The Mouse and the Motorcycle - Beverly Cleary [30]
“Well, no, but—”
“Neither would I,” said Ralph. “Especially now that I can finally go to the ground floor.”
In his disappointment Keith slumped back on the pillows once more. “I guess I knew you really wouldn’t want to come,” he said. “I understand.”
“I sure will hate to see this motorcycle leave,” said Ralph, and added hastily, “and you, too, of course.”
The boy and the mouse were silent. Both were thinking of their wishes and their regrets that their wishes could not come true.
Keith rolled over on his side and propped his head up on his fist. “Would you like to keep the motorcycle?” he asked.
“Keep it! Me?”
“Sure,” said Keith. “I can save up my allowance and buy another one when we get back to Ohio.”
“You really mean it?” Ralph could scarcely contain his excitement. “Keep it for my very own?”
“Of course.”
“How come?” Ralph wanted to know.
“I just like to think of you riding it,” said Keith. “You know—if you grew up enough to be trusted with a mouse-sized motorcycle, maybe someday I could earn a big one.”
The excitement drained out of Ralph. “I can’t. I don’t have any place to keep it. It’s too big to go through the knothole, and I couldn’t hide it behind the curtain forever because I’ve heard that after Labor Day when there aren’t so many tourists they take the curtains down to be cleaned.”
“That is a problem,” agreed Keith. “There must be someplace in a big hotel like this where you could keep a motorcycle.”
Ralph sat on the motorcycle thinking as hard as he could. In the closet? He couldn’t get it out when the door was closed. Under the bed? Eventually it would be found.
“How about downstairs?” suggested Keith. “I could carry it down for you before we leave. There must be a good hiding place down there someplace.”
“There’s that big old clock my ancestor ran up,” said Ralph thoughtfully. “Nobody ever cleans under it, but frankly I don’t care to have it striking over my head.”
Keith thought awhile. “How about that big television set in the lobby?” he asked. “The noise shouldn’t bother you because you would only go under it at night when everyone was asleep.”
“Yes!” Ralph was excited. “That’s a perfect garage. I saw it when I got the aspirin. The legs are just high enough for the motorcycle but not quite high enough for a vacuum cleaner attachment.”
“Then it’s settled!” said Keith, and then added rather sternly, Ralph thought, “But first you must ask your mother.”
Ralph dismounted and ran to the knothole. He was gone several minutes before he returned to announce in triumph, “She says I can keep the motorcycle if I promise to drive carefully and wear my crash helmet every single time I ride it.”
“Swell!” Keith was just as excited as Ralph. “When we check out I’ll hide it for you while my folks are busy paying the bill.”
“I can’t thank you enough.” Ralph fastened his crash helmet once more. “I never thought I would have a motorcycle of my very own.”
Keith lay back on the pillow and smiled at the mouse mounting the motorcycle. “It will be fun thinking of you riding around that big old lobby when I’m back in Ohio this winter going to school. And when the teacher asks us to write a composition about our summer vacation I can write about meeting a brave mouse named Ralph who rode a little motorcycle. I’ll tell about your bringing the aspirin except I’ll have to call it a pill because I can’t spell aspirin. Of course the teacher won’t believe it, but she’ll probably say I show imagination.”
Ralph felt proud to think he was going to be written about in a composition in far-off Ohio. Pb-pb-b-b-b. He grabbed his tail, gunned the motor, and took off, heading for the threadbare part of the carpet that made such a good speedway. Round and round he sped, faster and faster until his whiskers blew back and he was filled with the joy of speed. He longed to wave to Keith, but he realized a good driver must keep both paws on the handgrips. He glanced up and noticed that Keith’s eyes were closed. The boy had fallen asleep with a smile on his face.
Ralph dragged his heels to brake the motorcycle. Quietly