Horrid Henry's Underpants (7 page)

Well, no way was he writing any thank you letters. He’d rather starve. He’d rather die. He’d stay in his room for a month. A year. One day Mom and Dad would come up to check on him and all they’d find would be a few bones. Then they’d be sorry.

Actually, knowing them, they’d probably just moan about the mess. And then Peter would be all happy because he’d get Henry’s room and Henry’s room was bigger.

Well, no way would he give them the satisfaction. All right, thought Horrid Henry. Dad said to write one page. Henry would write one page. In his biggest, most gigantic handwriting, Henry wrote:

That certainly filled a whole page, thought Horrid Henry.

Mom came into the room.

“Have you written your letters yet?”

“Yes,” lied Henry.

Mom glanced over his shoulder.

“Henry!” said Mom. “That is not a proper thank you letter.”

“Yes it is,” snarled Henry. “Dad said to write one page so I wrote one page.”

“Write five sentences,” said Mom.

Five sentences? Five whole sentences? It was completely impossible for anyone to write so much. His hand would fall off.

“That’s way too much,” wailed Henry.

“No TV until you write your letters,” said Mom, leaving the room.

Horrid Henry stuck out his tongue. He had the meanest, most horrible parents in the world. When he was king any parent who even whispered the words “thank you letter” would get fed to the crocodiles.

They wanted five sentences? He’d give them five sentences. Henry picked up his pencil and scrawled:

There! Five whole sentences. Perfect, thought Horrid Henry. Mom said he had to write a five sentence thank you letter. She never said it had to be a
nice
thank you letter. Suddenly Henry felt quite cheerful. He folded the letter and popped it in the stamped envelope Mom had given him.

One down. Two to go.

In fact, Aunt Ruby’s no thank you letter would do just fine for Great-Aunt

Greta. He’d just substitute Great-Aunt Greta’s name for Aunt Ruby’s and copy the rest.

Bingo. Another letter was done.

Now, Grandma. She
had
sent money so he’d have to write something nice.

“Thank you for the money, blah blah blah, best present I’ve ever received, blah blah blah, next year send more money, $15 isn’t very much, Ralph got $20 from
his
grandma, blah blah blah.”

What a waste, thought Horrid Henry as he signed it and put it in the envelope, to spend so much time on a letter, only to have to write the same old thing all over again next year.

And then suddenly Horrid Henry had a wonderful, spectacular idea. Why had he never thought of this before? He would be rich, rich, rich. “There goes money-bags Henry,” kids would whisper enviously, as he swaggered down the street followed by Peter lugging a hundred videos for Henry to watch in his mansion on one of his twenty-eight giant TVs. Mom and Dad and Peter would be living in their hovel somewhere, and if they were very, very nice to him Henry
might
let them watch one of his smaller TVs for fifteen minutes or so once a month.

Henry was going to start a business. A business guaranteed to make him rich.

“Step right up, step right up,” said Horrid Henry. He was wearing a sign saying: HENRY’S THANK YOU LETTERS. “Personal letters written just for you.” A small crowd of children gathered round him.

“I’ll write all your thank you letters for you,” said Henry. “All you have to

do is to give me a stamped, addressed envelope and tell me what present you got. I’ll do the rest.”

“How much for a thank you letter?” asked Kung-Fu Kate.

“One dollar,” said Henry.

“No way,” said Greedy Graham.

“Ninety-nine cents,” said Henry.

“Forget it,” said Lazy Linda.

“OK, 50¢,” said Henry. “And two for 75¢.”

“Done,” said Linda.

Henry opened his notebook. “And what were the presents?” he asked. Linda made a face. “Handkerchiefs,” she spat. “And a bookmark.”

“I can do a ‘no thank you’ letter,” said Henry. “I’m very good at those.”

Linda considered.

“Tempting,” she said, “but then mean Uncle John won’t send something better next time.”

Business was booming. Dave bought three. Ralph bought four “no thank you’s.” Even Moody Margaret bought one. Whoopee, thought Horrid Henry. His pockets were jingle-jangling with cash. Now all he had to do was to write seventeen letters. Henry tried not to think about that.

The moment he got home from school Henry went straight to his room. Right, to work, thought Henry. His heart sank as he looked at the blank pages. All those letters! He would be here for weeks. Why had he ever set up a letter-writing business?

But then Horrid Henry thought. True, he’d promised a personal letter but how would Linda’s aunt ever find out that Margaret’s granny had received the same one? She wouldn’t! If he used the computer, it would be a cinch. And it would be a letter sent personally, thought Henry, because I am a person and I will personally print it out and send it. All he’d have to do was to write the names at the top and to sign them. Easy-peasy lemon squeezy.

Then again, all that signing. And writing all those names at the top. And separating the thank you letters from the no thank you ones.

Maybe there was a better way.

Horrid Henry sat down at the computer and typed:

Dear Sir or Madam,

That should cover everyone, thought Henry, and I won’t have to write anyone’s name.

Thank you /No thank you/ for the

a) wonderful

b) horrible

c) disgusting

present. I really loved it/hated it. In fact, it is the best present/worst present/I have ever received. I /played with it/ broke it/ ate it/ spent it/ threw it in the garbage/ right away. Next time just send lots of money.

Best wishes/ worst wishes/

Now, how to sign it? Aha, thought Henry.

Your friend or relative.

Perfect, thought Horrid Henry. Sir or Madam knows whether they deserve a thank you or a no thank you letter. Let them do some work for a change and tick the correct answers.

Print.

Print.

Print.

Out spewed seventeen letters. It only took a moment to stuff them in the envelopes. He’d pop the letters in the mailbox on the way to school.

Had an easier way to become a millionaire ever been invented, thought Horrid Henry, as he turned on the TV?

Ding dong.

It was two weeks after Henry set up “Henry’s Thank You Letters.”

Horrid Henry opened the door.

A group of Henry’s customers stood there, waving pieces of paper and shouting.

“My granny sent the letter back and now I can’t watch TV for a week,” wailed Moody Margaret.

“I’m grounded!” screamed Aerobic Al.

“I have to go swimming!” screamed Lazy Linda.

“No candy!” yelped Greedy Graham.

“No allowance!” screamed Rude Ralph.

“And it’s all your fault!” they shouted.

Horrid Henry glared at his angry customers. He was outraged. After all his hard work,
this
was the thanks he got?

“Too bad!” said Horrid Henry as he slammed the door. Honestly, there was no pleasing some people.

“Henry,” said Mom. “I just had the strangest phone call from Aunt Ruby…”

Aerobic Al

Anxious Andrew

Aunt Ruby