Runaway Ralph - Beverly Cleary [4]
Late in the afternoon new guests straggled into the hotel. Some looked at the shabby furniture and dusty deer heads and left. Others, too tired from driving to look further, stayed. When the television set was turned on, Ralph polished the chrome on his motorcycle with his paws. When the set was silent, he napped, too excited to sleep soundly. At last the bugle in the distance played its slow sad notes, and old Matt left the front door open as he went out on the porch to look at the stars.
The moment had come! Ralph snapped his crash helmet in place. He grasped the handlebars and pushed his motorcycle out from its hiding place, avoiding the attention of the night clerk by guiding it along the edge of the baseboard to the front door. On the porch he mounted and with a vigorous pb-pb-b-b-b rode across the cracked concrete to Matt’s feet at the top of the steps.
“Hi,” said Ralph, who was able to talk to animals and to any human being who loved speed and motorcycles and who understood that the only way to make a miniature motorcycle go was to make a sputtering noise that sounded like a big motorcycle.
“Why, hello there, young fellow,” said Matt. “Just where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m running away,” said Ralph. “On my motorcycle.”
“You don’t say!” exclaimed Matt.
“Yes. I’ve had enough of this place,” said Ralph. “I’m going someplace where I can be free.”
“You want to get away from your family,” said Matt, grasping the situation at once. “You want to be independent.”
“That’s right,” said Ralph. “I’m tired of being bossed around by my mother and Uncle Lester. I’m fed up with my pesty little brothers and sisters and cousins. I don’t want to grow up to be another crumb-scrounging mouse. I want adventure and excitement, and I’m going to ride off on my motorcycle and find it.”
“Sounds good,” observed Matt. “I wish I could do the same. Just ride off into the night on a motorcycle. I always wanted a motorcycle, but I never could afford one. When I was young I had to help my folks, and then I had a family of my own to take care of. Now that my family has grown up and gone away, I’m too old for a motorcycle.”
The mouse and the man were silent a moment before Ralph said, “Well, I guess I’d better be going.”
“So long,” said Matt. “Good luck. I’m going to miss you. It always cheered me up to see you tearing around the halls like a little daredevil. Made the suitcases seem lighter somehow.” With that parting comment he turned and started back toward the door of the hotel.
“Hey, wait!” squeaked Ralph.
Matt turned. “You want something?”
For some reason Ralph hesitated before he said, “I was wondering if you would lift my motorcycle down the steps for me.”
“And I was wondering how you were going to manage,” remarked Matt, but he did not move to help Ralph.
“Uh…I’d like to get started,” said Ralph. “I have a long way to go tonight.”
“Sorry, I can’t help you out,” said Matt.
Ralph was astounded. For a grown-up human being, Matt always had been cooperative. “How come?” he demanded.
“If I lifted your motorcycle down the steps, you would be depending on me,” said Matt, “and depending on others is not being independent.”
Ralph was bewildered. “But how am I going to get my motorcycle down the steps without breaking it?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Matt. “I just hope I don’t have to come out here in the morning and sweep up pieces of red motorcycle.” He turned then and went back into the hotel, closing the door behind him.
“Well, how do you like that!” said Ralph to himself. “And all the time I thought he was my friend.”
Off in the distance an owl hooted. The night suddenly seemed vast, and a mouse a very small creature indeed. The row of empty chairs rocking in the breeze made Ralph nervous. He could not get over the feeling there were unseen people sitting in them, ghosts who might at any moment chase him and steal his motorcycle.