Ralph S. Mouse - Beverly Cleary [23]
When the two boys got off the bus, Ralph heard their feet crunch through the snow. The inn was at a higher altitude than the town of Cucaracha, and the snow lasted longer. Then he heard their feet stamp up the steps, scratch on the doormat, and enter the lobby. The old clock was still managing its familiar slow tick…tock. To Ralph, it sounded like an old friend.
“Hello there, boys,” said Ralph’s protector, Matt. “Ryan, I’m glad to see you have a friend.” So Matt had not lost his job after all. Then, as Ralph had hoped, the little mice must have moved upstairs, where they would be unable to taunt him about losing his motorcycle.
Feeling more cheerful, Ralph began to jump around in the slippery pocket. “Let me out!” he demanded. Ryan unzipped his pocket and lifted Ralph out but held on to him. How good the lobby looked. A fire still burned in the old stone fireplace, and the grandfather clock and television set were right where they had always been. One thing was different. The lobby was neater than Ralph remembered it. Ashtrays were clean, and old magazines arranged neatly on tables.
The desk clerk ignored the boys, who did not stop to remove their jackets before they knelt in front of the clock. “Do you think it will fit?” Ryan asked Brad.
“We’ll see in a second.” Brad pulled something out of his pocket.
“Wow! A Laser XL7, just like you said,” breathed Ryan, as Brad set a miniature sports car on the floor and pushed it carefully through the highest part of the arch at the bottom of the clock. The car was low enough, if maneuvered by a skillful driver, to slip through. “See that, Ralph?”
Ralph had seen, all right. The sleek, mouse-sized car with wire-spoked wheels and knock-off hubcaps was painted silvery gray, the right color for whizzing unnoticed through shadows. The broad thick tires would stand up to the rough surface of carpets and make a wide splash through puddles. The doors did not open, but the windows were big enough for a nimble mouse to climb through, and, after all, racing-car drivers did not open their doors. Ralph was squeakless at the sight of such a beautiful sports car. Why, with a car like that, he would no longer have to hang onto his tail to keep it from tangling in the spokes. He could just hop in and take off.
“Come on. Let’s see you drive it.” Ryan set Ralph down beside the little Laser XL7.
Could he drive it! He’d show them. Ralph slipped through the window into a bucket seat, made sure his tail was safely inside, grasped the wheel, took a deep breath, and went pb-pb-b-b. The car did not move.
Some noisy skiers came in from outdoors but paid no attention to the kneeling boys as they crossed the lobby. The boys crouched behind the couch until they had gone.
“Silly,” said Ryan. “That’s your old motorcycle noise. You’ve got to make a sports car noise to make a sports car move.”
“Stupid of me,” admitted Ralph, who had been too excited to think straight. He took another deep breath, made his voice as low as a squeaky voice could go, and went vroom-vroom. The Laser began to roll across the floor. Ralph was driving! He was actually driving this beautiful sports car. He drove it straight into the leg of a couch, where it stopped. Ralph vroomed again. The car did not budge.
Matt, who had joined the boys to watch, asked, “How’s the little fellow going to back up?” Silence. No one had thought of this problem.
Ryan’s mother stepped out of the elevator. “Hello, Ryan,” she said with a smile. “Is this your new friend?”
“Yes, this is Brad,” answered Ryan, with his hand on the Laser XL7 so his mother would not see Ralph.
“Hi.” Brad was unexpectedly shy.
“I’m glad you could come home with Ryan,” said Mrs. Bramble. “What are you boys doing?”
“Playing with a little car,” said Ryan.
“Play quietly,” said Mrs. Bramble, “and if the manager appears, you’d better go out to our cottage. Or perhaps