The Mouse and the Motorcycle - Beverly Cleary [14]
No, I won’t. Yes, I will, Ralph argued with himself. He had promised not to ride in the daytime. Yes, but Keith did not know he would have a chance to see which was stronger, the motorcycle or the vacuum cleaner. Keith would be interested, wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t any boy? Riding the motorcycle would not be reckless. It would be an important experiment. Motorcycle versus vacuum cleaner—which would be the winner? Ralph had to find out.
The maid turned abruptly from the mirror. Her feet in sneakers moved across the floor toward the electric outlet. If she disconnected the vacuum cleaner there would be no experiment. If Ralph was going to pit one motor against the other, he had to do it now. He would never have another chance.
Pb-pb-b-b-b. Ralph picked up his tail and started the motor. Without taking time to let it warm up, he gunned it with all the breath he could inhale. The motorcycle got off to a faster start than Ralph expected, so fast that Ralph lost control. He shot out from under the bed just as the vacuum cleaner died with a long drawn-out groan.
Suddenly everything went white and Ralph found himself bumping along in a strange ghostly place all white and made of cloth that seemed to be closing in on him from every direction. Ralph had ridden straight into a pillowcase thrown on the heap of laundry the maid had dropped on the floor, and the opening of the pillowcase had fallen shut behind him.
Ralph had no idea which way was out. He dismounted from the motorcycle and beat at the cloth with his fists, but everywhere he struck it was soft and yielding. He stamped his feet only to have the cloth give softly and silently beneath him.
He began to wade through the pillowcase, tugging the motorcycle along behind him while he wondered why he had thought it so important to test the motorcycle against the vacuum cleaner. The light, filtered through unknown layers of cloth, was dim, and he sank to his knees in bed linen with every step. When he came to a seam he knew he had been wading in the wrong direction.
“Drat,” muttered Ralph. He turned, still dragging the motorcycle, and tried to retrace his footsteps only to find he had no idea which way he had come. There were no landmarks. The clouds of cloth were white, billowy, and yielding in all directions. “Double drat!” He stamped his foot, only to find himself sinking deeper into the linen.
From the swishing sounds he could hear outside, Ralph knew the maid must be unfolding clean sheets over the bed. He plodded on, dragging the motorcycle, without direction and with very little hope.
“He promised to buy me a bunch of blue ribbons,” sang the maid, “to tie up my bonnie brown hair.”
Down the hall a door opened. Ralph heard a muffled “Wuf!” and in a moment the click of a small dog’s toenails on the bare floor at the edge of the hall carpet, followed by sniffing that was dangerously close.
The little terrier began to bark. “I know you’re in there!” he yipped. “Stick out your tongue and waggle your fingers at me, will you? You just wait!” Paws began to scrape at the sheets and pillowcases as if the dog were trying to dig a hole.
Ralph decided it was wiser not to talk back to the dog. He huddled, scarcely breathing, against the motorcycle.
“Well, hello, you cute little thing,” said the maid, revealing to Ralph that she was even sillier than he had thought. As if there was anything cute about a terrier that could scarcely see through his own hair.
The dog went on yapping, a bit self-consciously, Ralph thought, now that he knew he was being admired by the maid. A man’s steps came thumping down the hall. “Stop your racket, you pesky mutt,” said the owner’s voice, and Ralph knew when the barks suddenly came from above him that the dog had been snatched up.
“Let me down and I’ll dig him out,” yapped the dog as he was carried away. “Just let me down for one minute and I’ll show you!”
Suddenly Ralph