Chapter One
A Dark and Snowy Night
Night winds, moaning around corners and whistling through
cracks, dashed snow against the windows of the Mountain
View Inn. Inside, a fire crackled in the stone fireplace.
The grandfather clock, as old and tired as the inn itself,
marked the passing of time with a slow tick . . . tock ...
that seemed to say,, "Wait ... ing, wait ... ing."
Everyone in the lobby was waiting-the desk clerk, the
handyman, old Matt, who also carried guests' luggage to
their rooms, Ryan Bramble, the son of the hotel's new
housekeeper, and Ralph, the mouse who lived under the
grandfather clock.
The desk clerk dozed, waiting for guests who did not
arrive. Matt leaned against the wall to watch television
while he waited for the desk clerk to close up for the
night. Ryan, sitting on the floor to watch television,
waited for his mother to tell him to go to bed because he
had to go to school the next day. Ralph, crouched beside
Ryan, waited for the adults to leave so be could bring out
his mouse-sized motorcycle. Unfortunately, Ralph's little
brothers, sisters, and cousins, biding in the woodpile and
behind the curtains were also waiting.
On the television set, a sports car crashed into a truck,
shot off a clif and burst into flames.
"Wow!" Without taking his eyes from the screen Ryan
said "There's a boy at school named Brad Kirby, who would
really like this movie. He has a BMX bicycle for motocross
racing, and his father sometimes drives him to school in a
tow truck." A police car followed the sports car over the
cliff before Ryan added, "Brad isn't very friendly to me.
He's sort of a loner."
Ralph was more interested in television than in Ryan's
problems. "If I had a sports car like that," he said, "I
wouldn't let it run off a cliff." -
Ralph was an unusual mouse. He had listened to so many
children and watched so much television that he had
learned to talk. Not everyone could understand him. Those
who could were lonely children who shared Ralph's interest
in fast cars and motorcycles and who took the trouble to
listen. Other children, if they happened to glimpse Ralph,
said, "I saw a mouse that squeked funny".
Matt was the only adult who understood Ralph. "Yes, sir,
that mouse is a mouse in a million," he often told himself.
Ralph knew there were not really a million mice in the
inn, although he had to admit that in wintertime the
mouseholes were crowded, because his rough outdoor
relatives moved inside to keep warm. Ralph's mother said
they were a rowdy bunch that set a bad example for the
more civilized indoor mice.
While Ralph and Ryan were enjoying a commercial for a
truck that could zigzag without over-turning, Matt
strolled into a room called the Jumping Frog Lounge and
returned with a handful of popcorn. He dropped one kernal
in front of Ralph.
"Thanks," said Ralph, who enjoyed nibbling popcorn while
watching television.
As the commercial ended, Mrs. Bramble entered the
lobby. "Come on, my boy," she said to Ryan. "It's past
your bedtime. You know the manager doesn't like you
hanging around the lobby."
"Aw, Mom, just let me watch the end of the
program," pleaded Ryan. "I'll leave if any guests arrive."
At that moment, the rattle and crunch of a car with chains
on its tires was heard. Ryan rose and walked backward out
of the lobby so he wouldn't miss the high speed, siren-
screeming chase on the television screen. As he left, he
gave Ralph a little wave with his fingertips, a wave no on
else would notice. Ralph wished Ryan could stay up all
night like a mouse.
As the car stopped in front of the hotel and the desk
clerk roused himself, Ralph scurried under the grandfather
clock to the nest he had made from chewed-up Kleenex, a
lost lift-ticket, and a few bits of carpet fringe he had
nipped off when no one was looking. Beside his nest rested
his two precious possessions: a little red motorcycle and
a crash helmet made from half a ping-pong ball lined with
thistle-down, gifts of a boy who had once stayed in the
hotel.
Above Ralph the clock began to grind and groan and strike,
bong ... bong, as if it had to summon strength for each
stroke. Ralph dreaded the sound even though it was the
reason he lived under the clock. The noise terrified his
little relatives who thought the clock was out to get
them. As long as they feared the clock, Ralph's motorcycle
was safe.
The car door slammed. Feet stomped on the porch. When Matt
opened the door to let two people blow into the lobby, a
blast of freezing air sent Ralph's nest swirling around in
bits. Never mind, thought Ralph peeking out at two pair of
boots, the kind known as waffle stompers, which had thick
treads that held snow.
"Do you have a room for the night?" the owner of the
larger boots asked the desk clerk.
"H-mm, let's see," murmured the clerk who always behaved
as if the hotel might be full even though he knew it was
not.
Stop pretending, thought Ralph, who was tired of waiting.
"
Well. . . ." The desk clerk ended the suspense. I can let
you have room 207. just fill out this card, please."
Ralph's keen ears heard the scratch of a pen and the
rattle of a key. He winced when the clerk banged the bell
on the desk for Matt, even though Matt was standing right
there, waiting to carry the guests' bags.
"Never mind, said one of the guests to Matt. "We can find
our room." The pair picked up their luggage and stepped
into the elevator, leaving behind puddles of melted snow.
"Cheapskates," muttered Matt. Guests at this hotel often
insisted on carrying luggage to avoid tipping him.
After the elevator door closed Ralph worried that the
puddles might dry before he had the lobby to himself. Time
dragged on. The man in the red vest who worked in the
jumping Frog Lounge came out, yawned, and remarked that he
might as well close for the night. The television station
went off the air. The desk clerk locked the front door and
left. If any more guests arrived, they would have to ring
the night bell. Matt began to turn out the lights.
At last! Ralph threw his leg over his motorcycle, adjusted
the rubber band that held his crash helmet in place, and
grasped his tail so that it would not become tangled in
his spokes. Then,because as everyone knows,a toy
motorcycle moves when someone makes a noise like a
motorcycle, Ralph took a deep breath, went Pb-b-b, b-b-b,
and shot out from under the clock. Gradually he picked up
speed and zoomed through a puddle. Wings of water .fanned
out from -his wheels. It was a thrilling experience.
All of Ralph's little brothers, sisters, and cousins,,
hoping Matt would not notice them in the dim light, popped
out from their hiding places to watch. Of course,, Ralph
had to show off. He took deeper breaths and rode faster,
making puddles splash higher and leaving tiny tire tracks
on the dry linoleum. Matt, who was banking the fire for
the night, laid down the poker to enjoy the sight.
Unfortunately, the little relatives were not satisfied.
Not now. Once Ralph's indoor relatives had been happy to
have Ralph push them up and down the halls on his
motorcycle, but this treat was not enough for his rowdy
outdoor relatives.
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