“Good night, Tucker,” Chester said.
“’Night, Chester,” Tucker answered.
Chester Cricket burrowed down deeper into the Kleenex. He was beginning to enjoy life in New York. Just before he fell asleep, he heard Tucker Mouse sighing happily in the cage.
EIGHT
Tucker’s Life’s Savings
Chester Cricket was having a dream. In his dream he was sitting on top of his stump back in Connecticut, eating a leaf from the willow tree. He would bite off a piece of leaf, chew it up, and swallow it, but for some reason it didn’t taste as good as usual. There was something dry and papery about it, and it had a bitter flavor. Still, Chester kept eating, hoping that it would begin to taste better.
A storm came up in his dream. The wind blew clouds of dust across the meadow. They swirled around his stump, and Chester began to sneeze because the dust got in his nose. But he still held on to the leaf. And then he sneezed such a big sneeze that it woke him up.
Chester looked around him. He had been walking in his sleep and he was sitting on the edge of the cash register. The storm had been a gust of air that blew into the newsstand when the shuttle pulled up to the station. He was still choking from the dirt that flew around him. Chester looked down at his two front legs, half expecting to find the willow leaf. But it was no leaf he was holding. It was a two-dollar bill and he had already eaten half of it.
He dropped the bill and leaped over to the cricket cage, where Tucker Mouse was sleeping peacefully. Chester shook the silver bell furiously; it rang like a fire alarm. Tucker jumped out from under his blanket of dollar bills and ran around the cage shouting, “Help! Fire! Murder! Police!”
Then he realized where he was and sat down panting. “What is the matter with you, Chester?” he said. “I could have died from fright.”
“I just ate half of a two-dollar bill,” said Chester.
Tucker stared at him with disbelief. “You did what?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Chester, “look.” He fetched the ruined two-dollar bill from the cash register. “I dreamed it was a leaf and I ate it.”
“Oh oh oh oh,” moaned Tucker Mouse. “Not a one-dollar bill—not even a one-dollar bill and a fifty-cent piece—two dollars you had to eat! And from the Bellinis too—people who hardly make two dollars in two days.”
“What am I going to do?” asked Chester.
“Pack your bags and go to California,” said Tucker.
Chester shook his head. “I can’t,” he said. “They’ve been so good to me—I can’t run away.”
Tucker Mouse shrugged his shoulders. “Then stay and take the rap,” he said. He crept out of the cage and examined the remains of the money. “There’s still half of it left. Maybe we could put Scotch Tape along the edge and pass it off as a one-dollar bill.”
“No one would believe it,” said Chester. He sat down, still forlornly holding the bill. “Oh dear—and things were going along so nicely.”
Tucker Mouse put his bedclothes back in the cash register drawer and came to sit beside Chester. “Buck up,” he said. “We could still figure something out, maybe.”
They both concentrated for a minute. Then Tucker clapped his paws and squeaked, “I got it! Eat the rest of it and they’ll never know what happened.”
“They’d accuse each other of losing it,” said Chester. “I don’t want to make any bad feeling between them.”
“Oh, you’re so honorable!” said Tucker. “It’s disgusting.”
“Besides, it tastes bad,” added Chester.
“Then how about this.” Tucker had a new idea. “We frame the janitor who cleans the station. I’ll take the evidence over and plant it in his water closet. He whopped me with a mop last week. I would be glad to see him go to jail for a few days.”
“No, no,” said Chester. “We can’t get somebody else in trouble.”
“Then a stranger,” said Tucker. “We tip over the Kleenex, break the glass in the alarm clock, and throw all the small change on the floor. They’ll think a thief came in the night. You could even put a bandage on and make out like a hero. I could see it all—”
“No!” Chester interrupted him. “The damage we’d do would cost even more than the two dollars.”
Tucker had one more idea: he was going to volunteer to go over and swipe two dollars from the lunch counter. But before he could suggest that, the top of the stand was suddenly lifted off. They had forgotten what time it was. Mama Bellini, who was on duty in the morning, stood towering, frowning down on them. Tucker let out a squeak of fear and jumped to the floor.
“Catch the mouse!” shouted Mama. She picked up a Fortune magazine—very big and heavy—and heaved it after Tucker. It hit him on the left hind leg just as he vanished into the drain pipe.
Chester Cricket sat frozen to the spot. He was caught red-handed, holding the chewed-up two dollars in his front legs. Muttering with rage, Mama Bellini picked him up by his antennae, tossed him into the cricket cage, and locked the gate behind him. When she had put the newsstand in order, she pulled out her knitting and began to work furiously. But she was so angry she kept dropping stitches, and that made her angrier still.
Chester crouched in a far corner of the cage. Things had been going so well between Mama and him—but that was all ruined now. He half expected that she would pick him up, cage and all, and throw him onto the shuttle tracks.
At eight-thirty Mario and Papa arrived. Mario wanted to go to Coney Island for a swim today, but before he could even say “Good morning,” Mama Bellini stretched out her hand and pointed sternly at Chester. There he was, with the evidence beside him.
A three-cornered conversation began. Mama denounced Chester as a money eater and said further that she suspected him of inviting mice and other unsavory characters into the newsstand at night. Papa said he didn’t think Chester had eaten the two dollars on purpose, and what difference did it make if a mouse or two came in? Mama said he had to go. Papa said he could stay, but he’d have to be kept in the cage. And Mario knew that Chester, like all people who are used to freedom, would rather die than live his life behind bars.
Finally it was decided that since the cricket was Mario’s pet, the boy would have to replace the money. And when he had, Chester could come out again. Until then—the cage.
By working part-time delivering groceries, when he wasn’t taking care of the newsstand, Mario thought he could earn enough in a couple of weeks to get Chester out of jail. Of course that would mean no swimming at Coney Island, and no movies, and no nothing, but it was worth it. He fed the cricket his breakfast—leftover asparagus tips and a piece of cabbage leaf. Chester had practically no appetite after what had happened. Then, when the cricket was finished, Mario said, “Goodbye,” and told him not to worry, and went off to the grocery store to see about his job.
* * *
That night, after Papa had shut up the newsstand, Chester was hanging through the gilded bars of his cage. Earlier in the evening Mario had come back to feed him his supper, but then he had to leave right away to get in a few more hours of work. Most of the day Chester had spent inventing hopping games to try to keep himself entertained, but they didn’t work, really. He was bored and lonely. The funny thing was that although he had been sleepy and kept wishing it were night, now that it was, he couldn’t fall asleep.
Chester heard the soft padding of feet beneath him. Harry Cat sprang up and landed on the shelf. In a moment Tucker Mouse followed him from the stool, groaning with pain. He was still limping in his left hind leg where the Fortune magazine had hit him.
“How long is the sentence?” asked Harry.
“Until Mario can pay back the money,” sighed Chester.
“Couldn’t you get out on bail for the time being?” asked Tucker.
“No,” said Chester. “And anyway, nobody has any bail. I’m surprised they let me off that easily.”
Harry Cat folded his front paws over each other and rested his head on them. “Let me get this stra
ight,” he said. “Does Mario have to work for the money as punishment—or does he just have to get it somewhere?”
“He just has to get it,” said Chester. “Why should he be punished? I’m the one who ate the money.”
Harry looked at Tucker—a long look, as if he expected the mouse to say something. Tucker began to fidget. “Say, Chester, you want to escape?” he asked. “We can open the cage. You could come and live in the drain pipe.”
“No.” Chester shook his head. “It wouldn’t be fair to Mario. I’ll just have to serve out the time.”
Harry looked at Tucker again and began tapping one of his paws. “Well?” he said finally.
Tucker moaned and massaged his sore spot. “Oh, my poor leg! That Mama Bellini can sure heave a magazine. Feel the bump, Harry,” he offered.
“I felt it already,” said Harry. “Now enough of the stalling. You have money.”
“Tucker has money?” said Chester Cricket.
Tucker looked nervously from one to the other. “I have my life’s savings,” he said in a pathetic voice.
“He’s the richest mouse in New York,” said Harry. “Old Money Bags Mouse, he’s known as.”
“Now wait a minute, Harry,” said Tucker. “Let’s not make too much from a few nickels and dimes.”
“How did you get money?” asked Chester.
Tucker Mouse cleared his throat and began wringing his two front feet. When he spoke, his voice was all choked up with emotion. “Years ago,” he said, “when yet a little mouse I was, tender in age and lacking in experience, I moved from the sweet scenes of my childhood—Tenth Avenue, that is—into the Times Square subway station. And it was here that I learned the value of economicness—which means saving. Many and many an old mouse did I see, crawling away unwanted to a poor mouse’s grave, because he had not saved. And I resolved that such a fate would never come to me.”
“All of which means that you’ve got a pile of loot back there in the drain pipe,” said Harry Cat.
“Just a minute, please, if you wouldn’t mind,” said Tucker. “I’ll tell it in my own way.” His voice became high and pitiful again. “So for all the long years of my youth, when I could have been gamboling—which means playing—with the other mousies, I saved. I saved paper, I saved food, I saved clothing—”
“Save time and get to the point,” said Harry.
Tucker gave Harry a sour smile. “And I also saved money,” he went on. “In the course of many years of scrounging, it was only natural I should find a certain amount of loose change. Often—oh, often, my friends,” Tucker put his hand over his heart, “would I sit in the opening of my drain pipe, watching the human beings and waiting. And whenever one of them dropped a coin—however small!—pennies I love—I would dash out, at great peril to life and limb, and bring it back to my house. Ah, when I think of the tramping shoes and the dangerous galoshes—! Many times have I had my toes stepped on and my whiskers torn off because of these labors. But it was worth it! Oh, it was worth it, my friends, on account of now I have two half dollars, five quarters, two dimes, six nickels, and eighteen pennies tucked away in the drain pipe!”
“Which makes two dollars and ninety-three cents,” said Harry Cat, after doing some quick addition.
“And proud I am of it!” said Tucker Mouse.
“If you’ve got all that, why did you want to sleep on the two dollar bills in the cricket cage?” asked Chester.
“No folding money yet,” said Tucker. “It was a new sensation.”
“You can get Chester out and still have ninety-three cents left,” said Harry Cat.
“But I’ll be ruined,” whimpered Tucker. “I’ll be wiped out. Who will take care of me in my old age?”
“I will!” said Harry. “Now stop acting like a skinflint and let’s get the money.”
Chester rang the silver bell to get their attention. “I don’t think Tucker should have to give up his life’s savings,” he said. “It’s his money and he can do what he wants with it.”
Tucker Mouse poked Harry in the ribs. “Listen to the cricket,” he said. “Acting noble and making me look like a bum. Of course I’ll give the money! Wherever mice are spoken of, never let it be said that Tucker Mouse was stingy with his worldly goods. Besides, I could think of it as rent I pay for sleeping in the cage.”
In order that Tucker could keep at least one of each kind of coin, Harry Cat figured out that they should bring over one half dollar, four quarters, one dime, five nickels, and fifteen cents. That would leave the mouse with a half dollar, a quarter, a dime, a nickel, and three cents.
“It’s not a bad beginning,” said Tucker. “I could make up the losses in a year, maybe.”
The cat and the mouse had to make several trips back and forth between the drain pipe and the newsstand, carrying the money in their mouths. They passed the coins into the cage one by one, and Chester built them up into a column, starting with the half dollar on the bottom and ending with the dime, which was smallest, on top. It was morning by the time they were finished. They had just time enough to share half a hot dog before Mama Bellini was due to open the stand.
Mario came with her. He wanted to feed Chester early and then work all morning until he took over the newsstand at noon. When they lifted off the cover, Mama almost dropped her end. There was Chester, sitting on top of the column of change, chirping merrily.
Mama’s first suspicion was that the cricket had sneaked out and smuggled all the money from the cash register into the cage. But when she looked in the drawer, the money from the night before was still there.
Mario had the idea that Papa might have left it as a surprise. Mama shook her head. She would certainly have known if he had two dollars to leave anybody.
They asked Paul, the conductor, if he’d seen anyone around the newsstand. He said no. The only thing he’d noticed was that that big cat who sometimes prowled through the station had seemed to be busier than usual last night. And of course they knew that he couldn’t have had anything to do with replacing the money.
But whoever left it, Mama Bellini was true to her word. Chester was allowed out of the cage, and no further questions were asked. Although she wouldn’t have admitted it for the world, Mama felt the same way about money that Tucker Mouse did. When you had it, you had it—and you didn’t bother too much about where it came from.
NINE
The Chinese Dinner
Mario decided that there must be something wrong with Chester’s diet if he was eating two-dollar bills. He had been feeding him all the things he liked himself, but now it occurred to him that what was good for a boy might not be right for a cricket. So he made up his mind to take the matter to an expert.
Late one afternoon, when he got off duty at the newsstand, Mario cleaned up the cricket cage, gave Chester a dusting off with a Kleenex, and took him to Chinatown to see Sai Fong. It was almost seven o’clock when he got there and the shop was closed. He peered through the window and could make out a crack of light under the door to the inner room. And he heard the choppy murmur of two voices talking together in Chinese.
Mario rapped on the glass. The voices stopped talking. He rapped again, louder. The inside door opened and Sai Fong came into the shop, squinting through the half-light. When he saw Mario, his chin dropped and he said, “Ah!—is little cricket boy.” He opened the door.
“Hello, Mr. Fong,” said Mario. “I don’t want to bother you, but I have a problem with my cricket.”
“You come in, please,” said Sai Fong, closing the door behind them. “Very old friend here—know everything about crickets.”
He led Mario into the next room, which was the kitchen. On a black cast-iron stove there were half a dozen pots steaming and singing. The table was laid with beautifully painted china plates. On them were pictures of Chinese ladies and gentlemen, dressed in colored gowns and robes, walking on little bridges over a calm blue lake. Beside the places that had been set were two pairs of chopsticks, each one in its own paper w
rapper.
A very old Chinese gentleman was sitting in a rocking chair next to the window. He had a thin gray beard that hung down from his chin, and was wearing a long red and gold robe that looked like the ones on the plates. When Mario came in, he stood up slowly, with his hands folded, and bowed. Mario had never had an old Chinese gentleman bow to him before and he didn’t quite know what to do. But he thought he had better bow back. Then the Chinese man bowed again. And so did Mario.
They might have gone on bowing all night if Sai Fong hadn’t said something in Chinese to his friend. It sounded like this: “Che shih y hsi so ti erh tung,” and it means, “This is the boy with the cricket.” Mario and Chester stole a glance at each other, but neither one of them understood Chinese.
The old man, however, became very excited. He peered down through the bars of the cricket cage and exclaimed with delight. Then, drawing himself up to his full height, he made a very low and solemn bow. Chester bowed back and gave one of his most polite chirps. That pleased the Chinese gentleman very much. He and Sai Fong began laughing and talking together. It sounded like the cheerful clicking of hundreds of chopsticks.
When they were finished telling each other how fine a cricket Chester was, Sai Fong said to Mario, “You like Chinese food, please?”
“Yes, I do,” answered Mario, “I guess.” He had never had anything Chinese except chop suey, but he was awfully fond of that.
“You wait, please,” said Sai Fong. He disappeared into the shop and came back in a minute with two new robes. “This for you,” he said, helping Mario on with one. It was purple and lavender, and had designs of the sun, moon, and stars stitched all over it. “And this mine,” said Sai Fong, putting on his own robe, which was blue and green, covered with pictures of fish and reeds and water lilies.
The old Chinese gentleman whispered something to Sai Fong, and Sai whispered an answer back in Chinese. “So sorry,” he said to Mario, “no robe small enough for cricket.”
The Cricket in Times Square Page 4
