Beezus and Ramona - Beverly Cleary [3]
Beezus selected another book. “Look, Ramona. Here’s a funny story about a kitten that falls into the goldfish bowl. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“No,” said Ramona in a loud whisper. “I want to find my own book.”
If only Miss Evans, the children’s librarian, were there! She would know how to select a book for Ramona. Beezus noticed Miss Greever glance disapprovingly in their direction while the other grown-ups watched Ramona and smiled. “All right, you can look,” Beezus agreed, to keep Ramona quiet. “I’ll go find a book for myself.”
When Beezus had selected her book, she returned to the picture-book section, where she found Ramona sitting on the bench with both arms clasped around a big flat book. “I found my book,” she said, and held it up for Beezus to see. On the cover was a picture of a steam shovel with its jaws full of rocks. The title was Big Steve the Steam Shovel.
“Oh, Ramona,” whispered Beezus in dismay. “You don’t want that book.”
“I do, too,” insisted Ramona, forgetting to whisper. “You told me I could pick out my own book.”
Under the disapproving stare of Miss Greever, Beezus gave up. Ramona was right. Beezus looked with distaste at the big orange-colored book in its stout library binding. At least it would be due in two weeks, but Beezus did not feel very happy at the thought of two more weeks of steam shovels. And it just went to show how Ramona always got her own way.
Beezus took her book and Ramona’s to Miss Greever’s desk.
“Is this where you pay for the books?” asked Ramona.
“We don’t have to pay for the books,” said Beezus.
“Are you going to charge them?” Ramona asked.
Beezus pulled her library card out of her sweater pocket. “I show this card to the lady and she lets us keep the books for two weeks. A library isn’t like a store, where you buy things.”
Ramona looked as if she did not understand. “I want a card,” she said.
“You have to be able to write your own name before you can have a library card,” Beezus explained.
“I can write my name,” said Ramona.
“Oh, Ramona,” said Beezus, “you can’t, either.”
“Perhaps she really does know how to write her name,” said Miss Greever, as she took a card out of her desk. Beezus watched doubtfully while Miss Greever asked Ramona her name and age. Then the librarian asked Ramona what her father’s occupation was. When Ramona didn’t understand, she asked, “What kind of work does your father do?”
“He mows the lawn,” said Ramona promptly.
The librarian laughed. “I mean, how does he earn his living?”
Somehow Beezus did not like to have Miss Greever laugh at her little sister. After all, how could Ramona be expected to know what Father did? “He works for Pacific Gas and Electric Company,” Beezus told the librarian.
Miss Greever wrote this down on the card and shoved it across the desk to Ramona. “Write your name on this line,” she directed.
Nothing daunted, Ramona grasped the pencil in her fist and began to write. She bore down so hard that the tip snapped off the lead, but she wrote on. When she laid down the pencil, Beezus picked up the card to see what she had written. The line on the card was filled with
“That’s my name,” said Ramona proudly.
“That’s just scribbling,” Beezus told her.
“It is too my name,” insisted Ramona, while Miss Greever quietly dropped the card into the wastebasket. “I’ve watched you write and I know how.”
“Here, Ramona, you can hold my card.” Beezus tried to be comforting. “You can pretend it’s yours.”
Ramona brightened at this, and Miss Greever checked out the books on Beezus’s card. As soon as they got home, Ramona demanded, “Read my new book to me.”
And so Beezus began. “Big Steve was a steam shovel. He was the biggest steam shovel in the whole city….” When she finished the book she had to admit she liked Big Steve better than Scoopy. His only sound effects were tooting and growling. He tooted and growled in big letters on every page. Big Steve did not shed tears or want to be a pile driver. He worked hard at being a steam shovel, and by the