Ramona and Her Father Read Online Free Page B

sound.”
    â€œIt’s Murphy’s Law,” said Mr. Quimby. “Anything that can go wrong will.”
    Ramona knew her father was not joking this time. Last week, when the washing machine refused to work, the Quimbys had been horrified by the size of the repair bill.

    â€œI like tommy-toes,” said Ramona, hoping her little joke would work a second time. This was not exactly true, but she was willing to sacrifice truth for a smile.
    Since no one paid any attention, Ramona spoke louder as she lifted the bowl of stewed tomatoes. “Does anybody want any tommy-toes?” she asked. The bowl tipped. Mrs. Quimby silently reached over and wiped spilled juice from the table with her napkin. Crestfallen, Ramona set the bowl down. No one had smiled.
    â€œRamona,” said Mr. Quimby, “my grandmother used to have a saying. ‘First time is funny, second time is silly, third time is a spanking.’”
    Ramona looked down at her place mat. Nothing seemed to go right lately. Picky-picky must have felt the same way. He sat down beside Beezus and meowed his crossest meow.
    Mr. Quimby lit a cigarette and asked his older daughter, “Haven’t you fed that cat yet?”
    Beezus rose to clear the table. “It wouldn’t do any good. He hasn’t eaten his breakfast. He won’t eat that cheap Puss-puddy.”
    â€œToo bad about him.” Mr. Quimby blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.
    â€œHe goes next door and mews as if we never give him anything to eat,” said Beezus. “It’s embarrassing.”
    â€œHe’ll just have to learn to eat what we can afford,” said Mr. Quimby. “Or we will get rid of him.”
    This statement shocked Ramona. Picky-picky had been a member of the family since before she was born.
    â€œWell, I don’t blame him,” said Beezus, picking up the cat and pressing her cheek against his fur. “Puss-puddy stinks.”
    Mr. Quimby ground out his cigarette.
    â€œGuess what?” said Mrs. Quimby, as if to change the subject. “Howie’s grandmother drove out to visit her sister, who lives on a farm, and her sister sent in a lot of pumpkins for jack-o’-lanterns for the neighborhood children. Mrs. Kemp gave us a big one, and it’s down in the basement now, waiting to be carved.
    â€œMe! Me!” cried Ramona. “Let me get it!”
    â€œLet’s give it a real scary face,” said Beezus, no longer difficult.
    â€œI’ll have to sharpen my knife,” said Mr. Quimby.
    â€œRun along and bring it up, Ramona,” said Mrs. Quimby with a real smile.
    Relief flooded through Ramona. Her family had returned to normal. She snapped on the basement light, thumped down the stairs, and there in the shadow of the furnace pipes, which reached out like ghostly arms, was a big, round pumpkin. Ramona grasped its scratchy stem, found the pumpkin too big to lift that way, bent over, hugged it in both arms, and raised it from the cement floor. The pumpkin was heavier than she had expected, and she must not let it drop and smash all over the concrete floor.
    â€œNeed some help, Ramona?” Mrs. Quimby called down the stairs.
    â€œI can do it.” Ramona felt for each step with her feet and emerged, victorious, into the kitchen.
    â€œWow! That is a big one.” Mr. Quimby was sharpening his jackknife on a whetstone while Beezus and her mother hurried through the dishes.
    â€œA pumpkin that size would cost a lot at the market,” Mrs. Quimby remarked. “A couple of dollars, at least.”
    â€œLet’s give it eyebrows like last year,” said Ramona.
    â€œAnd ears,” said Beezus.
    â€œAnd lots of teeth,” added Ramona. There would be no jack-o’-lantern with one tooth and three triangles for eyes and nose in the Quimbys’ front window on Halloween. Mr. Quimby was the best pumpkin carver on Klickitat Street. Everybody knew that.
    â€œHmm. Let’s