Henry and the Clubhouse Read Online Free

and then saying,
    “No thank you.” One man interrupted with a brusque “Not today” and closed the door in Henry’s face. A lady embarrassed him by telling him what a splendid little salesman he was and then saying she couldn’t afford to take another paper. Splendid little salesman! That was the last straw. After that Henry found it easy to think up excuses for not trying to sell new subscriptions.
    Now Mr. Capper was saying, “Good for you, Scooter. Suppose you tell us how you went about selling the subscription.”
    “Aw, it was easy,” boasted Scooter, stuffing his folded papers into his canvas bag. “I just told this man what a good paper the Journal was and he said he didn’t have time to read it, because he went fishing every Sunday and I said, ‘You could use it to wrap your fish eggs in,’ and he laughed and said OK, put him down for a subscription, so I did.”
    “I call that quick thinking on your part, Scooter,” said Mr. Capper. “The rest of the boys could take a lesson from you.”
    Out of the corner of his eye Henry could see Mr. Capper looking around the group of boys. “What about you, Henry?” asked Mr.Capper. “You haven’t turned in any subscriptions since you have had your route.”
    “Well . . . I—I have been trying,” Henry said, admitting to himself that he really had not tried very hard. He had been much too busy with the clubhouse.
    “I know it’s hard to get started sometimes,” said Mr. Capper sympathetically. “I’ll tell you what you do.The other day I saw a Sold sign on a house on your route. When the new owners move in, you march right up to that front door, ring the doorbell, and sell them a subscription to the paper.”
    “Yes, sir.” Mr. Capper made it sound so easy—march right up and sell them a subscription, just like that.“I’ll try, Mr. Capper,” said Henry, who knew the house the district manager was referring to. It was the house where he had once hoped to get enough old boxes to build a doghouse. It seemed a long time ago.
    And so each day, as Henry delivered his papers, he watched for the new owners to move into the empty house.When he finally did see packing crates and empty cartons stacked on the driveway he decided he should give the people a little time, say about a week, to get settled before he marched right up and rang that doorbell.
    The next afternoon Mr. Capper said, “Well, Henry, I see the new owners have moved into the empty house.”
    “I am going over today as soon as I finish my route,” promised Henry, knowing he could not put off the task any longer.
    When Henry had delivered his last paper he hung his canvas bag in the garage, washed his hands, combed his hair, and, followed by Ribsy, walked the two blocks to call on the new neighbors. He did not ride his bicycle, because it seemed more businesslike to go on foot. Fuller Brush men did not ride bicycles.
    As he approached the house he whispered to himself some of the things he planned to say. “Good afternoon. I am Henry Huggins, your Journal newsboy. I deliver the Journal to a lot of your neighbors.”That much he was sure of, but he did not know what to say next. Find a selling point, Mr. Capper always said. Talk about some part of the paper that would interest a new subscriber. Henry walked more and more slowly.
    Ribsy finally had to sit down and wait for him to catch up. The Journal had a good sports section . . . a good church section. . . .
    How was Henry supposed to know what would interest a new subscriber? What if he told someone about the church section when all he wanted was to read the funny papers?  But before Henry could decide what to say, he met Beezus and her little sister Ramona. Ramona was wearing a loop of string around her neck. The ends of the string were fastened with Scotch tape to a cardboard tube.
    “Hi,” said Henry to Beezus. “What are you doing?”
    “Keeping Ramona away from the television set,” answered Beezus.“Mother says she