The old man, whose back was very

straight, saluted Ramona as if she were a sol-dier and said, “Well, young lady, have you been good to your mother?”

Ramona was stunned. She felt her face

turn red to the tips of her ears. She did not know how to answer such a question. Had

she been good to her mother? Well . . . not always, but why was this stranger asking? It was none of his business. He had no right to ask such a question.

Ramona looked to her parents for help

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and discovered they were waiting with amusement for her answer. So were the rest of the people who were waiting for tables.

Ramona scowled at the man. She did not

have to answer him if she did not want to.

The hostess saved Ramona by calling

out,“Quimby, party of four,” and leading the family to a plastic-upholstered booth.

“Why didn’t you answer the man?” Beezus

was as amused as everyone else.

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,”

was Ramona’s dignified answer.

“But Mother and Daddy are with us,”

Beezus pointed out, rather meanly, Ramona

thought.

“Remember,” said Mr. Quimby, as he

opened his menu,“we are all going to smile and enjoy ourselves if it kills us.”

As Ramona picked up her menu, she

was still seething inside. Maybe she hadn’t always been good to her mother, but that

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man had no right to pry.When she discovered he was seated in a single booth across the aisle, she gave him an indignant look, which he answered with a merry wink. So

he had been teasing. Well, Ramona didn’t

like it.

When Ramona opened her menu, she

made an exciting discovery. She no longer

had to depend on colored pictures of ham-

burgers, French fries, chili, and steak to help her make up her mind. She could now read

what was offered. She studied carefully, and when she came to the bottom of the menu,

she read the dreaded words, “Child’s Plate for Children Under Twelve.” Then came the

list of choices: fish sticks, chicken drum-sticks, hot dogs. None of them, to Ramona, food for a treat.They were food for a school cafeteria.

“Daddy,” Ramona whispered, “do I have

to have a child’s plate?”

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“Not if you don’t want to.” Her father’s smile was understanding. Ramona ordered

the smallest adult item on the menu.

Whopperburger was noted for fast service,

and in a few minutes the waitress set down the Quimbys’ dinners: a hamburger and

French fries for Ramona, a cheeseburger and French fries for Beezus and her mother,

and hamburgers with chili for her father.

Ramona bit into her hamburger. Bliss.

Warm, soft, juicy, tart with relish. Juice dribbled down her chin. She noticed her mother start to say something and change her mind.

Ramona caught the dribble with her paper

napkin before it reached her collar. The

French fries—crisp on the outside, mealy

on the inside—tasted better than anything

Ramona had ever eaten.