Ralph S. Mouse - Beverly Cleary [3]
2
Ralph’s Decision
After his strenuous night of riding through puddles, fending off his relatives, trying to repair his motorcycle, and rebuilding his nest, Ralph napped soundly. He was awakened by the angry voice of Mr. Minch, the hotel manager, speaking to Mrs. Bramble, Ryan’s mother.
“Look at that floor,” Mr. Minch was saying. “Disgraceful!”
“It certainly needs a good cleaning,” agreed Mrs. Bramble.
“Where’s Matt?” demanded Mr. Minch. “Keeping this lobby clean is his responsibility.”
Worried because his friend was in trouble, Ralph peeped out from under the clock and saw Matt, unaware of the manager’s displeasure, enter the lobby. “Morning, Mrs. Bramble, Mr. Minch,” Matt said. “It’s sure pretty outside with the sun shining on the snow and the sky so blue.”
Mr. Minch ignored this greeting. “Matt,” he said, and his voice was stern, “take a good look at this floor. Dried mud on the linoleum. Mouse droppings all over the place. It’s a disgrace. And the whole lobby smells—well, mousey.”
That’s funny, thought Ralph. I can’t smell a thing.
Matt looked at the floor. “Well, I’ll be jiggered,” he said. “How do you suppose that happened? It looked clean enough last night.”
Liar, thought Ralph with affection. He knew Matt would never say a bad word against mice.
“Never mind how it happened,” said Mr. Minch. “Exactly what do you plan to do about it?”
“Now take it easy, Mr. Minch,” said Matt. “I’ll have this place cleaned up in no time.”
“See that you do,” said Mr. Minch. “This may not be a first-class hotel, but there is no excuse for a dirty lobby. I realize that late arrivals often leave muddy floors, but mouse droppings—! If I continue to find signs of mice, I shall have to let you go.”
That’s not fair, thought Ralph, who did not want to lose his loyal friend. Matt had been part of the hotel as long as he could remember, much longer than either Mr. Minch or Ryan’s mother. Most employees did not stay long at the Mountain View Inn.
“Yes, sir.” The cheer had gone out of Matt’s voice.
Ralph, who came from a long line of intelligent mice, knew that most of his relatives had learned to avoid traps and poisons. He was not so sure about his littlest relatives, however. What was left after traps and poisons? Cats. Ralph shuddered at the thought of bloodthirsty cats stalking his innocent little brothers, sisters, and cousins. The littlest one, who always became entangled in the carpet fringe, would be the first to go.
A skier who was looking at headlines on the newspapers on the rack near the door overheard the conversation between Matt and Mr. Minch. “There’s a new electronic mouser on the market,” he volunteered. “It makes a noise only mice can hear and drives them out of the building in a hurry.”
“I’ll look into it. Something has to be done around here,” said Mr. Minch, as he returned to his office.
Ralph shuddered at the thought of an electronic mouser sending his family screaming into the snow to freeze to death.
Mrs. Bramble wanted to say something pleasant to Matt after the unhappy incident. “One good thing about the ski crowd,” she remarked, “they may track in snow, but they don’t bother to drip-dry a lot of clothes and clutter up the bathrooms.” With that cheerful remark, she went upstairs to count sheets and towels in the linen room.
“More like a fourth-rate hotel, if you ask me,” muttered Matt, who had seen better days. He dragged out the vacuum cleaner. “Old Minch will never spend a nickel on an electronic mouser. How am I supposed to get rid of mice? Say, ‘Please, mousies, go away so old Mr. High-and-mighty won’t throw me out in the cold’?”
As the vacuum cleaner roared back and forth across the carpet, Matt looked so worried that Ralph began