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was so early, Scooter was probably still delivering papers.
    â€œCome on, Ribsy,” he ordered, hurrying into his room. There he pulled on jeans and a sweater over his pajamas and shoved his feet into sneakers. He shut Ribsy in the room, grabbed the papers on the porch, except for one copy which he tossed into the living room, and ran down the street as fast as he could to Scooter’s house.
    No one on Klickitat Street was up at that hour, and Henry was relieved to see the blinds still down on Scooter’s house. He tiptoed up the front steps and, after looking uneasily up and down the street and listening for sounds from within the house, laid the sixteen Journals on the door mat. Then he ran home as fast as he could.
    After entering as quietly as he could, Henry threw himself on his bed with a gasp of relief. No one had seen him! Scooter would never know how the sixteen papers found their way back to his door mat. The dollar for the bike fund was safe.
    Henry felt unusually cheerful after his narrow escape and was enjoying a second helping of hot cakes when the doorbell rang. Mr. Huggins answered it, and Henry heard Scooter say, “Here’s your paper, Mr. Huggins. I’m sorry it was late.”
    Holding his breath, Henry looked at the breakfast table, strewn with the Sunday Journal .
    Mr. Huggins said, “There must be some mistake, Scooter. We have our paper.”
    â€œYou have?” Scooter sounded surprised. “You’re the only people on Klickitat Street that have one.”
    â€œHenry, where did you find the paper this morning?” asked Mr. Huggins.
    â€œOn the doormat.” Well, he had found it on the doormat. His father didn’t ask what else he had found, did he?
    â€œIt sure is funny,” repeated Scooter. “I know I delivered all the papers, but…well, thanks anyway, Mr. Huggins. It sure is funny.”
    Jeepers, thought Henry. Now he had done it. Why hadn’t he thought of putting his own paper on Scooter’s doormat along with the others? Now Scooter would get suspicious and might figure out what had happened.
    Mr. Huggins folded back the sport section. “Isn’t it funny that Scooter’s papers should disappear from Klickitat Street?” he remarked to no one in particular. “When I used to deliver papers when I was a kid, I had a lot of trouble with dogs stealing them.”
    Henry looked sharply at his father, but Mr. Huggins appeared to be interested in the paper. “What did you do about it?” asked Henry, as if he were just making polite conversation.
    â€œSprinkled red pepper on the papers for a while until the dogs learned to leave them alone,” answered Mr. Huggins, pouring himself another cup of coffee.
    After breakfast Henry waited until his mother had finished the dishes. Then he quietly found the can of red pepper and an old newspaper and called Ribsy out into the backyard, where he was sure Scooter couldn’t see him.
    He rolled the paper, sprinkled it with red pepper, and threw it out on the grass. Ribsy ran over to it, stopped, and sniffed. He walked all the way around the paper, sniffing. Then he rolled it over with his paw before he picked it up carefully by one end and dropped it at Henry’s feet. He wagged his tail and looked pleased with himself.
    â€œYou old dog,” said Henry crossly.
    Ribsy jumped up on Henry and looked so eager that Henry couldn’t help petting him. “What am I going to do with you, anyway?” he asked. Then he sprinkled pepper on the paper again and tossed it onto the grass. Ribsy bounded after it. Again he sniffed, and rolled the paper with his paw before he picked it up and carried it to Henry.
    Henry had a feeling that although pepper might work with other dogs, it wasn’t going to work with Ribsy. Anyway, he couldn’t follow two paper boys around and sprinkle pepper on every single paper they delivered, could he? And then there was the Shopping