The Mouse in the Mountain by Norbert Davis (most motivational books TXT) 📖

JANET AWOKE AND FOUND SHE WAS sitting bolt upright in bed with terror like a cold hand clutching at her throat. For what seemed like eons her faculties fought to free themselves of numbing layers of sleep and exhaustion.

She couldn’t remember where she was, and the bare room looked enormous and shadowy with the windows like heavy-lidded eyes in their deep niches in the opposite wall and the high, ugly head of the bed looming over her in silent menace.

And then the yell came again. It was choked and half muffled, but the unadorned terror in it was like an electric shock. Janet threw the covers aside and thrust herself to the edge of the bed, ready to flee somewhere, anywhere.

The bedroom door thundered under a series of heavy blows, and Captain Perona’s voice said sharply:

“Open this! Open it at once!”

The door thundered again, jumping against its hinges.

“Wait!” Janet cried. “I’m coming!”

She stumbled against a chair and then felt the twist of the iron latch under her groping hand. She turned the big key, and the lock creaked. Instantly the door slammed back against her, knocking her into the corner, and then Captain Perona gripped her arm with fingers like metal hooks.

“Is there anyone in here with you?” he demanded.

“Wha—what?” Janet said dazedly.

Two soldiers thrust past them. One carried a big flashlight, and its brilliant round eye flicked questioningly through the darkness. The second soldier had a carbine, and the steel of its bayonet flashed savagely as he prodded under the bed and into the cubbyhole closet.

“Let go of me!” Janet cried. “What do you mean—coming in this way… Stop that!”

Captain Perona released her. “Senorita, is it your custom to greet visitors unclothed?”

Janet looked down at herself. “Oh! Oh, my!” She turned her back and then turned around again and crouched down protectively.

Captain Perona picked up her dress from a chair and dropped it on top of her as though it were something unclean. “Please put this on and stop offending my modesty.”

Janet fought with the dress. “I can’t… It’s caught… Don’t you touch me!”

Captain Perona yanked the dress down over her head. “Please, senorita! This is no time to be flirtatious!”

Janet’s head emerged from the dress. “Oh! You—you—You know very well I had no nightclothes with me, and I had to wash out my underthings, and I didn’t have anything—”

“No doubt,” said Captain Perona.

He shoved her at the soldier with the carbine. The soldier took her arm and hustled her out into the hall. It was a flickering nightmare tunnel with flashlights reflecting from the cold blue of gun barrels, from gleaming brass buttons. There were more soldiers, crowded so close Janet had no chance to count them, their faces dark and tense, excitedly eager.

The one who had hold of her hurried her along, steered her down the stairs at a stumbling run. The big kerosene pressure lamp was lighted, swinging violently on its chain, and its shadows chased and jumped crazily over more soldiers. There were three of them at the door, peering in, and more at the window and the door into the kitchen. The one who was escorting Janet let go of her and ran upstairs again.

“Pardon me,” said Doan, “while I put on my pants.” He hopped industriously on one leg and then the other.

Carstairs sat on the floor looking rumpled and sleepily indignant. Lepicik was sitting at a table beside the staircase. He was fully dressed and as neat as ever. He was even carrying his green umbrella. He was not at all concerned by the uproar. His expression was one of vaguely polite interest.

“My dress!” Janet exclaimed, pulling at it frantically. “And—and I haven’t got any shoes on!”

“Neither have I,” said Doan cheerfully. He sat down and put his bare feet up on a chair. “The Captain seemed to be in a bit of a rush.”

“What is it?” Janet demanded. “What’s the matter?” She looked at the soldiers._ “Querasa?“_

One soldier shrugged. The others shook their heads at her.

“That clears everything up,” Doan observed.

“Are you sober now?” Janet asked him suspiciously.

Doan nodded. “Just about.”

“Well, do you feel—awfully bad?”

“No,” said Doan.

“I thought people always felt bad after they got drunk.”

“You have to have brains to get a hangover,” Doan told her. “I’m never troubled.”

“You_ were_ very drunk, you know. You sang questionable songs and beat on the table and told jokes that had no point and spilled three drinks.”

“That’s me,” Doan agreed. “That’s your old pal, Drunken Doan, when he gets curled.”

“Carstairs was very angry with you.”

“He’s an evil-tempered brute,” Doan said. “He’s always mad at something.”

The Henshaws, all three of them, came rumbling down the stairs like a group of frightened sheep with a soldier herding them along with judicious thrusts of his carbine butt.

“Say!” Henshaw said, struggling with his suspenders. “What gives here, anyway? Are we invaded?”

Mrs. Henshaw screamed: “I’ll tell the President! I’ll write him a letter! He’ll send a battleship right down here and blow you all up!”

“Yeow!” Mortimer screeched. “Maw!”

Mrs. Henshaw enveloped him in a stranglehold. “Don’t cry, baby! I won’t let the beasts shoot you!”

Henshaw was tucking in his shirttail. “This is sure a fine way to treat tourists and allies. Just wait until I talk before the Rotary Club. I’ll sure put the blister on these birds.”

“What were you yelling about a minute ago?” Doan asked him.

Henshaw looked sheepish. “You hear me? Well, I was havin’ a nightmare. A lulu, too. You know this mountain range is supposed to be a sleeping woman. I dreamed she was lying there all peaceful when a big mouse that looked like Carstairs came sneaking along, and she jumped up and let out a screech and shook her