Drat! thought Ralph, now I’ve done it! He heard the muffled sound of boots being thrown on the floor. The cot beneath him heaved, and a sudden weight seemed to flatten Ralph, even though he was cushioned by Dacron.
Ralph could not help himself. He squeaked. The weight pressing on him was removed instantly. The springs bounced, two feet hit the floor, and Ralph heard Karen’s muffled voice say, “That’s funny. I’m sure I heard a squeak.”
“It’s your springs, silly,” said another girl.
“No,” said Karen. “It was more like a mouse, and it was right under me.”
“Quiet, girls. It’s rest time,” said the counselor.
I better get out of here, thought Ralph, crawling out of his Dacron nest and in between the two layers of flannel lining. As he started toward what he hoped was the open end, he heard the swishing sound of the zipper. The top of the sleeping bag was thrown back, and Ralph was exposed for all to see.
“E-e-ek!” squealed Karen. “It is a mouse! And he isn’t even squashed!”
Ralph leaped to the floor and was aware of a double row of girls staring at him from their bunks. He darted toward an overturned riding boot, realized that he would be trapped inside, and darted the other way without knowing where he was going.
Now all the girls were squealing. “Catch him!” “Don’t let him get away!” “Isn’t he darling?”
“He isn’t darling in my sleeping bag!” said Karen.
Sock-clad feet hit the floor. “Get a washbasin!” someone yelled. “Catch him under a washbasin.”
“Girls!” cried the counselor.
Ralph darted this way and that. No matter which way he ran he met feet. He was frantic. He knew he had to find a way to escape before someone clapped something over him. The screen door creaked, so he knew someone had run outside for a basin.
“A hat!” someone shouted. “Where’s a hat?”
In his panic Ralph ran up and over a foot in a white sock. Its owner screamed. Sam, alerted by the scream, began to bark.
A straw cowboy hat plopped down on the concrete floor, making a dark dome over Ralph. The daylight that shone between the straws seemed like starlight to a mouse.
“Look!” shrieked Karen. “A hole in my sleeping bag! He chewed a big hole right in my sleeping bag!”
Sam, frantic to protect the girls, scrabbled his paws against the screen door.
“It’s only me,” squeaked Ralph, but no one could hear him.
Ralph was alert, waiting for someone to lift the hat so that he could make a dash, if not for a knothole, at least for the shelter of a bunk.
“There’s something in the hole in my sleeping bag,” cried Karen. “My watch. Look! It’s my missing watch!” Feet went padding to Karen’s bunk.
The screen door opened. One set of dog footsteps and two sets of human footsteps entered, those of the girl who had gone for the washbasin and those of someone else. “Girls, what is going on in here?” asked Aunt Jill. “This is supposed to be rest time.”
Ralph could hear Sam snuffling around in circles with his nose to the floor.
The girls all tried to speak at once, but Karen managed to tell about the finding of the watch. “So Garf couldn’t have taken it,” said another girl.
“And we have the mouse in person right here under that hat,” said another.
Sam’s nose came to a halt at the hat brim.
“Hey, Sam. It’s only me,” squeaked Ralph in alarm. He was relieved to have Sam sit and begin to pant. Ralph pressed his eye to a crack in the straw and saw Sam’s long pink tongue hanging out.
“But what I don’t understand,” said Karen, “is how the watch got inside the hole. A mouse couldn’t put it there.”
You’ll never know, thought Ralph in grim amusement.
“Aunt Jill, what shall we do with the mouse?” Ralph heard one of the girls ask. “We’re going to scoop him up in this washbasin.”
Not if I can help it, thought Ralph.
“Why don’t we give him to Garf?” suggested Aunt Jill. “I’m sure he misses his mouse, and I know his feelings were hurt because some people thought he had taken the watch.”
“Good idea!” agreed Karen.
Well, thought Ralph, that takes care of a lot of things. When the brim of the hat was lifted and the rim of the plastic washbasin scraped against the floor, Ralph hopped into the basin and, with hat still held over him, felt himself being lifted. Then the hat was raised a few inches on one side of the basin, and Ralph saw a row of eyes staring at him. Ralph could not help trembling, even though he was sure he had nothing to fear.
“He’s so little!” said one of the girls, marveling.
“Aunt Jill, he looks an awful lot like Garf’s mouse,” said Karen. “You don’t suppose—”
“One mouse looks pretty much like another,” said Aunt Jill briskly. “Now girls, back to your bunks. I’ll take the mouse to Garf.” Darkness fell on Ralph as she replaced the hat over the basin.
Ralph felt himself being carried out of the girls’ lodge and past the craft shop, where he could hear Chum gnawing at the bars of his cage. Poor old Chum. He heard the door of Garf’s lodge being opened. “Garf,” whispered Aunt Jill. “Wake up. Wake up! I have something for you.”
“Huh?” said Garf sleepily. Waking a sleeping boy on a hot summer afternoon is not easy.
“I have a mouse for you,” said Aunt Jill.
“A mouse!” Ralph could tell Garf was wide awake now. “Let me see.”
Ralph sat quietly in the basin while the hat was cautiously lifted. He could see the other boys and their counselor sprawled in sleep on their bunks, and on a ledge over Garf’s lower bunk he saw his crash helmet. “Karen found him in a hole in her sleeping bag,” Aunt Jill explained. “And it was the strangest thing. She found her missing watch inside the hole.” Ralph saw that Aunt Jill was studying him thoughtfully.
“No kidding!” exclaimed Garf, forgetting to keep his voice down.
“Yes,” whispered Aunt Jill, “and the girls thought you might like to have the mouse.”
“I sure would!” whispered Garf.
“I think we can bend the cage back into shape,” said Aunt Jill.
“Can’t I keep him here in the basin?” asked Garf.
“He might escape,” said Aunt Jill, “but he’s your mouse.” She smiled and slipped quietly out of the lodge.
“You did it!” whispered Garf.
“Sure I did it,” said Ralph, “but do I have to sit here in this basin?”
“Of course not,” answered Garf, holding out his hand.
Ralph leaped into Garf’s palm, and Garf gently moved his hand down close to his pocket, and there, as he hoped, was his motorcycle. In the warm and cozy darkness he ran his paws over the handlebars, the plastic seat, the wheels, the exhaust pipe. The motorcycle was intact, and it was his once more. He had earned it.
Ralph popped back out of the pocket. “You aren’t going to make me go back into that cage, are you?” he asked.
“Not if you promise not to run away. I’m taking you back to the inn tomorrow. Remember?”
“You haven’t forgotten your promise about the motorcycle, have you?” asked Ralph just to be sure.
“Nope,” answered Garf.
“I won’t run away,” promised Ralph. “But there’s one more thing. Before you leave camp, do you suppose you could give Chum a piece of wood to gnaw, so he won’t have to gnaw his cage to keep his teeth worn down?”
“Why, sure,” whispered Garf. “Right after rest time.”
That need taken care of made Ralph feel better about Chum alone in the craft shop. He was about to climb back into the pocket when Garf whispered, “Do me a favor, will you? Let me see you ride the motorcycle before everybody wakes up.”
“Sure!” Ralph was happy to agree to this request.
Gently Garf lifted Ralph and the motorcycle to the floor. Then he handed down the crash helmet, which Ralph set on his head and secured by snapping the rubber band
under his chin. Expertly he grasped the handle grips, threw his leg over the plastic seat, and, taking care to keep his tail out of the spokes, inhaled.
Pb-pb-b-b-b. Ralph took off across the concrete floor while Garf leaned over the edge of his bunk to watch. Ralph bent low over his handlebars and increased his speed. Pb-pbb-b-b. Filled with the joy and excitement of speed, he rode in a figure eight around Garf’s cowboy boots, which were lying on the floor. Garf’s counselor moved in his sleep, and Ralph shot out of sight under Garf’s bunk until the counselor lay still. He rode until he was breathless, and then he coasted to a stop in front of Garf, where he sat panting with his crash helmet pushed back on his head.
“Boy!” whispered Garf. “Was that ever great!”
Ralph silently agreed.
“I sure wish I could do that.” Garf picked up Ralph and the motorcycle and put them gently in his pocket.
After all the excitement of the morning, Ralph was ready for a nap, but first he popped his head out of Garf’s pocket. “Thanks, friend,” he said. “And by the way, don’t roll over on me during rest time.”
“Don’t worry,” whispered Garf. “I’ll get you back to the inn in one piece. And your motorcycle, too.”
About the Author
BEVERLY CLEARY is one of America’s most popular authors. Born in McMinnville, Oregon, she lived on a farm in Yamhill until she was six and then moved to Portland. After college, as the children’s librarian in Yakima, Washington, she was challenged to find stories for non-readers. She wrote her first book, HENRY HUGGINS, in response to a boy’s question, “Where are the books about kids like us?”
Mrs. Cleary’s books have earned her many prestigious awards, including the American Library Association’s Laura Ingalls Wilder Award, presented in recognition of her lasting contribution to children’s literature. Her DEAR MR. HENSHAW was awarded the 1984 John Newbery Medal, and both RAMONA QUIMBY, AGE 8 and RAMONA AND HER FATHER have been named Newbery Honor Books. In addition, her books have won more than thirty-five statewide awards based on the votes of her young readers. Her characters, including Henry Huggins, Ellen Tebbits, Otis Spofford, and Beezus and Ramona Quimby, as well as Ribsy, Socks, and Ralph S. Mouse, have delighted children for generations. Mrs. Cleary lives in coastal California.
Visit Beverly Cleary on the World Wide Web at www.beverlycleary.com.
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Enjoy All of Beverly Cleary’s Books
FEATURING RAMONA QUIMBY:
Beezus and Ramona
Ramona the Pest
Ramona the Brave
Ramona and Her Father
Ramona and Her Mother
Ramona Quimby, Age 8
Ramona Forever
Ramona’s World
FEATURING HENRY HUGGINS:
Henry Huggins
Henry and Beezus
Henry and Ribsy
Henry and the Paper Route
Henry and the Clubhouse
Ribsy
FEATURING RALPH MOUSE:
The Mouse and the Motorcycle
Runaway Ralph
Ralph S. Mouse
MORE GREAT FICTION BY BEVERLY CLEARY:
Ellen Tebbits
Otis Spofford
Fifteen
The Luckiest Girl
Jean and Johnny
Emily’s Runaway Imagination
Sister of the Bride
Mitch and Amy
Socks
Dear Mr. Henshaw
Muggie Maggie
Strider
Two Times the Fun
AND DON’T MISS BEVERLY CLEARY’S AUTOBIOGRAPHIES:
A Girl from Yamhill
My Own Two Feet
Credits
Cover art by Tracy Dockray
Cover design by Amy Ryan
Copyright
RUNAWAY RALPH. Copyright © 1970 by Beverly Cleary. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub © Edition MARCH 2008 ISBN: 9780061972393
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