Henry Huggins (3 page)

“Golly!” said Henry. “A million fish in my bedroom!” Wouldn't that be something to tell the kids at school!

Henry was glad when summer vacation started. It took him so long to feed his fish that he no longer had time to play with the other children on Klickitat Street. He spent all his allowance on fish food, snails, and plants for his jars. He slept with his windows shut if he thought the night were going to be cold. He wasn't going to have his fish getting sick if he could help it.

All day long the boys and girls in the neighborhood rang the doorbell and asked to see Henry's fish.

Finally his mother said, “Henry, this can't go on. You must get rid of some of those fish. You'll have to give them to your friends.”

Henry liked each fish so much he couldn't decide which one he liked best. They were all so lively, swimming around in their fruit jars. Henry didn't see how he could part with any of them, but now that he was on the third row of jars around his room, he decided to try. He started asking his friends in the neighborhood if they would like to have some fish.

Scooter didn't think he had time to take care of fish. He delivered the
Shopping News
two days a week.

Mary Jane said her mother wouldn't let her have any fish. Mary Jane's mother was very particular.

Robert said he would rather come over and look at Henry's fish than take care of guppies of his own.

Finally Beezus said she would take one fish. Beezus's real name was Beatrice, but her little sister Ramona called her Beezus and now everyone else did, too. Beezus and Ramona already had a cat, three white rats, and a turtle, so one fish wouldn't make much difference. It took Henry a long time to decide which guppy to give her.

Then one morning Mrs. Huggins came home from the Supermarket with three lugs of apricots in the backseat of the car. When Henry helped her carry them into the house, she said, “Henry, run down to the basement and bring up about twenty quart jars. These apricots are so ripe I want to start canning them right away.”

Henry went down to the basement. He did not come back with twenty quart jars. He came back with four. “These are all I could find, Mom,” he said.

“Oh, dear, and one of them has a crack.” Mrs. Huggins looked at the three lugs of apricots. Then she looked at Henry. “Henry,” she said, and he knew from the way she said it she meant whatever she was going to say, “go to your room and bring me seventeen quart jars. And don't bring me any jars with guppies in them, either.”

“Yes, Mom,” said Henry in a meek voice. He went into his room and looked at the jars of guppies. He guessed he did have too many fish. But they were such nice fish! He got down on his hands and knees to look at his pets.

“Henry!” his mother called. “I am starting to pit the apricots. You'll have to hurry!”

“OK.” Henry took his net and started catching the smallest guppies. The only thing he could do was to move them in with the other fish. He hated to do it, because the fish book said they shouldn't be crowded. When the guppies were moved, he carried the jars into the kitchen and poured the water down the sink.

“I'm sorry, Henry,” his mother said, “but after all, I did tell you some time ago that you couldn't go on putting guppies in fruit jars.”

“I know, Mom. I guess I'll have to think of something else.” It took Henry the rest of the morning to feed his fish. He had to put the tiniest pinch of the finest fish food into each jar. He could hear Robert and Beezus playing cowboy in the vacant lot. Ribsy trotted into his room, watched him a few minutes, and then went outdoors. Henry began to wish he were outdoors, too, but he couldn't let his little fish go hungry.

Late that afternoon Mrs. Huggins drove downtown to pick up Henry's father after work. When they returned, Henry saw his father carrying more lugs of apricots into the kitchen. He had a feeling he knew what was coming next.

It came.

“Henry,” his mother said, “I am afraid I'll have to ask you for some more fruit jars.”

Henry sighed. “I guess I'll have to double them up some more.” He started to go to his room and then turned back. “Say, Mom, are you going to can anything besides apricots this year?”

“Yes, tomatoes and pears. And I thought we might go out to Mount Hood and pick huckleberries. You like huckleberry pie during the winter, don't you?”

Henry certainly did like huckleberry pie. He liked it any time of year. He went to his room and moved more of his guppies. Tomatoes, pears, and huckleberries. He could see that his mother would need all her fruit jars before the summer was over. That would leave him his original bowl and the gallon pickle jar.

“Hey, Mom,” he yelled. “Are you going to make dill pickles, too?”

“Yes, Henry.”

There went the pickle jar. By the end of the summer Henry would have to move the hundreds of fish he had now, and goodness knows how many more, back into the bowl. There would be so many fish there wouldn't be room for any water.

That settled it. Henry decided he would have to get rid of all his guppies. He hated to do it, but if he kept even two he would soon be right back where he was now. It would be nice to have time to play outdoors again. Henry made up his mind to take every one of his fish back to the Lucky Dog Pet Shop. Maybe Mr. Pennycuff could have another sale.

Henry was chasing a guppy with the net when his father came into the room. He told his father what he planned to do. “I sure hate to do it,” he mourned, “but I can't keep a million guppies in my bedroom.” He looked sorrowfully at his fish.

“I know, Henry. I hate to see the fish go, too, but they're getting out of hand. I'll tell you what to do. Catch all the guppies and put them into the pickle jar. It won't hurt them to be crowded for a little while. Right after supper I'll run you down to the pet shop in the car.”

Henry sadly packed up his fish, and after supper he and his father and Ribsy got into the car and drove to the pet shop. Ribsy liked to ride in the car.

“I brought you a lot of guppies,” Henry said to Mr. Pennycuff. “I hope you can use them.”

“Use them!” exclaimed Mr. Pennycuff. “I certainly can. I haven't had a guppy in this store since the sale. Let's see them.”

While Henry unwrapped his pickle jar, his father looked at the tanks of tropical fish along the wall.

“I should say you do have a lot of guppies,” said Mr. Pennycuff. “Nice healthy ones, too. You must have taken good care of them.” He held the jar up to the light and looked at it closely. It seethed with gray guppies, rainbow guppies, and baby guppies of all sizes, swimming round and round. “Hmmmm. Let's see. We-e-ell.” Mr. Pennycuff continued to stare at the fish.

Henry couldn't understand why he was muttering to himself that way. He had given Mr. Pennycuff the guppies and now he wished he would return the pickle jar so he could go.

“Well, now,” said Mr. Pennycuff, “I guess these fish are worth about seven dollars. I can't give it to you in money, but you can pick out seven dollars' worth of anything in the store you want.”

Seven dollars! Henry was astounded. Seven dollars' worth of anything in the pet shop! He was rich! He had been so busy thinking about getting rid of the guppies that it had not occurred to him they might be worth something to Mr. Pennycuff.

“Hey, Dad! Did you hear that? Seven dollars!” Henry shouted.

“I certainly did. You'd better start looking around.”

“Take anything you want, sonny. Dog collars, kittens, bird seed. Anything.”

Henry tried to decide what he would like. Ribsy had a collar and leash and a dish, so he didn't need anything. He looked at the kittens. The sign read, “Kittens. One dollar each.” They were cute, but Henry decided he didn't want seven dollars' worth of kittens. Ribsy would chase them.

“You don't have any skunks on sale for seven dollars?” he asked hopefully.

“No, I haven't had any skunks for a long time.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” said Mr. Huggins.

Henry looked at the tropical fish. Then he looked all around the store and came back to the tropical fish again. He stopped to watch a little catfish busily digging in the sand. Suddenly Henry knew that the only thing in the store he really wanted was more fish.

“Could I keep a catfish in my fishbowl?” he asked Mr. Pennycuff.

“No, sonny, they have to be kept in warm water. They need an electric heater and a thermostat in the water to keep the water the right temperature.” He held up two long glass tubes. One looked as if it were filled with sand and the other with wires. “See, this is what I mean. They fit into the corners of an aquarium like this and keep the water warm all the time.” He fitted them into the corner of a little tank on a table.

“How much does that cost?”

“The tank is three dollars and the heater and thermostat come to four. That makes seven dollars.”

Henry was disappointed. “I wouldn't have any money left for a catfish and the only thing I really want is more fish.”

“You know, Henry, I hoped you'd say that,” answered his father. “I hated to see those guppies go as much as you did. If you buy the tank and heater and thermostat, I'll buy the fish.”

“Gee, Dad, that's swell! Let's get a little catfish!” Then Henry thought of something. “Do catfish have as many babies as guppies?” he asked Mr. Pennycuff.

“Oh my, no. Catfish rarely have babies when they're kept in tanks. They mostly have them when they live outdoors in ponds and rivers.”

“Swell!” said Henry. “That's the kind of fish we want. Won't Mom be surprised!”

W
hen Henry came home from school one Friday late in September, he shook all his nickels and dimes and pennies out of a marble sack onto his bedspread. His expenses had been heavy and he knew he did not have much money left. The first thing he had done after finding Ribsy was to pay for his license and buy him a collar. Naturally he didn't want his dog to eat from an old chipped dish, so he had spent sixty-nine cents for a red plastic dish with D O G printed on it. This nearly exhausted his savings. He had spent his silver dollar on the guppies and all his allowance to take care of them. Then he had sold the guppies for seven dollars and spent all seven for the tank and thermostat for the catfish.

At breakfast this morning his father had given him his weekly twenty-five cents. Besides that, he had six cents saved from last week's allowance. He also had a nickel he had found in the park. And then there was his Canadian dime. He could try to spend that but he hated to after keeping it almost a year. He might want to start a coin collection sometime. With the Canadian dime, he had forty-six cents, not counting nine cents he could get for three old milk bottles he had found in a vacant lot on the way home from school.

It was not enough.

Henry needed thirteen dollars and ninety-five cents plus forty-one cents for tax.

Henry needed all this money because he wanted to buy a football—a real football from a sporting goods store, not just a toy football from a department store. This time he wanted a genuine cowhide football stitched with nylon thread and laced with buckskin thongs. Every boy on Klickitat Street wanted one.

As Henry looked at the money spread out on his bed, he heard someone calling, “He-e-enry!”

Henry went to the front door. There on the front porch stood Scooter McCarthy. Henry was surprised, because Scooter didn't often come to play with him. He was a fifth grader and bigger than Henry. Henry was even more surprised when he saw what Scooter was holding—a real cowhide football stitched with nylon thread and laced with real buckskin thongs!

“Hi, Scoot,” said Henry. “Boy oh boy! Where did you get that football?”

“My grandmother sent it to me for my birthday,” answered Scooter.

“Your grandmother!” Henry could hardly believe it. “My grandmother sends me sweaters and socks.”

“My grandmother sends me keen presents. Come on out and throw some passes with me.”

Scooter pounded the football with his fist. It made a drumlike sound.

Henry could hardly wait to touch the leather. When the boys, followed by Ribsy, went out to the sidewalk, Scooter ran up the street a way and threw the ball back to Henry. It hit some branches that overhung the sidewalk but Henry caught it anyway. The ball felt just right. It was big and solid and smelled of new leather. Henry lovingly ran his hands over its surface before he sent it sailing back to Scooter. The ball hit the branch again.

“I know what,” said Scooter. “If I went on the other side of the street and we threw it back and forth across the street, we wouldn't hit the trees.” He tucked the ball under his arm as if he were running ninety yards for a touchdown and sprinted across the street.

Pow!
The ball sailed into Henry's hands. It made a deep hollow sound, just the kind of sound a good football should make. Henry sent it back across the street.
Pow!
Scooter caught it. Back and forth the ball flew until Henry's hands began to tingle from the smack of leather against them.

“Throw it to me once more,” called Scooter, “and then let's go down to the empty lot and practice kicking.”

Henry wished he could carry the ball, but after all it did belong to Scooter. He gripped it firmly and drew it back over his shoulder. This time he was going to throw a perfect pass, the kind he had seen All-Americans make in newsreels.

As he started to bring his arm forward, Ribsy gave a sudden bark. Henry looked around at Ribsy, but his arm kept on going. The ball left his fingers.

At that instant a car whizzed around the corner.

Scooter yelled, “Hey! Look out!”

It was too late. There was nothing Henry could do. The speeding car did not slow down, and for one terrible moment he thought the ball was going to hit the driver. Instead it sailed into the rear window, bounced against the closed window on the other side of the car, and then fell inside. The car raced on down the street and screeched around a corner on two wheels.

The football was gone!

The boys stared after the car. Henry was so surprised he stood there with his arm in the air. When he finally remembered to bring it down, he was still speechless.

“My football!” exclaimed Scooter. He stopped looking down the street after the departed car. He looked at Henry. “My ball is in that car,” he said accusingly.

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Henry was uncomfortable. “Maybe the man in the car will bring it back in a little while,” he said hopefully.

“He'd better,” said Scooter grimly.

The boys sat down on the curb to wait.

“Boy, I bet he was going eighty miles an hour!” said Henry.

“I couldn't even see his license plates.”

“He ought to be arrested,” said Henry, who was anxious to talk about anything but Scooter's football.

“He might kill somebody,” said Scooter.

The boys waited and waited. The longer they waited, the more angry Scooter looked. “I don't think that car is going to come back,” he said finally. “It's all your fault. You threw the ball.”

“Yes, I know,” admitted Henry, “but it wasn't my fault that Ribsy barked and that old car came by just then.”

“You shouldn't have thrown it.” Scooter scowled darkly.

“I couldn't help it.” Henry scowled back. “I didn't even see the car until after I threw the ball. I couldn't catch it after I had thrown it, could I?”

“I don't care! You would have heard the car coming if that dumb dog of yours hadn't made so much noise. He wasn't even barking at anything. You lost my new ball and you're going to have to buy me a new one. If you don't I'll—I'll…” Scooter wasn't quite sure what he would do, so he didn't finish the sentence.

Henry didn't know what to say. It did not seem right that he was to blame. Still, half an hour ago Scooter had a new football. Now it was gone and Henry had been the last one to touch it.

“I have forty-six cents and three milk bottles you could have,” said Henry hopefully. He hated to see that football disappear almost as much as Scooter did.

“That isn't enough,” said Scooter. “You'll have to buy me a new football before next Saturday or I'll tell my dad and he'll tell your dad and then you'll really get it.”

Henry suspected Scooter was right. He probably would get it. Once when he had accidentally broken another boy's roller skate, his father had given him a talking to and then made him spend his allowance to have it fixed. “OK,” he said. “I'll get you a new football. I don't know how but I guess I'll manage.”

Henry turned and went slowly into the house. Ribsy followed him. “Now see what you've done,” Henry said. “And after I spent my football money for your license and your collar and your dish, too.” Ribsy hung his head.

Now Henry was just twice as far from owning a real cowhide football with nylon stitching and buckskin lacings as he had been half an hour ago. He was quiet the rest of the afternoon and all through dinner. He was thinking.

“How about another piece of gingerbread?” his father asked.

“No, thank you,” said Henry absentmindedly. “May I be excused, please?”

“Why, Henry, don't you feel well?” Mrs. Huggins was surprised. Henry usually ate two pieces of gingerbread and a third if she let him.

“Oh sure, I feel all right,” said Henry and went out to sit on the front steps. Ribsy lay on the step below and dozed with his head on Henry's foot.

“Good old Ribsy, even if you did get me into trouble,” said Henry.

He listened to the whish-click, whish-click of the water sprinkler next door and wondered how he was going to earn thirteen dollars and ninety-five cents in one week. He thought and thought.

He could collect old tinfoil. No, that would take too long. Junk men didn't want the little wads of tinfoil that came from old cigarette packs. They wanted big pieces that were too hard to find.

Maybe he could ask the neighbors for old papers and magazines. No, he had already collected all he could find for a school paper drive the week before. Besides, the junk men paid only half a cent a pound.

He could open a lemonade stand by the park, but lemonade stands were just kid stuff. Mothers and fathers were the only people who really spent any money for lemonade.

He could charge fifty cents for mowing lawns. That would be a dollar for two lawns. He would have to mow twenty-eight lawns to earn thirteen dollars and ninety-five cents. Even if he could get twenty-eight lawns to mow, he didn't see how he could find time after school.

As the evening grew darker, Henry still sat on the steps thinking and listening to the whish-click, whish-click of the water sprinkler. Whish-click, whish-click. Then Mr. Hector Grumbie, who lived next door, came out of the house and shut off the water. Henry liked Mr. Grumbie but he wasn't so sure about Mrs. Grumbie. She sprinkled Doggie-B-Gone on her shrubbery, and Ribsy disliked the smell very much.

Henry noticed that Mr. Grumbie had a flashlight in one hand and a quart fruit jar in the other. Mr. Grumbie set the jar on the sidewalk, tiptoed onto the lawn, flashed his light on the grass, bent over, and pounced on something. Then he picked it up and put it into the jar. It was too dark for Henry to see what it was.

The next time Mr. Grumbie pounced, he didn't put anything into the jar. Henry heard him mutter, “Oops, that one got away.”

Henry couldn't stand it any longer. He had to know what Mr. Grumbie was doing. He walked across his own lawn and peered over the rosebushes.

“If you come any closer,” said Mr. Grumbie, “you'd better tiptoe. I don't want to scare them away.”

“Scare what away?” asked Henry.

“Night crawlers,” said Mr. Grumbie.

“Night crawlers!” exclaimed Henry. “What are night crawlers?”

“Worms,” said Mr. Grumbie. “Great big worms. Do you mean to say you've lived here all these years and never seen a night crawler?”

“No, I haven't,” answered Henry. “How big are they?”

“Oh, about seven to ten inches long.”

“Golly!” Henry could hardly believe it. “Ten inches long! I didn't know worms came that big.”

“Here's one.” Mr. Grumbie swooped and held up a worm in the beam of his flashlight. It was a big fat worm. It was at least nine inches long and as big around as a pencil.

“Wow!” said Henry. It was hard to believe, but there it was. Mr. Grumbie put it into the jar.

“Do you use them to catch fish?” asked Henry.

“That's right.” Mr. Grumbie pounced again.

“What kind of fish?”

“Some kinds of trout, salmon, perch, catfish—different kinds of fish. I'm going salmon fishing in the Columbia River in the morning.”

Henry thought this over. “Do you always catch worms at night?”

“Yes. They only come out at night when the ground is wet. I give the lawn a good soaking so they'll come up to the top. Then I turn on the light and grab them quick before they have a chance to pull back into the ground.”

Mrs. Grumbie stepped out on the porch and called to her husband. “Hector, if you expect me to have a lunch ready for you to take fishing at three o'clock in the morning, you'd better go to the store for a loaf of bread right now before it closes.”

“All right. In a minute.” As his wife went back into the house, Mr. Grumbie said to Henry, “How would you like to earn some money?”

“Catching worms? I'll say I would!”

“I'll pay you a penny apiece for every night crawler you catch.”