Ralph S. Mouse: Chapters 3–5

Ralph nipped a hole in the front of the pocket for a better view and then, lulled by the muffled lub-dub, lub-dub and the steady rise and fall of Ryan’s chest, fell asleep as if he were being rocked in a cradle.

Ralph became stubborn. “No, I don’t,” he contradicted, “and you can’t make me.”

“Who’re you talking to?” a boy asked.
“Me?” Ryan was all innocence. “Nobody. I’m just practicing to be a ventriloquist. I’m working up an act—”

Ryan was last to leave the room. “We’ll see about that,” he said, as he bent over to speak to Ralph, “after you run the maze on Friday.” With that ultimatum, he snatched his backpack off the hook and hurried away to catch the bus that would take him back up the mountain to the hotel.

Ralph sat in Melissa’s boot and sulked.

Dusk began to fall in Room 5, making the inside of Melissa’s boot even darker, when suddenly Ralph heard music, the lights were turned on, and a man with a transistor radio fastened to his belt came into the room and lifted chairs onto tables.

When the man swept his way to the back of the room, he unexpectedly set Melissa’s boots upright side by side, tumbling Ralph down to the foot, where he sat trembling with nerves and self-pity until his ears told him the man had replaced the chairs on the floor, turned off the lights, and left.

After a long and wistful look at the lonely highway of the hall, Ralph found exploration more interesting and profitable than he had expected.

After this gourmet meal, Ralph walked rather than scampered down the hall, that perfect place for riding his motorcycle if Ryan had not been so mean, to a room with a carpet and bookshelves about the walls.

“Like I said, I’ll give it to you after you run the maze.”
“Who says I’m going to run it?” Ralph was sullen about this whole affair.

Ralph decided he did not like Brad with his tousled hair, grubby T-shirt, and unfriendly ways.

Ralph decided he did not like Brad with his tousled hair, grubby T-shirt, and unfriendly ways.

“OK,” said Ryan. “Suit yourself, but I don’t see why you have to be so touchy all the time.”

“Just one little peek?” coaxed Ralph.
“Nope.” Ryan poked Ralph into Melissa’s boot and ran off to catch his bus.

Ralph crawled down around the bend to the toe of the boot, where he sat brooding in the dusty, musty dark.

Beside the book bag on the library shelf, he discovered an interesting contraption, something like a metal snail.

“I won’t forget,” promised Ryan, as if he did not know Ralph was lurking at the back of the room.

When he found there was no way to escape and no place to hide, he sat quaking with indignation, a wee, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie, just as the poem said.

When he found there was no way to escape and no place to hide, he sat quaking with indignation, a wee, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie, just as the poem said.

When he found there was no way to escape and no place to hide, he sat quaking with indignation, a wee, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie, just as the poem said.

A girl named Janet was next. “My poem is a limerick,” she told the audience and read:
“A mouse once came to our school
And quickly broke every rule.
He got stuck in our paste
For he liked its good taste,
So he said, 'I’ll just sit here and drool.'"

Flustered by the photographer prowling around adjusting his lens, Gordon began to read, “Mice are rodents. They gnaw things and they multiply rapidly.”

Ralph began to worry lest Miss K think up a project to find out if a sock with static cling would adhere to a mouse.

Gloria was next. “My poem is called a haiku,” she announced. “It is a kind of poem the Japanese write...."

“An excellent haiku, Gloria,” said tactful Miss K, “but let’s hope such a thing never happens to Ralph.”