Homer Price

by Robert McCloskey

  “That wouldn’t hurt the mice?” inquired Uncle Ulysses.

  “That wouldn’t hurt the mice,” Homer stated. “It was a long hard job too, because first he had to build an organ out of reeds that the mice liked the sound of, and then he had to compose a tune that the mice couldn’t possibly resist. Then he incorporated it all into a mouse trap . . . ”

  “That wouldn’t hurt the mice?” interrupted the barber.

  “That wouldn’t hurt the mice,” Homer went on. “The mouse trap caught mice, all right. The only trouble was, it was too big. What with the organ and all, and sort of impractical for general use because somebody had to stay around and pump the organ.”

  “Yes, I can see that wouldn’t be practical,” said Uncle Ulysses, stroking his chin—“But with a small electric motor . . .”

  “But he solved it, Uncle Ulysses!—The whole idea seems very practical after you get used to it. He decided since the trap was too large to use in a house, he would fasten it onto his car, which he hadn’t used for so long anyway. Then, he could drive it to a town, and make a bargain with the mayor to remove all the mice. You see he would start the musical mouse trap to working, and drive up and down the streets and alleys. Then all of the mice would run out of the houses to get themselves caught in this trap that plays music that no mouse ever born can possibly resist. After the trap is full of mice, Mr. Murphy drives them out past the city limits, somewhere where they can’t find their way home, and lets them go.”

  “Still without hurting them?” suggested the barber.

  “Of course,” said Homer.

  The sheriff chewed on his pencil, Uncle Ulysses stroked on his chin, and the barber ran his fingers through his hair.

  Homer noticed the silence and said, “I guess the idea is sort of startling when you first hear about it. But, if a town has a water truck to sprinkle streets, and a street-sweeping truck to remove dirt, why shouldn’t they, maybe, just hire Mr. Murphy’s musical mouse trap once in a while to remove mice?” Uncle Ulysses stroked his chin again and then said, “By gum! This man Murphy is a genius!”

  “I told Mr. Murphy that you would understand, Uncle Ulysses!” said Homer with a grin. “I told him the mayor was a friend of yours, and you could talk him into anything, even hiring a musical mouse trap.”

  “Whoever heard of a micical moostrap!” said the sheriff.

  “That doesn’t hurt the mice!” added the barber. As Homer and Uncle Ulysses went off arm in arm to see the mayor.

  It scarcely took Uncle Ulysses and Homer half an hour to convince the mayor that Mr. Murphy’s musical mouse trap should be hired to rid Centerburg of mice. While Uncle Ulysses chatted on with the mayor, Homer dashed over to the hotel to fetch Mr. Murphy.

  Homer came back with the bearded inventor and introduced him to the mayor, and to Uncle Ulysses. The mayor opened a drawer of his desk and brought out a bag of jelly beans. “Have one,” he said to Mr. Murphy, to sort of break the ice and to make his shy visitor feel at home. Mr. Murphy relaxed and answered the mayor’s questions without blushing too much.

  “How do we know this thing of a jig of yours will do what you say it will?” asked the mayor.

  Mr. Murphy just whistled a few bars “Tum tidy ay dee” and a couple of mice jumped right out of the mayor’s desk!

  “Of course,” Homer explained, “the mice come quicker, and get removed when the mouse trap plays that tune through the streets. Mr. Murphy guarantees to remove every single mouse from Centerburg for only thirty dollars.”

  “It’s a bargain!” said the mayor, “I wondered where my jelly beans were disappearing to!” and he shook hands with Mr. Murphy. Then he proclaimed Saturday as the day for de-mousing Centerburg. By this time everyone knew that the shy stranger’s name was Michael Murphy, but people still spoke of him as Rip Van Winkle (Rip for short), because of the sheriff’s deduction. Everybody talked about the musical mouse trap (that didn’t hurt the mice) and the mayor’s de-mousing proclamation.

  The children, especially, were looking forward to the great event. They watched with interest while Mr. Murphy went over his car and his musical trap to be sure everything was in perfect working order. Homer and Freddy and most of the other children were planning to follow the trap all around town Saturday, and see the mice come out and get caught in Michael Murphy’s musical trap.

  “Gosh, Homer,” said Freddy, “let’s follow him until he lets them loose out in the country! That will be a sight, seeing all those mice let loose at once!”

  “Well, Freddy, I’ve been thinking it might not be a good idea to follow the mouse trap past the city limits,” said Homer to Freddy’s surprise.

  “You know, Freddy, I’ve been over at the library reading up on mice and music—music can do funny things sometimes. It can soothe savage beasts and charm snakes and lots of things. If we’re going to follow this musical trap till the mice are let loose, we better make some plans.”

  Homer and Freddy spent all Friday recess period making plans. They decided that all the children should meet in the school yard before the de-mousing started on Saturday. They arranged a signal, thumbs up, if everything was going along all right; and thumbs down if any one was in trouble.

  “It’s just to be on the safe side,” Homer explained.

  * * *

  Saturday dawned a beautiful crisp fall day, fine weather for the grand de-mousing of Centerburg. Mr. Michael Murphy came forth from the Strand Hotel, and after carefully slinging his long gray beard over his shoulder, he cranked his car and warmed up the engine. He carefully removed the canvas covering from the musical mouse trap and ever so painstakingly arranged the spiral ramps and runways so that no mouse, no matter how careless, could stub a toe or bump a nose. He then climbed behind the steering wheel and the musical mouse trap was under way!

  A loud cheer arose from the crowd of children as Mr. Murphy yanked a lever and the reed organ started to play. Even before the cheering stopped the mice began to appear!

  Through the streets of Centerburg rolled Mr. Michael Murphy and his musical mouse trap. The mice came running from every direction! Fat, doughnut fed mice from Uncle Ulysses lunch room, thin mice from the churches, ordinary mice from houses and homes, mice from the stores, and mice from the town hall.

  They all went running up the ramps and runways and disappeared in Michael Murphy’s musical mouse trap. The children followed behind enjoying the whole thing almost as much as the mice.

  After traveling down every street in town, the procession came to a stop in front of the town hall, and the mayor came out and presented Mr. Murphy with his thirty-dollar fee—thirty bright, crisp new one-dollar bills.

  Just as the mayor finished counting out the bills into Mr. Murphy’s hand the sheriff stepped up and said, “Mr. Murphy, I hope this won’t embarrass you too much, in fact, I hate to mention it at all, but this here misical moostrap, I mean mouse trap of yours, has got a license plate that is thirty years old . . . A new license will cost you just exactly thirty dollars.”

  Mr. Murphy blushed crimson under his beard. “It’s the law, you know, and I can’t help it!” apologized the sheriff.

  Poor Mr. Murphy, poor shy Mr. Murphy! He handed his thirty dollars to the sheriff, took his new license plates and crept down the city hall steps. He climbed into his car and drove slowly away toward the edge of town, with the musical mouse trap playing its reedy music. The children followed along to see Mr. Murphy release all of the mice.

  “I really hated to do that, Mayor,” said the sheriff as the procession turned out of sight on route 56A. “It’s the law you know, and if I hadn’t reminded him, he might have been arrested in the next town he visits.” There’s no telling how this de-mousing would have ended if the children’s librarian hadn’t come rushing up shouting “Sheriff! Sheriff! Quick! We guessed the wrong book!”

  “What?” shouted the sheriff and the mayor and Uncle Ulysses.

  “Yes!” gasped the children’s librarian, “not Rip Van Winkle, but anoth
er book, The Pied Piper of Hamelin!”

  “Geeminy Christmas!” yelled the sheriff, “and almost every child in town is followin’ him this very minute!”

  The sheriff and the librarian and the mayor and Uncle Ulysses all jumped into the sheriff’s car and roared away after the procession. They met up with the children just outside the city limits. “Come back! Turn around, children!” they shouted.

  “I’ll treat everybody to a doughnut!” yelled Uncle Ulysses.

  The children didn’t seem to hear, and they kept right on following the musical mouse trap.

  “The music must have affected their minds,” cried the librarian.

  “Sheriff, we can’t lose all these children with election time coming up next month!” mourned the mayor. “Let’s give Murphy another thirty dollars!”

  “That’s the idea,” said Uncle Ulysses. “Drive up next to him, Sheriff, and I’ll hand him the money.”

  The sheriff’s car drew alongside the musical mouse trap, and Uncle Ulysses tossed a wad of thirty dollar bills onto the seat next to the shy Mr. Murphy.

  “Please don’t take them away!” pleaded the librarian.

  “Come, Murphy, let’s be reasonable,” shouted the mayor.

  Mr. Murphy was very flustered, and his steering was distinctly wobbly.

  Then the sheriff got riled and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Get ’em low! Get ’em go! Durnit, Let ’em go!”

  And that’s exactly what Mr. Murphy did. He let them go. He pulled a lever and every last mouse came tumbling out of the bottom of the musical mouse trap. And such a sight it was, well worth walking to the city limits to see. The mice came out in a torrent. The reedy organ on the musical mouse trap stopped playing, and the squeaking of mice and the cheering of children filled the air.

  The torrent of mice paused, as if sensing direction, and then each Centerburg mouse started off in a straight, straight line to his own Centerburg mouse-hole. Mr. Murphy didn’t pause. He stepped on the gas, and the musical mouse trap swayed down the road. The mayor, the children’s librarian, the sheriff, Uncle Ulysses, and the children watched as it grew smaller and smaller and finally disappeared.

  Then Uncle Ulysses remembered the children. He turned around and noticed them grinning at each other and holding their thumbs in the air. They paid no attention whatever when they were called!

  “That music has pixied these children!” he moaned.

  “No, it hasn’t, Uncle Ulysses,” said Homer who had just come up. “There’s not a thing the matter with them that Doc Pelly can’t cure in two shakes! Just to be on the safe side, Freddy and I asked Doc Pelly to come down to the school-yard this morning and put cotton in all the children’s ears. You know, just like Ulysses, not you, Uncle Ulysses, but the ancient one—the one that Homer wrote about. Not me but the ancient one.”

  “You mean to say Doc Pelly is mixed up in this?” asked the mayor.

  “Yes, he thought it was awfully funny, our being so cautious.”

  Uncle Ulysses laughed and said, “Round ’em up and we’ll all go down to the lunch room for doughnuts and milk.”

  “Sheriff,” said the mayor, “with election time coming next month we gotta put our heads together and cook up a good excuse for spending sixty dollars of the taxpayers’ money.”

  WHEELS OF PROGRESS

  WHEELS OF PROGRESS

  “I CAN’T go fishing today, Freddy,” said Homer, “because I’m helping Uncle Ulysses down at the lunch room. Seems as though the fish ought to be biting on a day like this.”

  “Do you think your Uncle Ulysses could use an extra helper today, Homer? Because it isn’t imperative that I hafta go fishing. I just thought, if you weren’t busy—”

  “Gosh, Freddy! Uncle Ulysses would like it. He always says the more help the merrier, but Aunt Aggie is a ‘Too many cooks spoil the soup’ sort of person and she says she’s sick and tired of seeing more people behind the counter than in front of it.”

  “O.K., Homer,” said Freddy with a sigh. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Bring me a couple of doughnuts if you can.”

  When Homer entered the lunch room, there was Uncle Ulysses puttering with one of his labor saving devices.

  “Hello, Homer!” he said, “you’re just in time to help me adjust the timing mechanism in this electric toaster. When you want the toast to come out light brown it comes out nut brown, and vicey versey.”

  Homer and Uncle Ulysses tinkered with the toaster and then tried several pieces of toast. Then they tinkered with the mechanism some more.

  “How is the doughnut machine working these days, Uncle Ulysses?” asked Homer.

  “Just fine,” said Uncle Ulysses. “We’re selling more doughnuts than ever, with that new recipe. I suppose you’ve heard about the lady who gave us the old family recipe—the lady who lost her bracelet in the batter? She lives in Centerburg now. She’s Naomi Enders, a great-great-great-granddaughter of Ezekiel Enders, the first settler of Centerburg. She inherited all of the Enders property when old Luke Enders died. She owns the Mill and the Patent Medicine Company now, and is living in the big Enders homestead at the edge of town. She stops by for doughnuts almost every day; one of my best customers, she is.”

  “Yep,” said Homer, “the Judge mentioned that she had come to live in Centerburg. He said that she was a Public Spirited Person, and would be An Addition To The Town.”

  “She appreciates good food,” said Uncle Ulysses, tasting a piece of nut brown toast, “and what’s more she has a receptive mind—receptive to the new devices, and up and coming ideas.”

  A car stopped out front and Uncle Ulysses peered out and said, “Here she comes now, Homer, better start packing two dozen doughnuts to take out.”

  “Good afternoon,” said Miss Enders. “Hello, Homer. I haven’t seen you since the night my bracelet disappeared!”

  “Hello, Miss Enders,” said Homer. “How do you like living in Centerburg?”

  “I think it’s a marvelous town, simply marvelous!” replied Miss Enders. “I’ve been thinking of what I could do to show my appreciation for the way the people of Centerburg have received me. Everyone has been so kind, simply marvelous! I’ve just been talking to the Judge, and he has informed me that there is a growing housing shortage, and that people are having difficulty finding places to live. I’ve decided that a nice way of showing my appreciation would be to build a few homes on the family property. They could be replicas of the Enders homestead—a sort of monument—and I could rent them reasonably to deserving families.”

  “Uhm-m-m!” said Uncle Ulysses, stroking his chin. “Good idea, Miss Enders, good idea.”

  Homer agreed, and while he counted out two dozen doughnuts, he thought of the fun there would be, walking rafters and joists in the new houses.

  Uncle Ulysses stopped stroking his chin and said, “I’ll tell you, Miss Enders, it wouldn’t do any harm to have more modern houses than the Homestead.”

  “Of course,” said Miss Enders, “modern plumbing.”

  Uncle Ulysses went back to stroking his chin and saying, “Uhm-m-m.”

  “And modern kitchen equipment,” said Miss Enders as though she knew that would bring instant approval from Uncle Ulysses.

  “Uhm-m-m,” said Uncle Ulysses, and stroked his chin from left to right.

  Finally he cleared his throat and said, “These are changing times, Miss Enders, and we’re living in an age of ideas and production genius. Now take the way they used to make doughnuts for instance—each one cooked by hand, and all that time and bother. Now we have this wonderful machine—makes doughnuts just like that!” said Uncle Ulysses, snapping his fingers. Snap! Snap! Snap!

  “It’s marvelous,” said Miss Enders, “simply marvelous!”

  “Uhm-m-m,” continued Uncle Ulysses. “Now take the matter of houses. The way they used to build houses—saw up each board, hammer in nails one at a time, every little shingle and door knob fastened on by hand. But now,” said Uncle Ulysses, “with up and coming ide
as, and modern production genius houses can be built just like this here machine makes doughnuts—” and he made a broad sweep with his right arm.

  “That’s the principle!” pronounced Uncle Ulysses, while Miss Enders and Homer gazed in wide eyed wonder.

  “That’s the principle that Henry Ford applied to making autos. Yep! Autos are mass produced, like doughnuts; ships are built like doughnuts; airplanes and refrigerators, and now houses. Yessiree, the modern house ought to be mass produced—just like cars or ships or planes. Yessiree! Mass produced, just like that there machine makes doughnuts!” and here Uncle Ulysses snapped his fingers, snap, snap, snap, snap, and said, “Houses, just like that! . . .” Snap!

  He then stopped waving his arms and talking and appeared startled that he had talked so much and with such wisdom. He started stroking his chin again, while Miss Enders, quite visibly impressed, was murmuring “Marvelous! Simply marvelous!”

  Homer counted the two dozen doughnuts again.

  “Of course,” said Uncle Ulysses, “it wouldn’t be quite as fast or as easy as making doughnuts, but with assembly lines and sub-assembly lines, and power presses and a touch of ingenuity—that’s your recipe. You can bake a house in twenty-four hours flat! . . .” Snap!

  “Build,” corrected Homer.

  “Simply marvelous!” said the receptive Miss Enders. “Simply marvelous!”

  * * *

  Homer had heard Uncle Ulysses’ pet theories before, and the sheriff and the boys over at the barber shop all had heard Uncle Ulysses carry on about the up and coming ideas. In fact arguing about Uncle Ulysses’ pet theories had broken up as many pinochle and checker games as arguing about the World Series and Woman Suffrage put together. That was all that ever happened, though, arguing. But that afternoon in the lunch room was different.