Ramona marveled that neither of her par-

ents said the girls should have saved Beezus’s slippers for Ramona to grow into.

“I’m starved,” announced Grandpa Day.

“Giving away a bride is hard work, and that dainty little wedding food doesn’t fill me up.

When we get home, I’ll send out for pizza.”

Pizza! thought Ramona. A limousine and

a pizza! The end of a perfect day.

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10

Another Big Event

After the wedding, everyone felt let

down, the way they always felt the day

after Christmas, only worse. Nothing seemed interesting after so much excitement.

Grandpa Day had flown back to his sunshine and shuffleboard. Mr. Quimby was at work all day. Friends had gone off to camp, to the

mountains, or the beach. Howie and Willa

Jean had gone to visit their other grand-

mother.

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“Girls, please stop moping around,” said Mrs. Quimby.

“We can’t find anything to do,” said

Beezus.

Ramona was silent. If she complained,

her mother would tell her to clean out her closet.

“Read a book,” said Mrs. Quimby. “Both

of you, read a book.”

“I’ve read all my books a million times,”

said Ramona, who usually enjoyed reread-

ing her favorites.

“Then go to the library.” Mrs. Quimby was

beginning to sound irritable.

“It’s too hot,” complained Ramona.

Mrs. Quimby glanced at her watch.

“Mother, are you expecting someone?”

asked Ramona. “You keep looking at your

watch.”

“I certainly am,” said her mother. “A

stranger.” With a big sigh, Mrs. Quimby

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sank heavily to the couch, glanced at her watch again, and closed her eyes. The girls exchanged guilty looks. Their poor mother, worn out by Algie kicking her when there

was so much of her to feel hot.

“Mother, are you all right?” Beezus

sounded worried.

“I’m fine,” snapped Mrs. Quimby, which

surprised the girls into behaving.

That evening, the sisters helped their

mother put together a cold supper of tuna fish salad and sliced tomatoes. While the family was eating, Mr. Quimby told them that now

that the “Hawaiian Holidays” sale with bar-gains in fresh pineapple and papaya had

come to an end, all the ShopRite Markets

were preparing for “Western Bar-b-q Week”

with specials on steak, baked beans, tomato sauce, and chili. He planned to paint buck-ing broncos on the front windows.

Mrs. Quimby nibbled at her salad and

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glanced at her watch.

“And everybody will see your paintings,”

said Ramona, happy that her father was now an artist as well as a market manager.

“Not quite the same as an exhibit in a

museum,” said Mr. Quimby, who did not

sound as happy as Ramona expected.

Mrs. Quimby pushed her chair farther

from the table and glanced at her watch.

All eyes were on her.

“Shall I call the doctor?” asked Mr.

Quimby.

“Please,” said Mrs. Quimby as she rose

from the table, hugged Algie, and breathed,

“Oo-oo.”

Ramona and Beezus, excited and fright-