Free Ralph S. Mouse by Beverly Cleary

easy,” said Brad. “My dad will give you a ride. He gets lots of calls up your way when the roads are icy, and he pulls a lot of cars out of snowbanks. Business is good this time of year.”

    â€œI’ll ask the cook if you can stay to dinner,” said Ryan.
    â€œWow! Dinner in a hotel.” Brad was impressed.
    â€œWe’ll have to eat in the kitchen,” Ryan explained, “and since the hotel’s got a microwave oven, sometimes the plates are hot and the food isn’t.”
    â€œThat’s OK,” said Brad. “My dad cooks mostly hamburgers and opens cans of beans.” Then, lest Ryan think him disloyal to his father, he added, “My dad makes good hamburgers, and on Sunday he cooks a steak. Sometimes if he’s really busy, I get my own supper. Then I have hot dogs.”
    â€œYou mean you stay alone?” asked Ryan.
    â€œI have Arfy with me,” said Brad.
    â€œI wish I could get to stay alone with a dog,” said Ryan. “I get tired of hearing the waitresses tell the cook that the guests are complaining because the food isn’t hot enough.”
    Ralph resented being imprisoned by a zipper, and the conversation was boring because it was not about him. He thought about biting his way out, but he did not like the taste of nylon. Besides, a school bus was not a good place to hide.
    When the two boys got off the bus, Ralph heard their feet crunch through the snow. The inn was at a higher altitude than the town of Cucaracha, and the snow lasted longer. Then he heard their feet stamp up the steps, scratch on the doormat, and enter the lobby. The old clock was still managing its familiar slow tick…tock . To Ralph, it sounded like an old friend.
    â€œHello there, boys,” said Ralph’s protector, Matt. “Ryan, I’m glad to see you have a friend.” So Matt had not lost his job after all. Then, as Ralph had hoped, the little mice must have moved upstairs, where they would be unable to taunt him about losing his motorcycle.
    Feeling more cheerful, Ralph began to jump around in the slippery pocket. “Let me out!” he demanded. Ryan unzipped his pocket and lifted Ralph out but held on to him. How good the lobby looked. A fire still burned in the old stone fireplace, and the grandfather clock and television set were right where they had always been. One thing was different. The lobby was neater than Ralph remembered it. Ashtrays were clean, and old magazines arranged neatly on tables.
    The desk clerk ignored the boys, who did not stop to remove their jackets before they knelt in front of the clock. “Do you think it will fit?” Ryan asked Brad.
    â€œWe’ll see in a second.” Brad pulled something out of his pocket.
    â€œWow! A Laser XL7, just like you said,” breathed Ryan, as Brad set a miniature sports car on the floor and pushed it carefully through the highest part of the arch at the bottom of the clock. The car was low enough, if maneuvered by a skillful driver, to slip through. “See that, Ralph?”
    Ralph had seen, all right. The sleek, mouse-sized car with wire-spoked wheels and knock-off hubcaps was painted silvery gray, the right color for whizzing unnoticed through shadows. The broad thick tires would stand up to the rough surface of carpets and make a wide splash through puddles. The doors did not open, but the windows were big enough for a nimble mouse to climb through, and, after all, racing-car drivers did not open their doors. Ralph was squeakless at the sight of such a beautiful sports car. Why, with a car like that, he would no longer have to hang onto his tail to keep it from tangling in the spokes. He could just hop in and take off.
    â€œCome on. Let’s see you drive it.” Ryan set Ralph down beside the little Laser XL7.
    Could he drive it! He’d show them. Ralph slipped through the window into a bucket seat, made sure his tail was safely inside, grasped the wheel,