Henry and the Paper Route (5 page)

Hungrily Henry bit into a tuna fish sandwich, and as he sat chewing thoughtfully, he discovered the house seemed empty without the kittens. He especially missed Nosy. He almost expected the kitten to pounce on his ankles while he sat at the table.

Even Ribsy seemed to miss something. He sniffed around the kitchen and looked at Henry in an inquiring way. “You old dog,” said Henry crossly. “Why couldn't you be nice to the kittens?”

Then Mr. Huggins came in from the backyard, and Henry confessed what he had done. “You know,” said Mr. Huggins thoughtfully, “I miss that little black rascal. The house seems empty without him.” Mr. Huggins reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it and took out a dollar bill.

“Dad!” exclaimed Henry, and grabbed
the dollar bill. “But what will Mom say?”

“I don't know,” admitted Mr. Huggins, “but while you were gone she did say that someday we might have mice.”

“Boy, oh, boy!” said Henry, and gulped his milk. There was no time to waste. Somebody might be buying Nosy that very minute. “But what about Ribsy?” he took time to ask. “He won't like it.”

“We'll just have to train him to stay away from Nosy,” said Mr. Huggins. “It won't be easy, but we can do it in time.” He pulled a handful of change out of his pocket and handed Henry a quarter. “And while you are at it,” he said, “you'd better buy a catnip mouse.”

Henry, who stood up on the pedals of his bicycle all the way to the pet shop, was panting when he arrived. Sure enough, there was Nosy, asleep in the window, and in a few minutes Henry was on his way home again with Nosy zipped safely inside his jacket and
a catnip mouse in his pocket. He finally had a kitten of his own!

But there was one thing that worried Henry as he pedaled toward Klickitat Street. That was Ribsy. He had had things pretty much his own way around the Hugginses' house for such a long time that it was going to be hard for him to get used to a new member of the family. Why, he might even be so upset he would run away. Dogs sometimes did things like that. Well, Henry couldn't let Ribsy do that. He made up his mind to be extra nice to him. He would give him bigger servings of meat, and scratch him behind the ears, and maybe he could persuade his mother to let Ribsy sleep on the foot of his bed instead of in the basement. Henry felt sorrier and sorrier for Ribsy. It was going to be tough, but he would just have to make the best of it.

By the time Henry reached home, he was not nearly as cheerful as he had been when
he paid for Nosy. He parked his bicycle in the garage and walked up the back steps, where Ribsy was waiting. “Hi, old fellow.” Henry spoke gently, and scratched Ribsy behind the left ear. Ribsy wagged his tail and followed Henry into the house. In the kitchen Henry unzipped his jacket and lifted Nosy out. “Steady, boy,” he said to Ribsy. “Take it easy. Everything is going to be all right.” Henry set Nosy on the floor, far enough from Ribsy so that he could snatch the kitten up before Ribsy reached him.

To Henry's surprise, Ribsy did not growl. Keeping his eye on Nosy, Henry petted Ribsy, just to make sure his dog did not feel neglected. Ribsy paid no attention. Instead, he gave a short, cheerful bark, wagged his tail, and trotted across the linoleum to Nosy, who had arched his back and puffed up his tail. While Henry watched, Ribsy sniffed at Nosy. The kitten stood his ground. Then, to
Henry's amazement, Ribsy flopped down on the floor beside Nosy and began to wash the kitten with his long pink tongue. And the funny part of it was, Nosy did not mind at all.

“Well, how do you like that?” exclaimed Henry, as Nosy's fur became more and more damp. “You
like
Nosy!”

Ribsy stopped licking long enough to look up at Henry and thump his tail on the floor. Then he went on washing his kitten.

T
he more Henry thought about doing something important, the more he wanted a paper route of his own. Every afternoon after school he rode his bicycle slowly past Mr. Capper's garage on Knott Street, where the
Journal
truck dropped bundles of newspapers for about a dozen boys to deliver. He listened to the boys laughing and talking while they untied their
bundles and counted and folded their papers. Henry wanted more than anything else to be one of those boys.

And then one Tuesday after school Scooter McCarthy stopped Henry by the bicycle rack and said, “Say, Huggins, I'd like to go for a swim at the Y. this afternoon, and I won't have time unless I get someone to fold papers for me. How about you?”

“You really mean it, Scooter?” asked Henry eagerly, even though he had been thinking of swimming at the Y. himself. “All your papers?”

“Sure,” said Scooter, pulling the canvas bag with “Read the
Journal
” printed on it off the back fender of his bicycle, and handing it to Henry. “Just put them in the bag and leave them in Mr. Capper's garage, and I'll get there in time to deliver them.”

That afternoon Henry was sure that this time he was getting closer to a paper route.
Never had any paper boy done a better job of folding papers and sure enough, just as Henry had hoped, Mr. Capper noticed him. “What's happened to Scooter?” he asked.

Henry explained his arrangement with Scooter, and was a little disappointed when Mr. Capper did not say anything more. He did not stop hoping, however, and after that he folded papers for Scooter once a week while Scooter went swimming at the Y.M.C.A. One Tuesday, when Scooter was late, Mrs. McCarthy came in the car to deliver his papers. Henry made up his mind that when he had his own route he would never let his mother deliver papers—not the way his mother threw.

While folding Scooter's papers, Henry got to know the other
Journal
carriers. Of course he still was not one of the gang, but he was getting closer. “When I get a route of my own,” he now had the courage to say,
“I'm going to save up and buy a real sleeping bag,” or “When I get my route I bet I can have all the papers delivered by five-thirty.” He talked about getting a route at home, too, and to his friends at school.

One Tuesday morning, several weeks after Henry had been regularly folding papers on Scooter's swimming day, Scooter spoke to him at the bicycle rack before school. “Say, Huggins,” he said, “how would you like to deliver my papers for me after school today?”

Henry looked at Scooter to see if he really meant it. Quite plainly he did. A chance to really deliver papers instead of just folding them and then watching the other boys start off on their routes! Here was his chance to impress Mr. Capper! But Henry did not want to appear too eager. “How come?” he asked casually, as he snapped his bicycle padlock.

“If I can get someone to take my route I can stay at the Y. and swim for two sessions instead of one,” Scooter explained.

Henry pretended to think it over. “Yes, I guess I can find time,” he agreed after a moment.

“Swell,” said Scooter. “Here's my route book.” He pulled a grubby notebook out of his pocket. “All the names and addresses of my subscribers are written down, besides stuff like where they want the paper delivered. Like some people want it on the porch and some want it on the driveway. You know—stuff like that.”

“Oh, sure,” said Henry, “I know.” He flipped through the notebook and then stuffed it into his hip pocket.

“You have to get all the papers delivered by six o'clock,” Scooter cautioned him. “If you don't, people will phone and complain, and that counts against me. If I don't get any
complaints for a whole month, I get a couple of free movie tickets.”

“I'll get them delivered,” Henry promised. That day was a long one for Henry. Spelling, arithmetic, social studies—he thought they would never end.

Even recesses and lunch period seemed to drag. Every few minutes Henry put his hand on his hip pocket to make sure the precious route book was still there.

And then that afternoon, just before the last bell rang, Henry's teacher, Miss Pringle, put down her chalk and turned to the class. “Boys and girls, I have an announcement to make,” she said.

Probably we're supposed to remind our mothers to come to P.T.A., thought Henry, wishing the last bell would hurry up and ring.

“Glenwood School is going to have a paper drive to raise money to buy a new
curtain for the stage in the school auditorium,” Miss Pringle continued. “A week from Saturday all the boys and girls are to bring bundles of newspapers and magazines to the playground. Members of the P.T.A. will be there to measure the bundles, and everyone who brings enough papers to make a stack thirty inches high will win a prize. And besides that, the room that brings in the most papers will win a prize. But remember—all the papers and magazines must be tied in bundles.”

Robert, who sat across the aisle from Henry, promptly waved his hand. “What are the prizes?” he asked.

“Everyone who brings in a stack of papers thirty inches high will get to see a movie in the school auditorium.” Miss Pringle paused as if she were about to say something very important. “The movie will be shown during school hours.”

The whole class gasped at this news. A movie during school hours!

Robert waved his hand again. “If our room brought in more papers than any other room, what would we win?”

Miss Pringle smiled. “We would win six dollars to spend any way we pleased.”

Everyone agreed that there were lots of things they could buy with six dollars. Miss Pringle suggested plants for the windowsills. Someone else thought a big bowl of goldfish would be nice. One of the boys suggested a couple of extra baseballs, to use during recess, but the girls did not like this idea. Trying to decide what to do with the money if they won made the contest more interesting.

Henry hoped his room would win, but his next thought was that he did not want to go around ringing doorbells asking for old papers—not after ringing doorbells to get
rid of kittens. Everyone in the neighborhood would remember him as the boy with the cellophane-covered box of kittens and even if they did not laugh at him, they would look as if they wanted to. Maybe tomorrow he could think of some way to get a lot of old papers. Today he was going to be too busy folding and delivering
Journal
s to do anything about a paper drive.

When the last bell had finally rung and Henry had started home on his bicycle, his friend Robert caught up with him and rode along beside him. “Going to work on the paper drive?” Robert asked.

“Not tonight. I haven't time. I'm taking Scooter's route,” Henry said importantly.

“No kidding?” Robert sounded impressed.

“Yup,” said Henry. “Maybe I can work on the paper drive tomorrow. I wish there was some way we could get a bunch of papers
without going around ringing doorbells and asking.”

“You could advertise,” said Robert jokingly.

“Aw, that wouldn't work, and besides, it would cost a lot of money,” answered Henry, taking Robert's suggestion half-seriously. He couldn't afford to have an advertisement printed in the classified section of the newspaper, but there ought to be some way…“Hey!” exclaimed Henry suddenly. “I know what!”

“What?” asked Robert.

“I'm going to advertise,” exclaimed Henry.

“But you just said—” Robert began.

“Never mind,” interrupted Henry. “You just wait and see. Now I've got to hurry. See you later.” He stood up on the pedals of his bicycle and rode home as fast as he could. After drinking a glass of milk and sharing
two wienies with Ribsy and Nosy, he sat down at the typewriter, which was on the desk in the living room. In a drawer he found typing paper and carbon paper, which he stacked carefully: first a sheet of white paper, then a sheet of carbon paper, then another sheet of typing paper, until he had used five sheets of typing paper and four sheets of carbon paper. Then he rolled the stack into the typewriter.

Click, thump, click, click, ping! went the typewriter. Henry enjoyed the sound. It made him feel grown-up and businesslike. Thump, click, click, click. He could not type very fast, because he had to stop and hunt around for each letter. Henry finished what he was writing and stopped to look it over. It read:

Henry had known there would be some mistakes, but he had not expected so many. He mixed up
m
's and
n
's and he never could remember to hit the thing that made capital letters at the right time. However, anyone reading his advertisement could tell what he meant, and he was sure he could do better next time.

Briskly Henry thumped, clicked, and pinged. He glanced at the clock and realized he would have to hurry if he was going to finish typing a page of advertisements and get to Mr. Capper's garage in time to fold papers. By the time he reached the bottom of the paper, Henry had produced an advertisement with only four mistakes. He pulled the paper and the carbons out of the typewriter, slipped
the carbons from between the sheets of white paper, found a pair of scissors, and hastily slashed through all five sheets of paper at once. When he had separated all his ads, he stuffed them into his pocket.

Ribsy started to follow Henry out of the front door, but Henry shoved him back. “You stay home,” he ordered. “I can't have you getting into fights along the route.”

This time, when he reached Mr. Capper's garage, Henry did not feel like an outsider. “Hi,” he said to the other boys in a brief and businesslike way, as he dropped his bicycle on the driveway and found the bundle of
Journal
s with Scooter's route number on it. “Hello, Mr. Capper. I'm taking Scooter's route today so he can swim two sessions at the Y.” Henry quickly counted the papers in the bundle to make sure it contained fifty-three papers before he took a
Journal
from the bundle, laid one of his advertisements
on it, and rolled it up.

“What's this?” asked Mr. Capper, looking down over Henry's shoulder as Henry rolled an advertisement inside a second paper. He picked up one of the slips of paper and read it.

Henry felt uncomfortable. His typing was not very good, he knew, but he hoped Mr. Capper would not laugh. Maybe his advertisement was a silly idea after all. Maybe people would just look at it and laugh.

Mr. Capper grinned and said, “Quite an advertising man, aren't you?”

The other boys looked at Henry's slips of paper. “You mean you're going to put these in Scooter's papers?” asked Joe, one of the eighth-grade carriers. “I'll bet he isn't going to like that!”

“But I'm delivering the papers,” protested Henry.

“Yeah, but it's Scooter's route,” the older
boy pointed out.

“Well, now,” said Mr. Capper. “I don't think Scooter can say a word. If he's willing to let Henry do his work for him, he shouldn't object to Henry's putting ads in his papers.”

“It probably won't work, anyway,” said Joe.

All at once Henry's hopes were dashed. Joe was probably right. After all, he was in the eighth grade and knew about a lot of things. Probably people wouldn't bother
with his ad. Or if they did take the trouble to read it, they would probably laugh at him, the way they laughed when he tried to find good homes for the kittens. That Henry Huggins, they would say. I wonder where he gets so many dumb ideas. Well, it was too late now. He couldn't take time to unroll the papers and remove the advertisements.

Quickly and neatly Henry packed the papers into the canvas bag and lifted it over his shoulders. The bag was heavier than he had expected and made it awkward for him to mount his bicycle, but Henry did not care. He was off to deliver a whole paper route all by himself!