The Mouse and the Motorcycle - Beverly Cleary [24]
“Oh, Betty, do you suppose we could take him back to Wichita with us?” asked Mary Lou. “My third grade would love him.”
“So would my kindergarten,” agreed Betty. “We could keep him in a cage on the ledge and all the children could bring him food from home. It would be such a good experience for them to have a pet in the classroom.”
Well, thought Ralph grimly, I always wanted to travel. A cage in a kindergarten in Wichita, however, was not exactly the destination he had in mind. The minutes were slipping by dangerously fast. He had to do something. “Look,” he shouted through the glass in desperation. “Let me go. Please let me go. There’s something terribly important I’ve got to do.”
“He squeaked!” marveled Betty.
“He’s adorable!” squealed Mary Lou.
It was no use. Young women could not speak his language. Ralph was in despair. He thought of Keith tossing feverishly in his bed and of his family huddled in the mouse nest waiting for his safe return.
“But I don’t see how we could take him back to Wichita,” said Betty sensibly. “We’re driving to San Francisco and then to Disneyland before we start back. How could we carry him thousands of miles?”
The two teachers looked thoughtfully at Ralph, who knew his fate depended on their decision. Was he to be carried to Disneyland and eventually to a ledge in a kindergarten room in Wichita? Or would they let him go? A third possibility crossed Ralph’s mind. Perhaps they would leave him under the glass for the housekeeper to see. He hoped not. He did not think he could last that long. Already the inside of the glass was beginning to feel warm and airless.
“I suppose we really shouldn’t turn him loose in the hotel,” said Mary Lou. “Mice are pests even if they are cute.”
The teacher not only destroyed Ralph’s hopes, she hurt his feelings as well, calling him a pest when he was on an errand of mercy. From the mouse’s point of view, the teachers were the pests.
“I know!” exclaimed Betty suddenly, causing Ralph to look over his shoulder for a clue to what it was she knew. “I know how we can get rid of him without hurting him.”
The young teacher reached over to the bedside table, where she picked up a picture postcard. She slid it carefully under the glass and under Ralph’s feet so that he was now standing on a postcard. He noticed the picture was of a giant redwood tree, the same postcard all travelers bought when they came to California.
“Now what are you going to do?” asked Mary Lou.
“Watch.” Betty carefully lifted the postcard, Ralph, and the glass, and walked across the room.
Even though he knew it was useless, Ralph scrabbled around in his tiny prison. He was afraid she was taking him toward the washbasin. He had heard of mice being drowned by people who did not like traps.
The teacher walked not to the washbasin, but to the open window. She held Ralph across the sill, removed the postcard from the glass, and gave it a little jerk that shook Ralph off into the vines that grew up the side of the building.
“There,” she said, and closed the window, leaving Ralph clinging to a vine high above the ground.
12
An Errand of Mercy
Owls! thought Ralph, as he clung to the Virginia creeper and filled his lungs with the cool night air that was such a relief after the stuffy drinking glass. I’ve always wanted to climb down this vine and explore the ground floor, he reminded himself grimly, and now I have to. Ralph had never before been outdoors beneath the moon and the stars. He felt small and frightened and alone.
Slowly, paw over paw, he worked his way along the shoots and tendrils. An owl, uncomfortably close in a pine tree, hooted, and Ralph huddled shivering in the shadow of a leaf, aware that he was losing precious seconds. A night wind rattled the windows and the owl glided off across the parking lot. Ralph inched his way down the vine. It was a long winding route full of detours to the ground-floor window, which, to Ralph’s relief, was open.
Upon reaching the sill, Ralph leaped to the floor of the room, in which three young