“Why is that?” asked Mr. Quimby.

“Children under twelve might have con-

tagious diseases,” explained the nurse. “We have to protect the babies.”

“I’m sorry, Ramona,” said Mr. Quimby.“I

didn’t know. I am afraid you will have to do as the nurse says.”

“Does she mean I’m germy?” Ramona

was humiliated.“I took a shower this morn-

ing and washed my hands at the Whopper-

burger so I would be extra clean.”

“Sometimes children are coming down

with something and don’t know it,” explained Mr. Quimby. “Now, be a big girl and go

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downstairs and wait for us.”

Ramona’s eyes filled with tears of disap-

pointment, but she found some pleasure in

riding in the elevator alone. By the time she reached the lobby, she felt worse. The nurse called her a little girl. Her father called her a big girl.What was she? A germy girl.

Ramona sat gingerly on the edge of a

Naugahyde couch. If she leaned back, she

might get germs on it, or it might get germs on her. She swallowed hard.Was her throat a little bit sore? She thought maybe it was, way down in back. She put her hand to her

forehead the way her mother did when she

thought Ramona might have a fever. Her

forehead was warm, maybe too warm.

As Ramona waited, she began to itch the

way she itched when she had chickenpox.

Her head itched, her back itched, her legs itched. Ramona scratched. A woman sat

down on the couch, looked at Ramona, got

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up, and moved to another couch.

Ramona felt worse. She itched more and

scratched harder. She swallowed often to see how her sore throat was coming along. She

peeked down the neck of her blouse to see

if she might have a rash and was surprised that she did not. She sniffed from time to time to see if she had a runny nose.

Now Ramona was angry. It would serve

everybody right if she came down with some horrible disease, right there in their old hospital. That would show everybody how

germfree the place was. Ramona squirmed

and gave that hard-to-reach place between

her shoulder blades a good hard scratch.

Then she scratched her head with both

hands. People stopped to stare.

A man in a white coat, with a stethoscope

hanging out of his pocket, came hurrying

through the lobby, glanced at Ramona,

stopped, and took a good look at her.“How

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do you feel?” he asked.

“Awful,” she admitted. “A nurse said I

was too germy to go see my mother and

new sister, but I think I caught some disease right here.”

“I see,” said the doctor.“Open your mouth and say ‘ah.’”

Ramona ahhed until she gagged.

“Mh-hm,” murmured the doctor. He

looked so serious Ramona was alarmed. Then he pulled out his stethoscope and listened to her front and back, thumping as he did so.