Once more Ramona and Beezus devised a plan, the most daring plan of all because they had to get hold of their father’s cigarettes just before dinner. Fortunately he had tinkered with the car, still trying to find the reason for the tappety-tappety-tap, and had to take a shower before dinner, which gave the girls barely enough time to carry out their plan.

All through dinner the girls exchanged excited glances, and by the time her father asked her to fetch an ashtray, Ramona could hardly sit still she was so excited.

As usual her father pulled his cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. As usual he tapped the package against his hand, and as usual a cigarette, or what appeared to be a cigarette, slid out. Mr. Quimby must have sensed that what he thought was a cigarette was lighter than it should be, because he paused to look at it. While Ramona held her breath, he frowned, looked more closely, unrolled the paper, and discovered it was a tiny sign that said, Smoking Is Bad! Without a word, he crumpled it and pulled out another—he thought—cigarette, which turned out to be a sign saying, Stamp Out Cigarettes! Mr. Quimby crumpled it and tossed it onto the table along with the first sign.

“Ramona.” Mr. Quimby’s voice was stern. “My grandmother used to say, ‘First time is funny, second time is silly—’” Mr. Quimby’s grandmother’s wisdom was interrupted by a fit of coughing.

Ramona was frightened. Maybe her father’s lungs already had begun to turn black.

Beezus looked triumphant. See, we told you smoking was bad for you, she was clearly thinking.

Mrs. Quimby looked both amused and concerned.

Mr. Quimby looked embarrassed, pounded himself on the chest with his fist, took a sip of coffee, and said, “Something must have caught in my throat.” When his family remained silent, he said, “All right, Ramona. As I was saying, enough is enough.”

Ramona scowled and slid down in her chair. Nothing was ever fair for second graders. Beezus helped, but Ramona was getting all the blame. She also felt defeated. Nobody ever paid any attention to second graders except to scold them. No matter how hard she tried to save her father’s life, he was not going to let her save it.

Ramona gave up, and soon found she missed the excitement of planning the next step in her campaign against her father’s smoking. Her afternoons after school seemed empty. Howie was home with tonsillitis, and she had no one to play with. She wished there were more children her age in her neighborhood. She was so lonely she picked up the telephone and dialed the Quimbys’ telephone number to see if she could answer herself. All she got was a busy signal and a reprimand from her father for playing with the telephone when someone might be trying to reach him about a job.