Read Online Homer Price by Robert McCloskey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert McCloskey
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the churches, ordinary mice from houses and homes, mice from the stores, and mice from the town hall.
They all went running up the ramps and runways and disappeared in Michael Murphy’s musical mouse trap. The children followed behind enjoying the whole thing almost as much as the mice.
After traveling down every street in town, the procession came to a stop in front of the town hall, and the mayor came out and presented Mr. Murphy with his thirty-dollar fee—thirty bright, crisp new one-dollar bills.
Just as the mayor finished counting out the bills into Mr. Murphy’s hand the sheriff stepped up and said, “Mr. Murphy, I hope this won’t embarrass you too much, in fact, I hate to mention it at all, but this here misical moostrap, I mean mouse trap of yours, has got a license plate that is thirty years old . . . A
new
license will cost you just exactly thirty dollars.”
Mr. Murphy blushed crimson under his beard. “It’s the law, you know, and
I
can’t help it!” apologized the sheriff.
Poor Mr. Murphy, poor
shy
Mr. Murphy! He handed his thirty dollars to the sheriff, took his new license plates and crept down the city hall steps. He climbed into his car and drove slowly away toward the edge of town, with the musical mouse trap playing its reedy music. The children followed along to see Mr. Murphy release all of the mice.
“I really hated to do that, Mayor,” said the sheriff as the procession turned out of sight on route 56A. “It’s the law you know, and if I hadn’t reminded him, he might have been arrested in the next town he visits.” There’s no telling how this de-mousing would have ended if the children’s librarian hadn’t come rushing up shouting “Sheriff! Sheriff! Quick!
We guessed the wrong book!
”
“What?” shouted the sheriff and the mayor and Uncle Ulysses.
“Yes!” gasped the children’s librarian, “not
Rip Van Winkle,
but
another
book,
The Pied Piper of Hamelin!”
“Geeminy Christmas!” yelled the sheriff, “and almost every child in town is followin’ him this very minute!”
The sheriff and the librarian and the mayor and Uncle Ulysses all jumped into the sheriff’s car and roared away after the procession. They met up with the children just outside the city limits. “Come back! Turn around, children!” they shouted.
“I’ll treat everybody to a doughnut!” yelled Uncle Ulysses.
The children didn’t seem to hear, and they kept right on following the musical mouse trap.
“The music must have affected their minds,” cried the librarian.
“Sheriff, we can’t lose all these children with election time coming up next month!” mourned the mayor. “Let’s give Murphy another thirty dollars!”
“That’s the idea,” said Uncle Ulysses. “Drive up next to him, Sheriff, and I’ll hand him the money.”
The sheriff’s car drew alongside the musical mouse trap, and Uncle Ulysses tossed a wad of thirty dollar bills onto the seat next to the shy Mr. Murphy.
“Please don’t take them away!” pleaded the librarian.
“Come, Murphy, let’s be reasonable,” shouted the mayor.
Mr. Murphy was very flustered, and his steering was distinctly wobbly.
Then the sheriff got riled and yelled at the top of his lungs,
“Get ’em low! Get ’em go! Durnit, Let ’em go!”
And that’s exactly what Mr. Murphy did. He let them go. He pulled a lever and every last mouse came tumbling out of the bottom of the musical mouse trap. And
such
a
sight
it was, well worth walking to the city limits to see. The mice came out in a torrent. The reedy organ on the musical mouse trap stopped playing, and the squeaking of mice and the cheering of children filled the air.
The torrent of mice paused, as if sensing direction, and then each Centerburg mouse started off in a straight, straight line to his own Centerburg mouse-hole. Mr. Murphy didn’t pause. He stepped on the gas, and the musical mouse trap swayed down the road. The mayor, the children’s librarian,
They all went running up the ramps and runways and disappeared in Michael Murphy’s musical mouse trap. The children followed behind enjoying the whole thing almost as much as the mice.
After traveling down every street in town, the procession came to a stop in front of the town hall, and the mayor came out and presented Mr. Murphy with his thirty-dollar fee—thirty bright, crisp new one-dollar bills.
Just as the mayor finished counting out the bills into Mr. Murphy’s hand the sheriff stepped up and said, “Mr. Murphy, I hope this won’t embarrass you too much, in fact, I hate to mention it at all, but this here misical moostrap, I mean mouse trap of yours, has got a license plate that is thirty years old . . . A
new
license will cost you just exactly thirty dollars.”
Mr. Murphy blushed crimson under his beard. “It’s the law, you know, and
I
can’t help it!” apologized the sheriff.
Poor Mr. Murphy, poor
shy
Mr. Murphy! He handed his thirty dollars to the sheriff, took his new license plates and crept down the city hall steps. He climbed into his car and drove slowly away toward the edge of town, with the musical mouse trap playing its reedy music. The children followed along to see Mr. Murphy release all of the mice.
“I really hated to do that, Mayor,” said the sheriff as the procession turned out of sight on route 56A. “It’s the law you know, and if I hadn’t reminded him, he might have been arrested in the next town he visits.” There’s no telling how this de-mousing would have ended if the children’s librarian hadn’t come rushing up shouting “Sheriff! Sheriff! Quick!
We guessed the wrong book!
”
“What?” shouted the sheriff and the mayor and Uncle Ulysses.
“Yes!” gasped the children’s librarian, “not
Rip Van Winkle,
but
another
book,
The Pied Piper of Hamelin!”
“Geeminy Christmas!” yelled the sheriff, “and almost every child in town is followin’ him this very minute!”
The sheriff and the librarian and the mayor and Uncle Ulysses all jumped into the sheriff’s car and roared away after the procession. They met up with the children just outside the city limits. “Come back! Turn around, children!” they shouted.
“I’ll treat everybody to a doughnut!” yelled Uncle Ulysses.
The children didn’t seem to hear, and they kept right on following the musical mouse trap.
“The music must have affected their minds,” cried the librarian.
“Sheriff, we can’t lose all these children with election time coming up next month!” mourned the mayor. “Let’s give Murphy another thirty dollars!”
“That’s the idea,” said Uncle Ulysses. “Drive up next to him, Sheriff, and I’ll hand him the money.”
The sheriff’s car drew alongside the musical mouse trap, and Uncle Ulysses tossed a wad of thirty dollar bills onto the seat next to the shy Mr. Murphy.
“Please don’t take them away!” pleaded the librarian.
“Come, Murphy, let’s be reasonable,” shouted the mayor.
Mr. Murphy was very flustered, and his steering was distinctly wobbly.
Then the sheriff got riled and yelled at the top of his lungs,
“Get ’em low! Get ’em go! Durnit, Let ’em go!”
And that’s exactly what Mr. Murphy did. He let them go. He pulled a lever and every last mouse came tumbling out of the bottom of the musical mouse trap. And
such
a
sight
it was, well worth walking to the city limits to see. The mice came out in a torrent. The reedy organ on the musical mouse trap stopped playing, and the squeaking of mice and the cheering of children filled the air.
The torrent of mice paused, as if sensing direction, and then each Centerburg mouse started off in a straight, straight line to his own Centerburg mouse-hole. Mr. Murphy didn’t pause. He stepped on the gas, and the musical mouse trap swayed down the road. The mayor, the children’s librarian,
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