The Mouse and the Motorcycle - Beverly Cleary [9]
The dog whimpered but the man walked straight past Ralph, pushed a button, and in a moment stepped into the elevator.
Whew! thought Ralph when the elevator door had closed on the sleepy man and his noisy dog. Maybe he had better lie low for a while. In a few minutes the elevator returned to the second floor. As the man stepped out, the little dog looked over his shoulder and spied Ralph parked behind the ashtray stand.
Because the dog was a captive and he was free, Ralph could not resist sticking out his tongue and waggling his paws in his ears, a gesture he had learned from children in Room 215 and one he knew was sure to arouse anger.
“Let me at him,” barked the little terrier.
“Cut it out,” grumbled the man, fumbling for the doorknob of Room 211 while Ralph, a daredevil now, rode in a giddy circle around the ashtray stand. He had a feeling of cockiness he had never known before. Who said mice were timid? Ha!
When the morning song of birds in the pines grew louder than the snores of the guests and dawn slipped through the window at the end of the hall, Ralph knew it was time to return to Room 215. There he was shocked to discover the door shut. Only then did he recall the draft in the night and the slam of a door. He got off the motorcycle and pounded on the door with his fist, but what sleeping boy could hear a mouse beating on a door?
Ralph knew from experience that he could flatten himself out and crawl under the door of Room 215, but there was no way he could get the motorcycle through the crack, not even by laying it on its side and pushing. The handlebars were too wide.
Ralph dismounted from the motorcycle, sat down, and leaned back against the baseboard, prepared to guard the motorcycle until Keith awoke and discovered the door blown shut. He was tired after a night of such great excitement and full of dreams. Now that he had seen the hall he could no longer be satisfied with Room 215. It was not enough. He longed to see the rest of the world—the dining room and the kitchen and the storeroom and the garbage cans out back. He wanted to see the game room where, he had been told, grown-up people played games with cards and balls and paddles. He wanted to go outdoors and brave the owls to hunt for seeds. Ralph, a growing mouse who needed his rest, dozed off against the baseboard beside the motorcycle. After the experiences of this night, he would never be the same mouse again.
The next thing Ralph knew, Matt the bellboy was standing over him. “Aren’t you out pretty late?” Matt asked, causing Ralph to jump to his feet even though he was not entirely awake. “You should have been in bed long ago, but I suppose you were out till all hours, speeding around on that motorcycle.”
Ralph had seen Matt many times, but this was the first time the old man had spoken to him. He was astonished to discover they spoke the same language. Even so, Ralph stood in front of the motorcycle. Anyone who tried to take it away from him would have to fight Ralph first.
“Nice little machine you got there,” remarked Matt. “Kind of wish I was young enough to ride one myself. Must be fun, speeding along, making all that noise.”
Ralph realized that Matt was a friend. “Say,” he began, “how about helping a fellow out?”
“Sure,” agreed Matt. “What can I do for you?”
“Open that door a crack. Just enough so I can ride through. I promised the boy I would park his motorcycle under the bed.”
“Good place,” said Matt. “The maid never cleans there if she can help it.” Very quietly he turned the knob and opened the door just enough for Ralph to ride through.
Ralph bumped up over the edge of the carpet, swung out around the wastebasket and the bedside table, and was about to drive under the bed when—
“E-eek!” screamed the boy’s mother, who was standing in the doorway between 215 and 216 in her bathrobe with her hair up on