Runaway Ralph - Beverly Cleary [32]
“I sure would!” whispered Garf.
“I think we can bend the cage back into shape,” said Aunt Jill.
“Can’t I keep him here in the basin?” asked Garf.
“He might escape,” said Aunt Jill, “but he’s your mouse.” She smiled and slipped quietly out of the lodge.
“You did it!” whispered Garf.
“Sure I did it,” said Ralph, “but do I have to sit here in this basin?”
“Of course not,” answered Garf, holding out his hand.
Ralph leaped into Garf’s palm, and Garf gently moved his hand down close to his pocket, and there, as he hoped, was his motorcycle. In the warm and cozy darkness he ran his paws over the handlebars, the plastic seat, the wheels, the exhaust pipe. The motorcycle was intact, and it was his once more. He had earned it.
Ralph popped back out of the pocket. “You aren’t going to make me go back into that cage, are you?” he asked.
“Not if you promise not to run away. I’m taking you back to the inn tomorrow. Remember?”
“You haven’t forgotten your promise about the motorcycle, have you?” asked Ralph just to be sure.
“Nope,” answered Garf.
“I won’t run away,” promised Ralph. “But there’s one more thing. Before you leave camp, do you suppose you could give Chum a piece of wood to gnaw, so he won’t have to gnaw his cage to keep his teeth worn down?”
“Why, sure,” whispered Garf. “Right after rest time.”
That need taken care of made Ralph feel better about Chum alone in the craft shop. He was about to climb back into the pocket when Garf whispered, “Do me a favor, will you? Let me see you ride the motorcycle before everybody wakes up.”
“Sure!” Ralph was happy to agree to this request.
Gently Garf lifted Ralph and the motorcycle to the floor. Then he handed down the crash helmet, which Ralph set on his head and secured by snapping the rubber band under his chin. Expertly he grasped the handle grips, threw his leg over the plastic seat, and, taking care to keep his tail out of the spokes, inhaled.
Pb-pb-b-b-b. Ralph took off across the concrete floor while Garf leaned over the edge of his bunk to watch. Ralph bent low over his handlebars and increased his speed. Pb-pbb-b-b. Filled with the joy and excitement of speed, he rode in a figure eight around Garf’s cowboy boots, which were lying on the floor. Garf’s counselor moved in his sleep, and Ralph shot out of sight under Garf’s bunk until the counselor lay still. He rode until he was breathless, and then he coasted to a stop in front of Garf, where he sat panting with his crash helmet pushed back on his head.
“Boy!” whispered Garf. “Was that ever great!”
Ralph silently agreed.
“I sure wish I could do that.” Garf picked up Ralph and the motorcycle and put them gently in his pocket.
After all the excitement of the morning, Ralph was ready for a nap, but first he popped his head out of Garf’s pocket. “Thanks, friend,” he said. “And by the way, don’t roll over on me during rest time.”
“Don’t worry,” whispered Garf. “I’ll get you back to the inn in one piece. And your motorcycle, too.”
About the Author
BEVERLY CLEARY is one of America’s most popular authors. Born in McMinnville, Oregon, she lived on a farm in Yamhill until she was six and then moved to Portland. After college, as the children’s librarian in Yakima, Washington, she was challenged to find stories for non-readers. She wrote her first book, HENRY HUGGINS, in response to a boy’s question, “Where are the books about kids like us?”
Mrs. Cleary’s books have earned her many prestigious awards, including the American Library Association’s Laura Ingalls Wilder Award, presented in recognition of her lasting contribution to children’s literature. Her DEAR MR. HENSHAW was awarded the 1984 John Newbery Medal, and both RAMONA QUIMBY, AGE 8 and RAMONA AND HER FATHER have been named Newbery Honor Books. In addition, her books have won more than thirty-five statewide awards based on the votes of her young readers. Her characters, including Henry Huggins, Ellen Tebbits, Otis Spofford, and Beezus and Ramona Quimby, as well as Ribsy, Socks, and Ralph S. Mouse, have delighted children for generations. Mrs.