Beezus and Ramona - Beverly Cleary [20]
“Just a minute. I’ll ask Mother.” Beezus called down the basement stairs, repeating the question.
“Why, no, I guess not,” Mother replied.
“Mother says it’s all right,” Beezus said into the telephone.
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Kemp. “Now I’ll (Howie, stop banging!) have a chance to do some shopping.”
Well, thought Beezus when she had hung up, things won’t be quiet around here much longer. Howie, who was in Ramona’s class at nursery school, was the noisiest little boy she knew, and he and Ramona often quarreled. Willa Jean was at the awkward age—too big to be a baby and not big enough to be out of diapers.
“You know,” said Mother, when she came up from the basement, “I don’t remember telling Mrs. Kemp that Howie could come over this afternoon, but maybe I did. I’ve had so much on my mind lately, trying to get the nursery-school rummage sale organized.”
After an early lunch Mother decided there would be enough time to wash everybody’s hair before Howie and Willa Jean arrived. She put on her oldest dress, because Ramona always squirmed and got soap all over her. Then she stood Ramona on a chair, made her lean over the kitchen sink, and went to work. Ramona howled, as she always did when her hair was washed. When Mother finished she rubbed Ramona’s hair with a bath towel, turned up the furnace thermostat so the house would be extra-warm, and gave Ramona two graham crackers to make up for the indignity of having her hair washed.
Then Beezus stepped onto the stool and bent over the sink for her turn. After Mother had washed her own hair and before she went into the bathroom to put it up in pin curls, she said to Beezus, “Would you mind getting out the vacuum cleaner and picking up those graham-cracker crumbs Ramona spilled on the rug?”
Beezus did not mind. She rather liked running the vacuum cleaner if her mother didn’t make a regular chore of it.
“I’m going to have a par-tee,” sang Ramona above the roar of the vacuum cleaner. Then she changed her song. “Here comes my par-tee!” she chanted.
Beezus glanced out the window and quickly switched off the vacuum cleaner. Four small children were coming up the front walk through the rain. A car stopped in front of the house and three children climbed out. Two more were splashing across the street.
“Mother!” cried Beezus. “Come here, quick. Ramona wasn’t pretending!”
Mother appeared in the living room just as the doorbell rang. One side of her hair was up in pin curls and the other side hung wet and dripping on the towel around her neck. “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed when she understood the situation. “That explains Mrs. Kemp’s phone call. Ramona, how could you?”
“I wanted to have a party,” explained Ramona. “I invited everybody yesterday.”
The doorbell rang again, this time long and hard. There was the sound of many rubber boots jumping up and down on the porch.
“Mother, we just can’t have a party with our hair wet,” wailed Beezus.
“What else can we do?” Mother sounded desperate. “They’re here and we can’t very well send them home. Their mothers have probably planned to shop or something while we look after them.”
Ramona struggled with the doorknob and managed to open the heavy front door. Mrs. Kemp stopped her car in front of the Quimbys’, and Howie and Willa Jean hopped out. “I’ll pick them up at four,” she called gaily. “I’m so glad to have a chance to get out and do some shopping.”
Mother smiled weakly and looked at all the children on the porch.
“Where do you suppose she found them all?” whispered Beezus. “I don’t even know some of them.”
“All right, children.” Mother spoke firmly. “Leave your wet boots and raincoats on the porch.”
“I’ve got a par-tee,” sang Ramona happily.
Beezus, who had plenty of experience with Ramona and her boots, knew where she was needed. She started pulling off boots and unbuttoning raincoats.
“What on earth shall we do with them on a day like this?” whispered Mother.
Beezus grabbed a muddy boot.