Mouse Noses on Toast Read Online Free PDF Page B

this was going on, Sandra set about unlocking the window. She did this by bending her halo into the shape of a key. Rowley Barker Hobbs said hello to the glass with his paws. The window swung open and in he leaped, wagging his happy tail.
    “Mr. Hobbs,” said Larry, the only mouse who had remained on the storeroom floor, “we have a bone for you. Well, a picture of a bone. The real bone comes later. First, we need your help.”
    “Why aren’t you shoving noses?” Paul said, tapping Larry on the shoulder.
    “Someone has to keep an eye on the box,” Larry replied, and Paul had to admit, he had a point. “What about you, Paul? Why aren’t you shoving noses?”
    “I was shoving noses,” Paul said. “I just came down to find out why you aren’t shoving noses.”
    Graham had come down too. He stepped out from behind Paul and gave Larry an army salute. “Noses shoved, sir.”
    “Right,” Larry said, clapping his paws. “Are you ready, Mr. Hobbs?”
    Rowley Barker Hobbs was always ready. That was what being the most patient dog in the world was all about.

LARRY THE COWARD
    W ITH NO STRING TO SECURE THE BOX, THE TWENTY-FIVE mouses had to ride on Rowley Barker Hobbs’s back and hold it steady with their paws. Sandra perched on his padded nose, to shout directions. The stairs were steep and rickety, which made the ride bumpy, especially for Inch. He had forgotten to take his travel-sickness pills and turned a queasy shade of green.
    Not even Larry knew what they would find when they reached the top. Perhaps the home of Bertrand Violin and his elderly wife, Bertranda. Or the chef, who sharpened his knife in the dark, and cut off the nose of anyone who dared to visit.
    But the upstairs rooms were empty.
    The room above the dining area had no windows, andwas lit only by the light that shined up through gaps in the floorboards.
    There was only one customer in the restaurant now, a huge man with a bald head. If the man had looked up, he would have seen Larry’s eye peering through a mouse-sized hole in the ceiling.
    The waiter flipped open his notebook, took a pencil from behind his ear and walked up to the man’s table.
    “Six slices of mouse noses on toast,” the man said, licking his lips. “Three with whiskers, three without.”
    Larry stood up. “Right,” he said, clapping his paws. “I need a volunteer.”
    Silence.
    “A volunteer, brave as a lion, to sacrifice his or her nose to save the noses of mouses for generations to come.”
    Paul raised his paw, but not to volunteer. He had a question. “What does the volunteer have to do?”
    “Plug the hole,” Larry said, pointing to the hole in the floorboards. “We pour the noses over the plugged hole. When I give the signal, we yank the plug by the tail. Up comes the plug, down go the noses.”
    “You’ve got a fat head,” Paul said, “why don’t you plug the hole?”
    “I have to give the signal.”
    “I could give the signal,” Paul said helpfully.
    “My sandals would fall off,” Larry said.
    Paul laughed. Larry, he decided, was a coward.
    “What did you mean,” one of the twins asked, “when you said the volunteer would sacrifice his or her nose?”
    “Figure of speech,” Larry said.
    The twins were not convinced, and did not volunteer. Neither did Graham or any of the other adult mouses. The only mouse to volunteer was Inch, the smallest, squeakiest mouse of all.
    “You’re too small,” Larry said. “You would slip right through.”
    “I could wear my jumper,” Inch squeaked. “My nan knitted it for my birthday.”
    The jumper was red, and as thick as a thick slice of cheese.The mouse who fetched it from the storeroom had trouble carrying it up the stairs.

    “This is a thick jumper,” Larry said, feeling the wool.
    “Nan doesn’t want me to catch cold,” Inch squeaked, pulling the jumper over his ears. “Which way do I go? Downside up or upside down?”
    “Upside up,” Sandra said.
    Inch squeaked a startled squeak. “I