The Mouse and the Motorcycle - Beverly Cleary [6]
“Whew! That was close.” The boy seemed every bit as relieved as Ralph.
“I’ll say,” agreed the mouse.
“Keith,” called his mother from 216. “Are you getting ready for bed?”
“Sort of,” answered Keith.
“You’d better come in our bathroom and take a bath,” said his mother.
“Aw, gee, Mom, do I gotta?” asked Keith.
“Yes, you do,” said his father.
“And don’t forget to brush your teeth,” said his mother.
“I won’t,” promised Keith. Then he whispered to Ralph, “You just lie low. I’ll hurry and take a bath and get into bed and turn out the light and after Mom comes and kisses me good night, we can talk some more.”
Lie low indeed! Ralph was indignant. He couldn’t lie much lower if he wanted to, and he certainly did not want to sit around waiting to talk. He wanted to get out of that wastebasket. Once he was out he would see about talking, but not before.
Ralph could hear the boy splashing in 216’s bathtub and then hastily brushing his teeth in 215’s washbasin. After this there was the sound of a suitcase being opened and clothes dropped on the floor. The boy hopped into bed and to Ralph’s relief, the light was turned out. In a moment Mrs. Gridley came in to kiss her son good night.
“Night, Mom,” said the boy, sounding as if he were already drowsy.
“Good night, Keith,” said his mother. “It looks as if we are going to have to stay here for a few days. Your father refuses to budge.”
“That’s OK,” muttered Keith, giving the impression he was almost asleep.
“Good boy,” said his mother. “You’re a good sport.”
“Good night, Son,” said the boy’s father from the doorway between the two rooms.
Keith did not answer. Instead he breathed slowly and deeply and, as Ralph thought, a bit too noisily. There was no sense in overdoing things.
As soon as all was quiet in the next room, the boy swung his legs out of bed, fumbled around in his suitcase, and shone a flashlight into the wastebasket.
Almost blinded by the unexpected light, Ralph held his paws over his eyes. “Hey, cut that out!” He could not remember to be polite.
“Oh—sorry.” The boy laid the flashlight on the bed, where its beam shone across the wastebasket rather than into it.
“That’s better,” said Ralph. “Now how about getting me out of here?” As an afterthought he added, “Please.”
The boy ignored the mouse’s request. “How would you like to ride my motorcycle?” he asked.
Ralph’s heart skipped a beat like a motor missing on one cylinder. The mouse-sized motorcycle really would run after all! And there was one thing certain. Since the motorcycle really would run, the boy could not expect him to ride around the bottom of a wastebasket. “Sure.” Ralph tried to sound calm. The important thing was to get out of this prison. He braced himself, dreading the touch of the boy’s hand on his fur.
To Ralph’s surprise, the boy did not reach in and grab him. Instead, he slowly and gently tipped the wastebasket on its side, permitting Ralph to walk to freedom with pride and dignity.
“Thanks,” said Ralph, genuinely grateful for this consideration. “I believe you’re OK.”
“Sure I’m OK,” said the boy, setting his motorcycle down beside Ralph. “Did you think I wasn’t?”
“You never can tell.” Ralph put his paw on the handlebar of the motorcycle. “It’s a real beauty. Even with a bent handlebar. I’m sure sorry about that.”
“Forget it,” said the boy reassuringly. “It won’t hurt much. The motorcycle will still run.”
Ralph threw his leg over the motorcycle and settled himself comfortably in the seat.
“Perfect! Just perfect!” The boy was obviously delighted that his motorcycle was just right for a mouse.
Ralph could not have agreed more heartily. It was perfect—except for one thing. He did not know how to start it.
“Well, go on,” said the boy. “Ride it.”
Ralph was ashamed to confess his ignorance. “I don’t know how to start it,” he admitted. “It’s the first motorcycle I have ever had