Ramona and Her Father by Beverly Cleary Page B

listening through the furnace pipes,” whispered Ramona.
    â€œThat won’t work here. The living room is too far away.” Beezus strained to catch her parents’ words. “I think something’s wrong.”
    Ramona divided her gummybears, one heap to eat at home, the other to take to school to share with friends if they were nice to her.
    â€œSomething is wrong. Something awful,” whispered Beezus. “I can tell by the way they are talking.”
    Beezus looked so frightened that Ramona became frightened, too. What could be wrong? She tried to think what she might have done to make her parents whisper this way, but she had stayed out of trouble lately. She could not think of a single thing that could be wrong. This frightened her even more. She no longer felt like eating chewy little bears. She wanted to know why her mother and father were whispering in a way that alarmed Beezus.

    Finally the girls heard their father say in a normal voice, “I think I’ll take a shower before supper.” This remark was reassuring to Ramona.
    â€œWhat’ll we do now?” whispered Beezus. “I’m scared to go out.”
    Worry and curiosity, however, urged Beezus and Ramona into the hall.
    Trying to pretend they were not concerned about their family, the girls walked into the kitchen where Mrs. Quimby was removing leftovers from the refrigerator. “I think we’ll eat at home after all,” she said, looking sad and anxious.
    Without being asked, Ramona began to deal four place mats around the dining-room table, laying them all right side up. When she was cross with Beezus, she laid her sister’s place mat face down.
    Mrs. Quimby looked at the cold creamed cauliflower with distaste, returned it to the refrigerator, and reached for a can of green beans before she noticed her silent and worried daughters watching her for clues as to what might be wrong.
    Mrs. Quimby turned and faced Beezus and Ramona. “Girls, you might as well know. Your father has lost his job.”
    â€œBut he liked his job,” said Ramona, regretting the loss of that hamburger and those French fries eaten in the coziness of a booth. She had known her father to change jobs because he had not liked his work, but she had never heard of him losing a job.
    â€œWas he fired?” asked Beezus, shocked at the news.
    Mrs. Quimby opened the green beans and dumped them into a saucepan before she explained. “Losing his job was not your father’s fault. He worked for a little company. A big company bought the little company and let out most of the people who worked for the little company.”
    â€œBut we won’t have enough money.” Beezus understood these things better than Ramona.
    â€œMother works,” Ramona reminded her sister.
    â€œOnly part time,” said Mrs. Quimby. “And we have to make payments to the bank for the new room. That’s why I went to work.”
    â€œWhat will we do?” asked Ramona, alarmed at last. Would they go hungry? Would the men from the bank come and tear down the new room if they couldn’t pay for it? She had never thought what it might be like not to have enough money—not that the Quimbys ever had money to spare. Although Ramona had often heard her mother say that house payments, car payments, taxes, and groceries seemed to eat up money, Mrs. Quimby somehow managed to make their money pay for all they really needed with a little treat now and then besides.
    â€œWe will have to manage as best we can until your father finds work,” said Mrs. Quimby. “It may not be easy.”
    â€œMaybe I could baby-sit,” volunteered Beezus.
    As she laid out knives and forks, Ramona wondered how she could earn money, too. She could have a lemonade stand in front of the house, except nobody ever bought lemonade but her father and her friend Howie. She thought about pounding rose petals and soaking them in water to make perfume