Mouse Noses on Toast (2 page)

S
OMEHOW
, P
AUL MANAGED TO SLIP OUT OF THE MOUSEHOLE
without the other mouses seeing his bottom. The scamper home was more difficult. A lady mouse called him a blue-bottomed maniac. He was chased by a policemouse and laughed at by a group of teenage rats.

In the overgrown garden, Rowley Barker Hobbs was running around in circles, barking at himself and chasing his tail. “Hello,” he said when Paul Mouse stepped out from behind a tuft of grass.

“Rowley Barker Hobbs, if only I had bumped into you an hour ago,” Paul said. “You could have given me a ride home.”

“Sorry about that,” Rowley Barker Hobbs said, poking out his pink tongue. “What happened to your bottom?”

“The anti-cheese suit was supposed to protect it,” Paul said, tearing off the suit and stamping it into the mud.

“I like cheese,” Rowley Barker Hobbs said. “I buried one just this morning.”

“You’re thinking of bones,” Paul said. “You always get cheese and bones muddled up. Cheese is yellow and smelly, and it makes my bottom turn blue.”

Rowley Barker Hobbs nodded his big shaggy head. “I have to go now,” he said, “but I will come and say hello again tomorrow.” And he ran in through the back door of the house.

Paul Mouse made his way to the end of the garden. It had rained recently and the shoe box was sopping wet. Sandra was trying to dry it by wiping it with a huge tissue.
For a plastic Christmas-tree decoration, Sandra was very house-proud.

“Where did you get the tissue?” Paul asked.

“The Tinby borrowed a whole box from the supermarket,” Sandra replied, pretending not to have noticed Paul’s blue bottom.

Paul was impressed. How the Tinby had carried the box home with no arms was a mystery. He gave the Tinby a thumbs-up. The Tinby bowed its curved top half, but said nothing.

“Have you been to see the mouses at the restaurant?” Sandra asked.

“Yes,” Paul said, “and while I was there, something terrible happened.” He turned around and bent over.

“Your poor bottom!”

“I will never go to that restaurant again,” Paul said, trying to straighten out his question-mark-shaped tail.

Sandra thought.

The Tinby thought too, but no one knew what it was thinking, as Tinbys think in colors and shapes.

“I have an idea,” Sandra said. “I think you should go
to the restaurant one more time, not to see the mouses, but for a posh meal. You deserve it after what you’ve been through.”

Paul smiled. He liked this idea a lot.

“We can go today,” Sandra said. “You, me, the Tinby and Rowley Barker Hobbs.”

P
AUL
, S
ANDRA AND THE
T
INBY SPENT THE REST OF THE
morning drying the shoe box with tissues. No one likes to return home to a soggy shoe box.

When they had made the shoe box as dry as they could, they lifted the lid and climbed inside. It was time to get ready for their posh meal.

Sandra took the longest to get ready, as she had to choose a dress. She only had one dress and was already wearing it, but she took a long time to choose it anyway because she wanted to look her best.

The Tinby didn’t wear clothes, so Paul drew a bow tie on its front,
just below the eyes, with a black felt-tip pen. “Shall I color it in?”

“No,” Sandra said, “it would look too formal.”

Paul left the bow tie as it was, yellow with lime-green checks.

In return for the bow tie, the Tinby made Paul an elegant cape out of tissue, and Sandra found an acorn for him and carved it into a posh acorn hat.

And finally, they were ready. They climbed out of the shoe box and went to knock for Rowley Barker Hobbs.

When they reached the house, they half expected Rowley Barker Hobbs to come bouncing out through the back door, wagging his tail and saying hello. But Rowley Barker Hobbs only came out once a day, and he had said hello once today already.

“We could knock for him,” Paul said.

Sandra put her hand on her silver hip. “You do the knocking, Paul Mouse. I’m an angel, and knocking is not very angelic.”

So Paul knocked on the wood with his paw.

They waited and waited and waited, but the door did not open and Rowley Barker Hobbs did not come out and say hello.

“We could shout his name,” Paul said. “He will hear us if we all shout together.”

“The Tinby can’t shout, Paul. It hasn’t got a mouth.”

“Where is the Tinby anyway?”

The Tinby was doing something daring. It had climbed up the outside of the back door and was jumping up and down on the door handle, with no arms and no regard for its own safety.

“I hope it doesn’t fall,” Sandra said, almost in tears.

“Me too,” Paul said. “We don’t want broken Tinby bits all over the patio.”

Suddenly, the door handle turned and the door swung open. Paul and Sandra climbed up the doorstep and walked into the house.

“The carpet looks hot,” Paul said. It was mauve and patterned with fiery orange swirls.

“I don’t like it,” Sandra said. “My wings are made of tinsel, and tinsel is highly flammable.”

“I hope we don’t get carpet burns,” Paul said. “It is warm in here. I may have to take off my hat.”

They kept close to the wall in case there were humans wearing boots, but something far worse than boots
awaited them. In the center of the room, crouched on the fiery carpet, was a huge white ghost.

Paul hid behind Sandra and Sandra hid behind Paul.

“Look at its eyes,” Paul said. “Rowley Barker Hobbs has eyes like that.”

“Maybe it is Rowley Barker Hobbs,” Sandra said. “He might have died and turned into a ghost.”

This was a horrible thought, but it was too late. The thought had been thought.

“Get a bit closer,” Paul said, “and ask it its name.”

Sandra took several steps forward, so that she was almost close enough to smell the ghost’s ghostly breath. “Is your name Rowley?”

The ghost shook its head.

Sandra turned and ran, more scared than she had ever been in her life.

P
AUL DIDN’T RUN
. H
E MARCHED RIGHT UP TO THE GHOST,
so close he really could smell its ghostly breath, which actually smelled more like dog food, and asked the ghost if its name was Rowley Barker Hobbs.

The ghost nodded, reached out a hairy paw, and pulled the white blanket from its shaggy head.

“We thought you were a ghost,” Paul said.

Rowley Barker Hobbs looked down at the ghostly blanket, and gave it a playful bite.

Sandra came back from where she’d been hiding, behind a chair leg. “I asked if your name was Rowley and you shook your head.”

“His name isn’t Rowley,” Paul said. “It’s Rowley Barker Hobbs. Isn’t that right, Rowley Barker Hobbs?”

Rowley Barker Hobbs nodded, barked a hello and ran around in a circle, catching the tip of his tail between his teeth.

“I like your hat,” Rowley Barker Hobbs said when he had finished chasing his tail.

“Thank you,” Paul said handsomely. “We’re off to a restaurant. Will you come?”

“I only go out once a day,” Rowley Barker Hobbs said, “and I’ve been out once today already.”

“You could go out twice today,” Sandra said, “and stay in all day tomorrow.”

Rowley Barker Hobbs thought about this. He thought about a today with two Rowley Barker Hobbs in it and a tomorrow with no Rowley Barker Hobbs in it. Then he thought about a restaurant with a bone in it, and a Rowley Barker Hobbs who licked the bone until it shined.

Back outside, the Tinby was still on the door handle. When it saw its three friends, it dropped off the door handle and landed on the patio with a heavy thud.

“Oh dear,” Sandra said, wiping an angelic tear from her eye. “I hope it isn’t broken.”

But Tinbys are made of tough stuff. Perhaps this is why they are so brave.

Rowley Barker Hobbs crouched down so that Paul, Sandra and the Tinby could climb onto his back. He pushed open the garden gate with his wet nose and padded out into the street.

“I hope you know the way,” Paul said, lifting a shaggy ear.

Rowley Barker Hobbs shook his head. “I thought I would follow my tummy.”

“Don’t worry, Paul,” Sandra said. “We seem to be going in the right direction. If he takes a wrong turn, the Tinby can tug his tail.”

Somehow, Rowley Barker Hobbs delivered them directly to the restaurant door. And this was where they met their next problem. A sign on the door read: NO DOGS.

“You have to wait out here, Rowley Barker Hobbs,” Sandra said.

“What about my tummy? Does my tummy have to wait out here too?”

“I’m afraid it does,” Sandra said. “The Tinby will bring you a bone
from the kitchen.”