Henry and Ribsy (Henry Huggins #3)(8)

While the three boys were busy trying to walk across the lawn on their hands, they heard a sudden clatter and crash from the backyard and promptly got on their feet.

“Sounds like a garbage can to me,” said Scooter.

Henry, who had known instantly what made the noise, was already on his way around the house with Ribsy at his heels. Scooter and Robert were close behind. Henry found the garbage can tipped on its side. The lid had rolled halfway across the backyard, and garbage was strewn all the way from the steps to the cherry tree. In the midst of the litter stood a collie and another big dog. A crust of bread hung from the collie’s mouth.



The dogs started to run when they saw the boys. Ribsy chased them while Henry grabbed an old Woofies can and threw it after them. “You beat it,” he yelled. Then he looked at the mess and groaned. Garbage! He was sick and tired of it. He kicked at an eggshell and groaned again. It wasn’t worth fifteen cents a week. It wasn’t worth a hundred, or a thousand, or even a million dollars.

Scooter and Robert held their noses. Then Scooter made a gagging noise and Robert copied him.

“Aw, hey, fellows, cut it out.” Henry glared at his friends and pulled the can, still half full, upright. He looked around and sighed.

“Well, I guess I better be going,” said Scooter. “I just remembered I’m supposed to go to the store for my mother.”

“Me, too,” said Robert. “So long, Henry.”

Some friends, thought Henry, and set to work. He was busy scooping up coffee grounds and mildewed pea pods when he heard his father’s car turn into the driveway.

Mr. Huggins looked around the back yard. “Dogs?” he asked.

“That collie and that other big dog down the street,” answered Henry.

Mr. Huggins did not say anything. He found a shovel in the garage and went to work.

“Uh…Dad,” began Henry. “The garbageman isn’t exactly a neighbor. Does his complaining about Ribsy mean I don’t get to go fishing with you?”

“We’ll see what happens Monday before we decide,” answered his father. “Perhaps we can find out what made him act the way he did.”

On Saturday Henry did not take the garbage out at all. When neither his mother nor his father reminded him, he guessed they must be as tired of garbage as he was.

Sunday afternoon Robert and Scooter came over to see if anything new had happened to the garbage or to Ribsy.

“Aw, fellows, forget it,” said Henry. Then he saw Beezus and her little sister Ramona coming down the street. Beezus’s real name was Beatrice, but Ramona called her Beezus and everyone else did, too. “Hi!” Henry was glad to be interrupted.

“Hello, Henry. Did the garbageman ever take away your garbage?” Beezus asked.

“He’ll take it tomorrow,” said Henry coldly. The way things got around on Klickitat Street!

“Ramona, look out!” screamed Beezus. She rushed over to her little sister, who had a firm hold on Ribsy’s tail and was pulling as hard as she could. “He bites!” said Beezus. “He bit the garbageman.”



“He did not bite the garbageman!” yelled Henry. “Don’t you dare say he did!”

Ribsy looked around at Ramona. “Wuf,” he said mildly, and waited patiently while Beezus frantically pried Ramona’s fingers loose from his tail.

“He didn’t bite when Ramona pulled his tail, did he?” Henry asked angrily.

“No.” Beezus looked doubtfully at Ribsy. “But somebody told Mother he bit the garbageman.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Henry was thoroughly disgusted. This was too much.

“Of course, you don’t know what Ribsy would have done if he had got at the garbageman,” observed Scooter.

“You keep quiet.” Henry glared at Scooter. “The garbageman must have kicked him or something. Look at him. Does he look the least bit cross?”

Beezus and the boys looked at Ribsy, who lay on the grass with a patient look on his face. Ramona was sitting on him. When she grabbed his ear, Ribsy looked at Henry as if to say, “Get her off me, won’t you?”

“No, he doesn’t look a bit cross,” admitted Beezus, pulling her little sister away. “He seems to understand she’s little and doesn’t know any better.”

Thinking secretly that Ramona did know better, Henry turned to Scooter. “Now are you satisfied?” he demanded.

“Well…” Scooter was not easy to satisfy.

Henry tried to think of something, anything, to change the subject. “Say, Scooter,” he said, “I wish you’d take a look at the horn on my bike. It’s been sounding funny lately.”

“Sure,” said Scooter eagerly. If there was one thing he enjoyed, it was tinkering with a bicycle. “Where is it?”

“In the garage,” answered Henry, and they all started down the driveway toward the open garage doors.

As Scooter took hold of the handlebars and started to wheel the bicycle out of the garage, Ribsy began to growl deep in his throat. The hair stood up on his neck and he moved toward Scooter.

Everyone stared at Ribsy. Scooter hastily dropped the bicycle on the driveway, and Ribsy stopped growling at once. He went to Henry and wagged his tail, waiting to be praised.

“Hey, did you see that?” Henry shouted.