Tales Of A Fourth Grade Nothing Ebook Download Free
My biggest problem is my brother, Farley Drexel Hatcher.
Everybody calls him Fudge. I feel sad for him if he's going to abound up with a name like Fudge, but I don't say a word. It'southward none of my business.
Fudge is always in my way. He messes up everything he sees. And when he gets mad he throws himself flat on the floor and he screams. And he kicks. And he bangs his fists. The only time I really like him is when he's sleeping. He sucks four fingers on his left hand and makes a slurping dissonance.
When Fudge saw Dribble he said, "Ohhhhh . . . see!"
And I said, "That's my turtle, become it? Mine! You don't touch him."
Fudge said, "No touch." And so he laughed like crazy.
"Peter's difficulties with [Fudge] will be readily understood by children with younger brothers and sisters." —Booklist
"[An] amusing book . . . written and illustrated with a light bear on." —BCCB
BOOKS BY JUDY BLUME
The Pain and the Great I
Soupy Saturdays with the Pain and the Great One
Cool Zone with the Pain and the Groovy Ane
Going, Going, Gone! with the Pain and the Cracking One
Friend or Fiend? with the Pain and the Not bad One
The One in the Middle Is the Green Kangaroo
Freckle Juice
THE FUDGE BOOKS
Tales of a 4th Grade Cypher
Otherwise Known as Sheila the Smashing
Superfudge
Fudge-a-Mania
Double Fudge
Blubber
Iggie'south House
Starring Sally J. Freedman as Herself
Are You There, God? Information technology's Me, Margaret
Information technology's Non the End of the World
Then Over again, Maybe I Won't
Deenie
Only as Long as We're Together
Hither's to You lot, Rachel Robinson
Tiger Optics
Forever
Letters to Judy
Places I Never Meant to Exist: Original Stories by Censored Writers (edited by Judy Blume)
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Immature Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, United statesA.
Penguin Grouping (Canada), 90 Eglinton Artery East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd, eighty Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen's Green, Dublin 2, Republic of ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)
Penguin Grouping (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a sectionalization of Pearson Commonwealth of australia Grouping Pty Ltd)
Penguin Books Bharat Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Eye, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi - 110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)
Penguin Books (Southward Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Artery, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, eighty Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published in the U.s.a. of America by Dutton Children's Books, 1972
Published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2003
Reissued by Puffin Books, a sectionalization of Penguin Immature Readers Group, 2007
one 3 v 7 9 10 8 half-dozen four 2
Copyright © Judy Blume, 1972
Illustration copyright © Jules Feiffer, 2007
All rights reserved
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE DUTTON CHILDREN'Southward BOOKS EDITION Every bit FOLLOWS:
Blume, Judy.
Tales of a 4th class nothing / by Judy Blume.
p. cm.
Summary: Peter finds his enervating 2-year-old brother an e'er increasing problem.
ISBN: 0-525-40720-0 (hc)
[1. Brothers—Fiction. two. Family unit life—Fiction. 3. Humorous stories.]
I. Title.
PZ7.B6265 Tal [Fic] 70-179050 CIP
This Puffin edition ISBN 9781101564073
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall non, past mode of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher'south prior consent in any form of binding or embrace other than that in which it is published and without a like condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The publisher does not accept any control over and does not assume whatever responsibleness for writer or tertiary-party Web sites or their content.
For Larry, who is a combination of Peter and Fudge,
and for Willie Mae, who told me about Dribble
Contents
The Large Winner
Mr. and Mrs. Juicy-O
The Family Canis familiaris
My Blood brother the Bird
The Birthday Bash
Fang Hits Town
The Flying Train Committee
The Television Star
Only Another Rainy Mean solar day
Dribble!
1
The Big Winner
I won Dribble at Jimmy Fargo'southward birthday party. All the other guys got to take habitation goldfish in little plastic bags. I won him because I guessed there were three hundred and twoscore-eight jelly beans in Mrs. Fargo's jar. Really, there were iv hundred and xx-three, she told us subsequently. Still, my guess was closest. "Peter Warren Hatcher is the big winner!" Mrs. Fargo announced.
At first I felt bad that I didn't get a goldfish too. Then Jimmy handed me a drinking glass bowl. Within at that place was some water and three rocks. A tiny green turtle was sleeping on the biggest rock. All the other guys looked at their goldfish. I knew what they were thinking. They wished they could have tiny green turtles too.
I named my turtle Distill while I was walking home from Jimmy'southward political party. I live at 25 West 68th Street. It's an old apartment building. Only it's got i of the best elevators in New York Metropolis. At that place are mirrors all effectually. You tin can encounter yourself from every angle. There's a soft, cushioned bench to sit down on if you're too tired to stand. The elevator operator's name is Henry Bevelheimer. He lets us phone call him Henry because Bevelheimer'south very hard to say.
Our apartment's on the twelfth flooring. But I don't have to tell Henry. He already knows. He knows everybody in the edifice. He's that smart! He even knows I'm nine and in fourth grade.
I showed him Distill right away. "I won him at a birthday party," I said.
Henry smiled. "Your mother'south going to be surprised."
* * *
Henry was right. My mother was really surprised. Her mouth opened when I said, "Only expect at what I won at Jimmy Fargo's birthday party." I held upwardly my tiny green turtle. "I've already named him . . . Distill! Isn't that a bully name for a turtle?"
My female parent made a face. "I don't like the way he smells," she said.
"What do you hateful?" I asked. I put my olfactory organ right downward close to him. I didn't smell annihilation just turtle. Then Dribble smells like turtle, I thought. Well, he's supposed to. That'due south what he is!
"And I'grand non going to have care of him either," my mother added.
"Of course you're not," I told her. "He's my turtle. And I'thousand the i who'southward going to take care of him."
"You're going to change his water and clean out his basin and
feed him and all of that?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. "And even more. I'grand going to see to it that he's happy!"
This time my mother made a funny noise. Similar a groan.
I went into my chamber. I put Distill on pinnacle of my dresser. I tried to pet him and tell him he would exist happy living with me. But it isn't like shooting fish in a barrel to pet a turtle. They aren't soft and furry and they don't lick you or annihilation. Still, I had my very ain pet at last.
Later, when I sat downwardly at the dinner table, my mother said, "I smell turtle. Peter, get and scrub your hands!"
* * *
Some people might call up that my mother is my biggest problem. She doesn't similar turtles and she's always telling me to scrub my easily. That doesn't mean only run them under the water. Scrub means I'1000 supposed to use lather and rub my hands together. And so I've got to rinse and dry them. I ought to know by now. I've heard it enough!
But my mother isn't my biggest problem. Neither is my male parent. He spends a lot of time watching commercials on TV. That's considering he's in the advertising concern. These days his favorite commercial is the one virtually Juicy-O. He wrote it himself. And the president of the Juicy-O company liked it and so much he sent my father a whole crate of Juicy-O for our family to drink. It tastes similar a combination of oranges, pineapples, grapefruits, pears, and bananas. (And if y'all want to know the truth, I'g getting pretty sick of drinking information technology.) Merely Juicy-O isn't my biggest problem either.
My biggest problem is my brother, Farley Drexel Hatcher. He's two-and-a-half years old. Everybody calls him Fudge. I feel sorry for him if he's going to grow up with a name like Fudge, but I don't say a give-and-take. It's none of my business organisation.
Fudge is ever in my way. He messes up everything he sees. And when he gets mad he throws himself flat on the floor and he screams. And he kicks. And he bangs his fists. The only fourth dimension I really like him is when he's sleeping. He sucks four fingers on his left hand and makes a slurping racket.
When Fudge saw Dribble he said, "Ohhhhh . . . see!"
And I said, "That's my turtle, become it? Mine! Y'all don't bear on him."
Fudge said, "No touch." So he laughed like crazy.
two
Mr. and Mrs. Juicy-O
1 night my begetter came home from the office all excited. He told usa Mr. and Mrs. Yarby were coming to New York. He's the president of the Juicy-O company. He lives in Chicago. I wondered if he'd bring my begetter another crate of Juicy-O. If he did I'd probably exist drinking it for the residue of my life. Just thinking well-nigh it was enough to brand my tum hurt.
My begetter said he invited Mr. and Mrs. Yarby to stay with us. My mother wanted to know why they couldn't stay at a hotel like most people who come up to New York. My begetter said they could. But he didn't want them to. He thought they'd be more comfortable staying with us. My mother said that was virtually the silliest thing she'd e'er heard.
But she fixed up Fudge's bedroom for our guests. She put fancy sheets and a brand-new blanket on the hide-a-bed. That's a sofa that opens upwardly into a bed at night. It's in Fudge'southward room because that used to be our den. Earlier he was born we watched Boob tube in there. And lots of times Grandma slept over on the hide-a-bed. Now nosotros sentinel Goggle box correct in the living room. And Grandma doesn't slumber over very ofttimes.
My mother moved Fudge'south crib into my room. He's going to get a regular bed when he'south three, my mother says. There are a lot of reasons I don't similar to slumber in the aforementioned room equally Fudge. I institute that out two months agone when my chamber was beingness painted. I had to slumber in Fudge's room for 3 nights because the paint smell made me cough. For one thing, he talks in his sleep. And if a person didn't know improve, a person could get scared. Another thing is that slurping noise he makes. It's true that I like to hear it when I'm awake, just when I'thou trying to fall asleep I like things very repose.
When I complained about having to sleep with Fudge my female parent said, "It's just for two nights, Peter."
"I'll sleep in the living room," I suggested. "On the sofa . . . or even a chair."
"No," my mother said. "Yous will sleep in your bedroom. In your own bed!"
At that place was no point in arguing. Mom wasn't going to change her mind.
She spent the day in the kitchen. She really cooked up a storm. She used and then many pots and pans Fudge didn't have any left to blindside together. And that's one of his favorite pastimes—banging pots and pans together. A person can become an awful headache listening to that racket.
Right after lunch my mother opened up the dinner table. We don't have a separate dining room. When nosotros have company for dinner we eat in one finish of the living room. When Mom finished setting the table she put a silver basin filled with flowers right in the centre. I said, "Hey, Mom . . . it looks like you're expecting the President or something."
"Very funny, Peter!" my mother answered.
Sometimes my mother laughs like crazy at my jokes. Other times she pretends not to get them. And and then, there are times when I know she gets them just she doesn't seem to like them. This was one of those times. So I decided no more jokes until afterward dinner.
I went to Jimmy Fargo'southward for the afternoon. I came habitation at 4 o'clock. I found my mother standing over the dinner table mumbling. Fudge was on the floor playing with my father's socks. I'm not sure why he likes socks so much, but if you give him a few pairs he'll play quietly for an hr.
I said, "Hello, Mom. I'm habitation."
"I'yard missing two flowers," my mother said.
I don't know how she noticed that two flowers were missing from her silver bowl. Considering at that place were at least a dozen of them left. But sure enough, when I checked, I saw two stems with zilch on them.
"Don't look at me, Mom," I said. "What would I do with two measly flowers?"
Then we both looked at Fudge. "Did you lot take Mommy'southward pretty flowers?" my mother asked him.
"No accept," Fudge said. He was chewing on something.
"What's in your mouth?" my mother asked.
Fudge didn't answer.
"Show Mommy!"
"No show," Fudge said.
"Oh yes!" My mother picked him up and forced his mouth open up. She fished out a rose petal.
"What did you do with Mommy's flowers?" She raised her voice. She was actually getting upset.
Fudge laughed.
"Tell Mommy!"
"Yum!" Fudge said. "Yummy yummy yummy!"
"Oh no!" my mother cried, rushing to the telephone.
She called Dr. Cone. She told him that Fudge ate two flowers. Dr. Cone must accept asked what kind, because my mother said, "Roses, I remember. But I can't be sure. Ane might have been a daisy."
There was a long pause while my mother listened to whatever Dr. Cone had to say. Then Mom said, "Thanks, Dr. Cone." She hung up.
"No more flowers!" she told Fudge. "You lot understand?"
"No more," Fudge repeated. "No more . . . no more than . . . no more."
My mother gave him a spoonful of peppermint-flavored medicine. The kind I have when I have breadbasket pains. Then she carried Fudge off to take his bathroom.
Leave it to my brother to eat flowers! I wondered how they tasted. Peradventure they're succulent and I don't know it because I've never tasted one, I thought. I decided to notice out. I picked off ane petal from a pink rose. I put it in my mouth and tried to chew it up. But I couldn't practise it. Information technology tasted awful. I spit it out in the garbage. Well, at to the lowest degree now I knew I wasn't missing anything great!
Fudge ate his supper in the kitchen earlier our company arrived. While he was eating I heard my mother remind him, "Fudgie'south going to be a good male child tonight. Very good for Daddy'due south friends."
"Good," Fudge said. "Adept male child."
"That'southward right!" my mother told him.
I changed and scrubbed up while Fudge finished his supper. I was going to eat with the company. Being 9 has its advantages!
* * *
My mother was all dressed up by the fourth dimension my father got dwelling house with the Yarbys. You'd never accept guessed that Mom spent virtually of the day in the kitchen. You'd also never take guessed that Fudge ate two flowers. He was feeling fine. He fifty-fifty smelled nice—like baby pulverization.
Mrs. Yarby picked him up correct abroad. I knew she would. She looked like a grandmother. That blazon always makes a big deal out of Fudge. She walked into the living room cuddling him. Then she saturday downwardly on the sofa and bounced Fudge around on her lap.
"Isn't he the cutest piffling male child!" Mrs. Yarby said. "I merely beloved babies." She gave him a big kiss on the height of his head. I kept waiting for somebody to tell her Fudge was no baby. But no ane did.
My male parent carried the Yarbys' suitcase into Fudge'south room. When he came back he introduced me to our visitor.
"This is our older son, Peter," he said to the Yarbys.
"I'1000 nine and in fourth grade," I told them.
"How do, Peter," Mr. Yarby said.
Mrs. Yarby simply gave me a nod. She was still busy with Fudge. "I take a surprise for this love fiddling male child!" she said. "It's in my suitcase. Should I become get it?"
"Yes," Fudge shouted. "Become get . . . go get!"
Mrs. Yarby laughed, as if that was the best joke she ever heard. "I'll be right back," she told Fudge. She put him down and ran off to find her suitcase.
She came dorsum carrying a present tied up with a cerise ribbon.
"Ohhhh!" Fudge cried, opening his eyes wide. "Goody!" He clapped his hands.
Mrs. Yarby helped him unwrap his surprise. Information technology was a windup train that made a lot of noise. Every time it bumped into something it turned around and went the other way. Fudge liked it a lot. He likes anything that's noisy.
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