Part 23 (1/2)
”Maybe it's you who are dreaming this trip, Dave,” returned the s.h.i.+powner's son, with pardonable sarcasm.
Dave did not reply, for just then he felt something moving in the blanket. He made a clutch for it. A little squeak followed.
”I've got it, Phil!”
”What is it?”
”I don't know yet-it's in the blanket.”
”Oh, what a noise!” came from the berth beyond. ”Cannot you young men be quiet?” It was a woman who was speaking. She was an elderly person and Dave had noticed, during the day, that she was rather sour-looking.
”Sorry, madam, but I've just caught something in my berth,” answered Dave. ”I'll turn up the light and see what it is,” he added, as he held on to the object in the blanket with one hand and turned on the electric illumination with the other.
The cries and talking had awakened half a dozen people and the sleepy porter came down the aisle to find out what was wrong.
”It's a mouse-a white mouse!” cried Dave, as the little creature was uncovered.
”Wot's dat, a mouse!” exclaimed the porter. ”Nebber heard of sech a t'ing! How did he git yeah?”
”Don't ask me,” replied Dave. ”Ugh! he nipped me in the toe, too!”
”Here's another one!” roared Phil. ”Ran right across my arm! Take that, you little imp!” he added, and bang! one of his shoes. .h.i.t the woodwork of the car.
”A mouse!” shrieked the elderly woman. ”Did you say a mouse, young man?”
”I did-and there is more than one, too,” answered Dave, for he had felt another movement at his feet. He lost no time in scrambling up, and Phil followed.
By this time the whole sleeping-car was in an uproar. Everybody who heard the word ”mouse” felt certain one of the creatures must be in his or her berth.
”Porter! porter! save me!” screamed the elderly lady. ”Oh, mice, just think of it!” And wrapping her dressing-gown around her, she leaped from her berth and sped for the ladies' room. Others also got up, including Dunston Porter and Roger.
”What am I going to do with this fellow?” asked Dave, as he held the mouse up in his vest.
”Better throw it out of a window,” suggested his uncle. ”Mice in a sleeper! This is certainly the limit!” he muttered. ”The railroad company better get a new system of cleaning.”
”Mice!” screamed a young lady. ”Oh, I shall die!” she shrieked, and looked ready to faint.
”Shoot 'em, why don't you?” suggested a fat man, who came forth from his berth wearing a blanket, Indian fas.h.i.+on.
By this time Phil had caught one of the creatures. Both he and Dave started for the rear of the car, to throw the mice off the train.
”Stop! stop! I beg of you, don't kill those mice!” came suddenly from a tall, thin young man who had been sleeping in a berth at the end of the car. Dave had noticed him during the day and had put him down as a preacher or actor.
”Why not?” asked our hero.
”They are mine, that's why,” said the man. ”I would not have them killed for a thousand dollars!”
”Say, wot yo'-all talkin' about?” demanded the porter. ”Dem mice yours?”