Ralph S. Mouse by Beverly Cleary Read Free Book Online Page A

Fight!” and crowd around as popcorn scattered.
    â€œBoys!” Miss K’s usually gentle voice cut through the commotion. “Hurting people does not solve anything. It only makes things worse.”
    Ryan got to his feet. Ralph, shaken but relieved to find himself uninjured, peeped out of the shirt pocket. To his horror, he saw Ryan reach into the pocket of his parka and pull out a crushed crash helmet and a little red motorcycle broken in two.
    His precious motorcycle, his only means of transportation—four feet didn’t count—was destroyed. Ralph experienced the darkest moment of his life.
    â€œI’ll get you for this, Brad,” said Ryan, as Ralph slid back to the depths of the pocket. “You broke Ralph’s motorcycle.”
    Brad laughed. He could. He had not been knocked down. “Are you crazy or something?” he asked. “What do you mean, Ralph’s motorcycle?”
    â€œBoys, that’s enough,” said Miss K. “Hurry along, Ryan, or you’ll miss your bus.”

    In the hall, Ralph emerged from the pocket to confront Ryan. “Now see what you’ve done because you wouldn’t give me back my motorcycle. You’ve gone and wrecked it.”
    Ryan, flushed and humiliated, turned on his friend. “I don’t care if your motorcycle is broken,” he informed Ralph. “It serves you right for not doing what you were supposed to. I never should have brought you to school in the first place. See what happened because I tried to be Mr. Nice Guy.”
    â€œSome nice guy,” said Ralph with a tiny snarl. “Wouldn’t even let me have my own motorcycle, and now look at it. Busted. Well, I’ve had enough, I’m getting out of here.” With that declaration, Ralph climbed out of Ryan’s pocket, ran down his jeans, and jumped to the floor, dodging waffle stompers and boots as he fled.
    â€œHey, watch it,” called Ryan. “Don’t get stepped on.” He turned and ran for his bus.
    Ralph dodged feet until he was safe against the wall, where no one would step on him or even notice him in the crowd. As soon as all the children had left, he made his way to the library without bothering to nibble any of the popcorn squashed on the floor. The torn book bag in which he had enjoyed such comfortable naps was gone, but he found a fresh bag, gnawed a hole in the brown paper, and crawled into the soft, ready-chewed stuffing. How good it felt—warm, cozy, and comforting—after all he had been through this terrible afternoon.
    In the hall, Mr. Costa was sweeping up popcorn with his broad broom while his transistor radio sang a sorrowful song about a broken-hearted man trying to hitch a ride on a lonely stretch of highway while the coyotes howled in the night.
    After Mr. Costa left, the school was a silent, deserted place. The next morning the children did not return. Ralph, who did not understand that there was no school on Saturday and Sunday, had never been so alone in his life. He stood in the cold and empty hall and squeaked as loud as he could, but his tiny voice could not even raise an echo. All weekend he roamed the desolate halls and classroom, halfheartedly nibbling whatever he could find to eat, going pb-b-b because he missed his motorcycle so much, and wondering if he was doomed to roam forever the lonely corridors of the Irwin J. Sneed Elementary School. Why didn’t the children return?
    Ralph thought of the old hotel with its shabby lobby warmed by a crackling fire. He missed the reassuring tick of the rasping old clock. He missed watching television and the activity in the lobby—the arrival and departure of guests and the arguments among the staff. He missed old Matt, his protector, and supplies of peanuts and popcorn from the Jumping Frog Lounge. He wondered if his plan to make the little mice leave the lobby had worked and if Matt still had his job.
    Ralph discovered he even