The Mouse and the Motorcycle - Beverly Cleary [17]
“Lost the motorcycle!” Keith, who had been kneeling, sat back on his heels. “But how?”
“I rode it by mistake into a pillowcase in a heap of linen on the floor, and it got dumped into the laundry hamper,” confessed Ralph.
“You rode it into the pillowcase!” repeated Keith. “But you weren’t supposed to ride it in the daytime. You promised.”
“I know,” agreed Ralph miserably. “I didn’t exactly mean to ride it.”
“But you did.” Keith’s voice was accusing.
“Well, you see, the maid was vacuuming under the bed and I—” began Ralph, and stopped. “Oh, what’s the use. I rode it and I lost it and it’s probably gone to the laundry by now and I’m sorry.”
The boy and the mouse were silent. Both were thinking about the little motorcycle with its clean lines and pair of shining chromium exhaust pipes.
“That motorcycle was my very most favorite of all my cars,” said Keith. “I saved my allowance and bought it myself.”
Ralph hung his head in his crash helmet. There was nothing more he could say. It was a terrible thing he had done.
“I guess I should have known you weren’t old enough to be trusted with a motorcycle,” said Keith.
The boy could not have said anything that would hurt Ralph more.
9
Ralph Takes Command
It was a sad night for Ralph, a sad and lonely night. If he went back to the mousehole, his mother was sure to worry him with embarrassing questions about the motorcycle. She would also expect him to help clean up after the family reunion. If he took off his crash helmet, he could squeeze under the door and explore the hall on foot, but he could not bear to part with the helmet and, anyway, he had no desire to travel by foot where he had once ridden with such noise and speed.
Ralph scurried through shadows on the floor to the curtain, which he climbed to the windowsill. There he sat, huddled and alone, staring out into the night listening to the kissing sounds of the bats as they jerked and zigzagged from the eaves of the hotel, through the pines, and back again. Around the window the leaves of a Virginia creeper vine shifted in the breeze, and down in the lobby a clock struck midnight. An owl slid silently through the night across the clearing of the parking lot from one pine to another. Ralph could remember a time when he had envied bats and owls their ability to fly, but that was before he had experienced the speed and power of a motorcycle.
Early in the morning the smell of bacon drifting up from the kitchen brought back all Ralph’s dreams of the ground floor. It was not long until he was embarrassed to discover that Keith was awake and was lying quietly in bed watching him.
“Hi,” said Keith.
“Oh, hello.” Ralph wished he had returned to the mousehole before dawn. “Well, I guess it’s about time for me to go home to bed.”
Keith sat up. “Don’t go yet. Wait until my folks get up.”
Ralph leaped to the floor. “I didn’t think you would want to talk to me after I lost your motorcycle.”
“I may never have another chance to talk to a mouse.”
Ralph was flattered. It had never occurred to him that a boy would consider talking to a mouse anything special.
“What would you like for breakfast?” asked Keith.
“You mean we still get room service? After what I did?”
“Sure.” Keith pulled his knees up under his chin and wrapped his arms around his legs.
“You mean you aren’t mad at me anymore?” asked Ralph.
“I guess you might say I’m mad but not real mad,” Keith decided. “I’ve been lying here thinking. It wouldn’t be right for me to be real mad, because I get into messes myself. My mom and dad tell me I don’t stop to use my head.”
Ralph nodded. “I guess that’s my trouble, too. I don’t stop to use my head.”
“They say I’m in too much of a hurry,” said Keith. “They say I don’t want to take time to learn to do things properly.”
Ralph nodded again. He understood. If he had waited until he had learned to ride the motorcycle he would never have ridden off