Free Henry and Ribsy by Beverly Cleary Page B

listened to his father and Mr. Grumbie talk about fish they had caught on other fishing trips. Ribsy could not decide where he wanted to ride. He jumped from the back seat to the front seat. He walked across Mr. Grumbie’s lap and wagged his tail in his face. When Mr. Grumbie did not lower the window for him, Ribsy scrambled into the backseat and bounded from one side of the car to the other, until Henry opened a window so he could lean out and sniff all the interesting smells.
    Mr. Grumbie turned around and frowned at Ribsy. He did not say anything. He just turned up the collar of his mackinaw.
    â€œHenry, it’s pretty cold for an open window,” said Mr. Huggins.
    â€œOK, Dad.” Henry pulled Ribsy back into the car by his collar and wound up the window. Ribsy turned around three times, curled up on the seat, and went to sleep.
    Mr. Grumbie told about the big one that got away down on the Nehalem River. I bet I do catch a salmon, Henry thought, and using Ribsy for a pillow he fell asleep himself.

    Henry did not wake up until the car left the highway and began to bounce along a gravel road near a bridge that bore a sign, “Umptucca River.” The sky was gray and the air smelled of the sea. “Is it time for lunch?” Henry asked.
    â€œHere we are,” said Mr. Huggins, “and it is exactly six A.M .”
    Henry got out of the car and looked around. In the dim morning light he could see a shabby building with “Sportsmen’s Cannery” painted across the front, a tiny restaurant with steamy windows, a few cabins, and a boathouse with a sign, “Mike’s Place. Boats and Tackle.” The sound of the breakers and the sight of the rows of boats bobbing in the river below the boathouse filled Henry with excitement. He was really here. He was really going salmon fishing.
    While Mr. Huggins rented a boat, Ribsy ran in circles sniffing all the strange new smells. Henry examined the scales hanging from the eaves of the boathouse. He took hold of the hook and pulled down until the hand of the scales spun around and pointed to twenty-five pounds. It sure takes a lot of pulling to make twenty-five pounds, thought Henry. More than anything he wanted to hang a salmon on that hook and see the hand point to twenty-five—or maybe even thirty. He would have his picture taken with his salmon hanging on the scales so everyone would know how much it weighed.
    â€œI brought my boy along this time,” Mr. Huggins said to Mike, the owner of the boathouse.
    â€œWell, hello there, Shorty,” said Mike. “So they’re going to make a fisherman out of you.”
    â€œYes, sir. I hope I catch a salmon,” answered Henry, and when he saw Mike’s smile he was sorry he had said it. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe he couldn’t land a salmon even if one did bite. Still, there wasn’t any harm in hoping he could, was there?
    â€œFishing pretty good?” asked Mr. Huggins.
    â€œPretty good,” Mike answered. “Fellow brought in a thirty-six-pounder yesterday.”
    Thirty-six pounds! Oh, boy, thought Henry, as he took the lunches and followed his father and Mr. Grumbie down the steps to a boat tied to a float in the river. Ribsy followed Henry into the boat and sniffed at the lunches.
    â€œWind from the south. Going to rain,” remarked Mr. Grumbie, as he wound the rope around the starter and yanked it. The motor sputtered and was silent. Mr. Grumbie rewound the rope.
    Hurry, thought Henry. I want to get started fishing.
    Mr. Grumbie yanked the rope again. This time the motor started. Henry turned up the collar of his raincoat against the wind and hung onto the side of the boat. The river looked cold and deep. Ribsy stood in the bow and barked excitedly at the seagulls wheeling overhead, as their boat joined the other boats scurrying toward the sandbars at the mouth of the river.
    Although the Umptucca was several hundred feet wide at Mike’s