The Mouse and the Motorcycle - Beverly Cleary [5]
“You’ll find it someplace,” said his mother, not much interested. Boys were always losing things.
While Ralph cowered behind the apple core, Keith opened the drawer of the bedside table and slammed it shut. He jerked back the bedspread, yanked the pillows off the bed, and threw them back. Then he got down on his hands and knees and looked under the bed and the table.
Ralph wrapped his tail more tightly around his body. Here it comes, he thought.
The boy’s face appeared in the opening at the top of the wastebasket. Ralph’s heart raced like a motor.
“Ha,” said the boy to himself. “Here it is. I wonder how it got there.” His hand came down into the wastebasket to seize the motorcycle and lift it out. Still leaning over the wastebasket, he examined the bent handlebar and the chipped paint. “That’s funny,” he remarked aloud. “It must have rolled off, but I don’t see how it could.”
The boy did the natural thing for a boy to do. He looked into the wastebasket again. Ralph closed both eyes tight and waited. He wished he had not eaten so much of the apple core. If he had not been so greedy, the core would have been thicker and he would have been thinner.
“Hey!” whispered the boy, obviously very much surprised. “How did you get in here?” He was careful to keep his voice lower than the sound of the breezes in the pines outside the window.
Ralph did not move. He was grateful to the boy for not touching the apple core even though it was really no protection at all.
“Psst!” whispered the boy. “Are you asleep?”
Still Ralph remained motionless except for a slight quiver of his whiskers, which he was unable to control. The boy was silent, but the mouse could feel the rhythmic drafts of his breathing. The boy must be thinking, but what was he thinking? That was what was worrying Ralph. “No,” said the boy to himself. “No, it couldn’t be.”
Couldn’t be what? wondered Ralph, who was beginning to feel cramped from crouching behind the apple core.
“Hey, wake up,” whispered the boy.
That was the last thing Ralph wanted to do.
“Come on,” pleaded the boy. “I won’t hurt you.”
Ralph considered. After all, what did he have to lose? If he stayed in the wastebasket, he was almost certain to get dumped into the incinerator. He might as well come out from behind the core. If he did he might find some opportunity to escape. Cautiously he moved his head from his paws and opened one eye. The boy was smiling down at him. Encouraged, Ralph opened the other eye and lifted his head.
“That’s the stuff,” encouraged the boy. “Now come on. Tell me, did you or didn’t you ride my motorcycle off the bedside table?”
This took Ralph by surprise. He had not expected the boy to guess what happened. “Well, yes. I guess you might say I did,” confessed Ralph, rubbing his aching muscles.
“I thought so.” Neither the mouse nor the boy was the least bit surprised that each could understand the other. Two creatures who shared a love for motorcycles naturally spoke the same language. “That must have been some accident. Did it hurt much?”
“Oh, some,” answered Ralph with a display of bravado. “Anyway, I didn’t exactly ride it. I really coasted off. The telephone rang and startled me. Now how about getting me out of here?”
“Just a minute,” said the boy. “How did you get up here in the first place?”
“Climbed, stupid. On the telephone cord.” Ralph instantly regretted his rudeness. He had better watch his tongue if he expected any help in escaping from the wastebasket.
“Oh, of course,” said the boy apologetically. “I should have thought of that myself.”
At that moment there came a quick knock on the door to Room 215 and the rattle of a key.
“Help!” cried Ralph. “The maid! Don’t let her see me!”
Before the boy could do anything, the maid burst into the room. “Oh—excuse me.” She seemed surprised to see a boy kneeling by the wastebasket. “I’ve come to turn down the bed.”
“That’s all right,” said the boy quickly. “I can do it myself. Thanks, anyway.”
“Thank you,” said the maid, backing out of the room. Ralph knew she