammed. “Get your rain hat and coat and let's go.” Mr. Huggins picked up two lunch boxes from the kitchen table and hurried out the back door.

“So you're going with us,” said Mr. Grumbie, when he saw Henry.

“Yes, and I bet I catch a salmon,” answered Henry.

“Better not count on it,” said Mr. Grumbie, and yawned. He frowned when he saw Ribsy getting into the backseat of the Huggins car with Henry, but he yawned again and did not say anything.

As they drove out of the city, Henry listened to his father and Mr. Grumbie talk about fish they had caught on other fishing trips. Ribsy could not decide where he wanted to ride. He jumped from the back seat to the front seat. He walked across Mr. Grumbie's lap and wagged his tail in his face. When Mr. Grumbie did not lower the window for him, Ribsy scrambled into the backseat and bounded from one side of the car to the other, until Henry opened a window so he could lean out and sniff all the interesting smells.

Mr. Grumbie turned around and frowned at Ribsy. He did not say anything. He just turned up the collar of his mackinaw.

“Henry, it's pretty cold for an open window,” said Mr. Huggins.

“OK, Dad.” Henry pulled Ribsy back into the car by his collar and wound up the window. Ribsy turned around three times, curled up on the seat, and went to sleep.

Mr. Grumbie told about the big one that got away down on the Nehalem River. I bet I do catch a salmon, Henry thought, and using Ribsy for a pillow he fell asleep himself.

Henry did not wake up until the car left the highway and began to bounce along a gravel road near a bridge that bore a sign, “Umptucca River.” The sky was gray and the air smelled of the sea. “Is it time for lunch?” Henry asked.

“Here we are,” said Mr. Huggins, “and it is exactly six
A.M
.”

Henry got out of the car and looked around. In the dim morning light he could see a shabby building with “Sportsmen's Cannery” painted across the front, a tiny restaurant with steamy windows, a few cabins, and a boathouse with a sign, “Mike's Place. Boats and Tackle.” The sound of the breakers and the sight of the rows of boats bobbing in the river below the boathouse filled Henry with excitement. He was really here. He was really going salmon fishing.

While Mr. Huggins rented a boat, Ribsy ran in circles sniffing all the strange new smells. Henry examined the scales hanging from the eaves of the boathouse. He took hold of the hook and pulled down until the hand of the scales spun around and pointed to twenty-five pounds. It sure takes a lot of pulling to make twenty-five pounds, thought Henry. More than anything he wanted to hang a salmon on that hook and see the hand point to twenty-five—or maybe even thirty. He would have his picture taken with his salmon hanging on the scales so everyone would know how much it weighed.

“I brought my boy along this time,” Mr. Huggins said to Mike, the owner of the boathouse.

“Well, hello there, Shorty,” said Mike. “So they're going to make a fisherman out of you.”

“Yes, sir. I hope I catch a salmon,” answered Henry, and when he saw Mike's smile he was sorry he had said it. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe he couldn't land a salmon even if one did bite. Still, there wasn't any harm in hoping he could, was there?

“Fishing pretty good?” asked Mr. Huggins.

“Pretty good,” Mike answered. “Fellow brought in a thirty-six-pounder yesterday.”

Thirty-six pounds! Oh, boy, thought Henry, as he took the lunches and followed his father and Mr. Grumbie down the steps to a boat tied to a float in the river. Ribsy followed Henry into the boat and sniffed at the lunches.

“Wind from the south. Going to rain,” remarked Mr. Grumbie, as he wound the rope around the starter and yanked it. The motor sputtered and was silent. Mr. Grumbie rewound the rope.

Hurry, thought Henry. I want to get started fishing.

Mr. Grumbie yanked the rope again. This time the motor started. Henry turned up the collar of his raincoat against the wind and hung onto the side of the boat. The river looked cold and deep. Ribsy stood in the bow and barked excitedly at the seagulls wheeling overhead, as their boat joined the other boats scurrying toward the sandbars at the mouth of the river.

Although the Umptucca was several hundred feet wide at Mike's Place, it was much narrower where it ran into the ocean, because sandbars had formed on either side of the river's mouth. Mr. Grumbie anchored the boat just inside the sandbars in line with the boats already there. Henry knew this was the best spot to catch the fish as they came out of the ocean and started up the river to spawn.

“Golly,” said Henry, as he watched the swift current of the river seethe against the breakers, “it looks like the river is fighting to get into the ocean and the ocean is fighting to get into the river. I wouldn't want to fall in and get carried out there.”

Mr. Huggins and Mr. Grumbie did not answer. They were too busy getting out the tackle. Mr. Huggins handed Henry a stout rod with a reel attached. The end of the line was fastened to one corner of a three-cornered piece of plastic. A lead sinker was joined to another corner and from the third corner hung a piece of wire with a hook, some red feathers, and a glittering piece of brass.

“Henry, I think the easiest way for you to fish is to drop your line overboard and let the current carry it out,” said Mr. Huggins. “Like this.” He tossed the line into the water. The reel on the rod began to spin as the line was carried out.

“But you didn't bait the hook,” said Henry.

“Salmon that are trying to get up the river to spawn aren't hungry,” explained Mr. Huggins. “They bite because the brass spinner makes them angry.”

“Oh,” said Henry. He hoped he could make a salmon good and angry. Then he said, “Ribsy, you get away from those lunches.”

Henry and the two men settled down to fish in silence. Henry dropped his line overboard, let it be carried out, and slowly reeled it in. His father and Mr. Grumbie, skillful fishermen, threw their lines out.

Henry dropped his line again and again. The wind grew colder and his nose began to run. Toss out the line, reel it in, wipe his nose. Toss out the line, reel it in, wipe his nose. Finally he said, “Dad, is it lunchtime yet?”

Mr. Huggins looked at his watch. “It is exactly eight thirty-six.”

Toss out the line, reel it in, wipe his nose. Henry tried not to think about how hungry he was. Ribsy sniffed at the lunches and looked hopefully at Henry.

A shout went up from another boat, and Henry looked in time to see a man lean out of his boat and hook a great silvery fish through the gills with his gaff and pull it into his boat.

“Must be a twenty-pounder,” remarked Mr. Grumbie, as the line sang from his reel.

Henry was filled with excitement at the sight of the great fish. Come on, salmon, bite, he thought, and tossed out his line.

Large raindrops began to splash the boat. Then the rain came pelting down. Rivulets of water ran off Henry's rain hat. Ribsy shivered and whimpered. Toss out the line, reel it in, wipe his nose. Henry began to wonder if salmon fishing was so much fun after all. If only he was not so hungry.

Finally when the rain stopped Mr. Huggins said, “What do you say we knock off for a few minutes and have a sandwich?”

“Suits me,” said Mr. Grumbie.

“Boy, am I starved!” Henry reached for his lunch box. He poured some soup from his thermos and bit into a thick ham sandwich. Mmm, did it taste good! Ribsy watched every bite he took. When Henry swallowed, Ribsy swallowed. Poor Ribsy. He looked so thin with his wet hair plastered against his body. Henry gave him half a sandwich.

“Save some lunch for later,” warned Mr. Huggins. “We have a long day ahead of us.”

Ribsy gulped the bread and meat. Then he stood up and shook himself so hard his license tags jingled. Water showered in every direction, spattering faces, soaking sandwiches, splashing into the coffee the men were drinking from their thermos tops.

“Hey, cut that out!” Mr. Huggins tried to hold his sandwich out of the spray.

Mr. Grumbie did not say anything. When Ribsy stopped shaking, he pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his face. Then he poured his coffee into the river, stuffed his sandwich back into his lunch box, and got out another.

Mr. Grumbie sure is fussy, thought Henry, taking a big bite out of his soggy sandwich, while Ribsy sat in front of him and watched hungrily. He wagged his tail to show he would like another bite. His tail slapped against the tackle box. Before Henry could grab it, the box turned over, spilling spinners, hooks, and sinkers into the water in the bottom of the boat.

“That sure was close,” exclaimed Henry, looking at the tangle of tackle. “Ribsy might have got a fishhook in his tail. That would have been awful.”

Mr. Grumbie cleared his throat. “Uh, yes,” he said, and bent to unsnarl the tackle.

“Henry,” said Mr. Huggins quietly, “you'd better keep an eye on Ribsy.”

“I'm sorry, Dad.” Henry felt uncomfortable. Of course Mr. Grumbie didn't like Ribsy's overturning the tackle box. But just the same it would have been awful if Ribsy had got a fishhook in his tail.

Henry looked at his wet dog shivering in the wind. “Here, Ribsy, get under my raincoat.” He made a place for Ribsy, who managed to turn around three times before he curled up on the narrow seat and went to sleep. At least he can't get into trouble when he's asleep, thought Henry, and wolfed a third sandwich, the rest of his soup, a deviled egg, a piece of chocolate cake, and a banana.