the hills and saw people, for thirty years. That’s why he’s so shy.”
“Then he’s moving back to civilization,” suggested Uncle Ulysses.
“That comes later,” said Homer, “I’ve only told as far as twenty-nine years ago.”
“Can’t you skip a few years, son, and get to the point?” demanded the sheriff.
“Nope! Twenty-nine years ago,” Homer repeated firmly, “Mr. Murphy read in an almanac that if a man can make a better mouse trap than anybody else, the world will beat a path to his house—even if it is way out in the hills.
“So-o-o he started making
mouse traps.”
There was a pause, and then the sheriff said, “Will you repeat that again, son?”
“I said, Mr. Murphy started making
mouse traps.
He made good ones too, the very best, and when one of Mr. Murphy’straps caught a mouse, that was the end of that mouse for all time.”
The sheriff forgot all about taking notes as Homer continued, “But nobody came to buy the traps. But that was just as well, you see, because twenty-eight years ago Mr. Murphy began to feel
sorry
for the mice. He came to realize that he would have to change his whole approach. He thought and thought and finally he decided to build mouse traps that wouldn’t hurt the mice.
“He spent the next fifteen years doing research on what was the pleasantest possible way for a mouse to be caught. He discovered that being caught to music pleased mice the most, even more than cheese. Then,” said Homer, “Mr. Murphy set to work to make a
musical
mouse trap.”
“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, UncleUlysses!” 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
“Then he’s moving back to civilization,” suggested Uncle Ulysses.
“That comes later,” said Homer, “I’ve only told as far as twenty-nine years ago.”
“Can’t you skip a few years, son, and get to the point?” demanded the sheriff.
“Nope! Twenty-nine years ago,” Homer repeated firmly, “Mr. Murphy read in an almanac that if a man can make a better mouse trap than anybody else, the world will beat a path to his house—even if it is way out in the hills.
“So-o-o he started making
mouse traps.”
There was a pause, and then the sheriff said, “Will you repeat that again, son?”
“I said, Mr. Murphy started making
mouse traps.
He made good ones too, the very best, and when one of Mr. Murphy’straps caught a mouse, that was the end of that mouse for all time.”
The sheriff forgot all about taking notes as Homer continued, “But nobody came to buy the traps. But that was just as well, you see, because twenty-eight years ago Mr. Murphy began to feel
sorry
for the mice. He came to realize that he would have to change his whole approach. He thought and thought and finally he decided to build mouse traps that wouldn’t hurt the mice.
“He spent the next fifteen years doing research on what was the pleasantest possible way for a mouse to be caught. He discovered that being caught to music pleased mice the most, even more than cheese. Then,” said Homer, “Mr. Murphy set to work to make a
musical
mouse trap.”
“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, UncleUlysses!” 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
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