The Mouse and the Motorcycle - Beverly Cleary [18]
“I’ll never forget the first time I rode a bicycle with hand brakes,” reminisced Keith. “I took right off down a hill. I had always ridden bicycles with foot brakes, and when I got going too fast I tried to put on foot brakes only there weren’t any.”
“What happened?” Ralph was fascinated.
“By the time I remembered to use the hand brakes I hit a tree and took an awful spill.”
Somehow, this story made Ralph feel better. He was not the only one who got into trouble.
“The hard part is,” continued Keith, “I am in a hurry. I don’t want to do kid things. I want to do big things. Real things. I want to grow up.”
“You look pretty grown up to me,” said Ralph.
“Maybe to a mouse,” conceded Keith, “but I want to look grown up to grown-ups.”
“So do I,” said Ralph with feeling. “I want to grow up and go down to the ground floor.”
“Everybody tells me to be patient,” said Keith, “but I don’t want to be patient.”
“Me neither,” agreed Ralph. Someone stirred next door in Room 216. “Well, I guess I better be running along,” said Ralph. “Say, about that breakfast—”
“Sure. What do you want?”
“How about some bacon?” suggested Ralph, remembering the fragrance that had floated up to the windowsill.
“And some toast?”
“With jelly,” agreed Ralph, and ran off to the mousehole, eager to tell his family things were not so bad after all. They were still entitled to room service.
But when Ralph reached the mousehole he found pandemonium. His brothers and sisters and cousins were huddled together squeaking with fright. His mother picked up a bunch of shredded Kleenex and put it down again, only to pick up another bunch as if she did not know what to do with it. Uncle Lester and Aunt Dorothy were there, too, stuffing crumbs into their mouths as if they expected never to eat again.
“Dear me,” Ralph’s mother was saying, “whatever shall we—oh Ralph, there you are at last. Where on earth have you been? Never mind. We haven’t time—”
“Time for what?” asked Ralph. “What’s going on around here anyway?”
“The housekeeper…your Uncle Lester…the sheets. Oh, do be quiet, everybody.” Ralph’s mother was so agitated she could not tell her son what was wrong.
Uncle Lester swallowed a mouthful of crumbs. “It’s like this, Ralph. The housekeeper discovered a hamperful of sheets and towels and pillowcases with holes chewed in them.”
Oh-oh, thought Ralph. Whatever had happened was all his fault. He might have known.
“I heard her telephoning the manager about it from her office,” continued Uncle Lester. “The manager came up and called in all the maids and the bellboys and everyone had to look at the holes chewed in the sheets. It was quite a powwow.”
The motorcycle, thought Ralph. What happened to the motorcycle? There might be a chance it did not go to the laundry after all. “You didn’t happen to see a motorcycle in the housekeeper’s office, did you?” he ventured.
“I was listening, not looking out,” said Uncle Lester. “I am not foolhardy like some people around here.”
“Ralph, you know what this means.” His mother managed to pull herself together to say that much.
“It means war on mice,” said Aunt Dorothy ominously.
“It means traps, poisons,” said Uncle Lester. “Who knows? This time the management might even spend money on an exterminator. We shall have to flee. There is nothing else to do.”
“And if we flee the owls will get us,” said Ralph’s mother, causing the brothers and sisters and cousins to set up an awful squeal. “Sh-h!” The mother mouse fluttered her paws in alarm.
“Flee?” Ralph was bewildered. “Flee and leave room service?”
“Room service!” exclaimed his mother. “How can we expect room service after you lost that poor boy’s motorcycle?”
“It’s all right,” Ralph assured his mother, and could not resist adding rather grandly, “I’ve already ordered. Room service is bringing us bacon and toast with jelly.”
This news silenced everyone. A breakfast of bacon and toast with jelly delivered to the mouse nest without first being dropped on the carpet was not to be abandoned lightly.
“We want some jelly! We want