It's Monday.

Fifteen Grand Central Station

After the concert Mama and Papa Bellini had to go off for the evening. They left Mario in charge of the newsstand and told him they would be back later to help him close up. The boy took Chester out of the cricket cage, balancing him on one finger. He was glad that they were going to have some time to themselves for a change. First he took a cardboard sign he had printed saying NEXT CONCERT 8 A.M. and leaned it up against the cage. “That’ll keep people from bothering us about when you play next,” he said. Chester chirped. But he knew he wouldn’t be playing the next morning at 8 a.m. “Now we have supper,” said Mario. He unwrapped a fried-egg sandwich for himself and brought over a mulberry leaf from the cash register drawer for Chester. (The mulberry leaves were kept in the compartment next to the quarters.) For dessert there was a Hershey bar—a smidgin from one corner for Chester and the rest for Mario. Then, after dinner, they began to play games. Leapfrog was one they enjoyed very much. Mario made a fist and Chester had to jump over it. The trick was that Mario could put his fist anywhere he wanted inside the newsstand, and Chester still had to land just on the other side of it. They kept score for half an hour. Chester had thirty-four hits to five misses—which was quite good, considering the hard places Mario found to put his fist. Hide-and-seek was fun too. Mario closed his eyes and counted, and Chester hid somewhere in the newsstand. Since there were piles of papers all over, and since he was very small himself, the cricket found lots of good hiding places. If Mario couldn’t find him in a few minutes, Chester would give a quick chirp as a hint. But it was hard to tell whether the sound came from behind the alarm clock, or from the Kleenex box, or from the cash register drawer. If Chester had to chirp three times, it was understood he had won the game. About ten o’clock Mario began to yawn and they stopped playing. The boy sat on the stool, with his back resting on the side of the stand, and Chester gave him a private recital. He didn’t play any of things he’d learned—just made up one of his own pieces as he went along. And he played very softly so the people in the station wouldn’t hear and come over. He wanted this to be for Mario alone. As he listened, the boy’s eyes slowly closed and his head dropped over on one shoulder. But through his sleep he could still hear the cricket’s silvery chirping. Chester ended his song and sat on the shelf, looking at Mario. A “psst” sound came up from the floor—just as it had on his first night in the newsstand. The cricket looked over. There was Tucker again, gazing up at him. It struck Chester what a funny but likable expression the mouse’s face always wore. “You better hurry,” whispered Tucker. “Harry found a timetable and the train leaves in an hour.” “I'll be over in a minute,” Chester called down to him. Mario’s right hand was cupped in his lap. The cricket jumped down into the palm of it. In his sleep the boy felt something and stirred. Chester was afraid he would wake him up, but Mario only settled in a new position. The cricket lifted his wings and drew them lightly together. There was all of his love, and goodbye too, in that one chirp. Mario smiled at the familiar sound. Chester looked around at the newsstand—the box of Kleenex, the alarm clock, Papa’s pipe. When he came to the cash register, he paused. Quickly springing to the edge of the drawer, he vanished back into the darkness. When he came out again, the little silver bell was hooked over his left front leg. Holding it tight against him to muffle the tinkle, he jumped to the stool, to the floor, and out the crack. “What’s the bell for?” asked Tucker when he arrived at the drain pipe. “It’s mine,” said Chester. “Mario said so. And I want it to remember everything by.” Tucker Mouse rummaged through the crowded corner of his home which was the pantry and found a tiny package bound with Scotch Tape. “I packed some supper for you to have on the train,” he said. “Nothing very much—I mean, delicious, of course—a piece of steak sandwich and a chocolate cookie—but none too good for such talent!” “Thank you, Tucker,” said Chester. He wanted to sound very cheerful, but the words came out sort of gulpy. “Well, I guess we should go,” said Harry Cat. “I guess so,” said Chester. He said one more look through the drain pipe. From down the tracks came the murmur of the shuttle. Mario was still asleep in the newsstand. The neon lights shed their endless blue-green glow. The cricket wanted to remember every detail. “It’s fumy,” he said at last. “Sometimes the subway station looks almost beautiful.” “I’ve always thought so,” said Tucker. “Come on,” said Harry Cat. He and Tucker padded along beside Chester up to the sidewalk. Above ground the night was fresh and clear—not as hot as summer or as cool as autumn. Chester jumped up on Harry’s back and took hold of the fur there. He could probably have made it down to Grand Central Station jumping by himself, but it saved time to be given a ride. And crossing the streets would have been a problem too for a cricket raised in Connecticut. But Tucker and Harry were experts at traveling in the city. Not a single human being saw them as they glided soundlessly under the cars that lined Forty-second Street. When they reached the station, Harry led the way through a maze of pipes and deserted rooms and back halls down to the level where the trains were. He was a great explorer, Harry Cat, and knew most of the secret ins and outs of New York City. The Late Local Express was leaving on track 18. Chester hopped onto the rear platform of the last car and settled himself in a corner that would be out of the wind. And there were only a few minutes left before the train started. “How will you know when you get to Connecticut?” said Tucker. “You were buried under sandwiches when you left there.” “Oh, I’ll know!” said Chester. “I’ll smell the trees and I’ll feel the air, and I’ll know.” No one said anything. This was the hardest time of all. “Maybe you could come back for a visit next summer,” said Harry Cat. “Now that you know the way.” “A return engagement at the newsstand,” said Tucker. “Maybe I can,” said Chester. There was another pause. Then the train gave a lurch forward. And as soon as it started to move, the three friends all found that they still had millions of things to say. Harry shouted that Chester should take care of himself—Tucker told him not to worry about the Bellinis, he would look after them—and Chester just kept chirping goodbye as long as he could. For a while the two who stayed could see the cricket waving, but then the train rushed away into the darkness of the tunnel and was lost. They strained their eyes through the blackness. “Did you hear another chirp?” said Tucker after a minute. “Come on, Tucker,” said Harry. “Let’s go home.” Together they tramped up to Times Square and down the drain. Neither one of them said a word. They looked out the hole. Mario hadn’t waked up yet. “He’s going to be very unhappy,” said Tucker. Mama and Papa Bellini came up the stairs from the lower level, Mama gasping from the climb. Papa gently shook Mario awake. Suddenly Mama’s gasping stopped and she said, “Where’s the cricketer?” They searched the newsstand completely but couldn’t find him. Mama was sure that the man who tried to steal the bell had come back and kidnapped him. She wanted to call the police. Papa thought he might have stepped out for a breath of fresh air. But Mario was quiet, thinking. He looked through the cash register drawer, in every compartment, and then pulled the drawer out completely. The back space was empty—except for Mama’s earring. “He won’t come back,” said Mario. “How do you know?” said Papa. “The bell’s gone,” said Mario. “You and I and the cricket were the only ones who knew where it was. If a thief had taken it, he would have taken the money from the cash register too. My cricket took it and went home.” Mario’s voice dropped off abruptly. But then it came back firm. “And I’m glad.” Mama was about to exclaim that she didn’t believe it, but Papa put his hand on her arm. He said he wasn’t sure—but it might be. Mario didn’t say anything more, because he knew. They put on the cover to the newsstand and went down to their subway. Tucker Mouse looked at Harry Cat. “He knows,” he said. Harry swished his tail around him and said, “Yes, he knows.” They were so relieved that for a minute neither of them moved. It was all right for everybody. After a while they went back and lay down on the shredded newspapers. But neither of them seemed to be able to fall asleep. Tucker Mouse changed his position. “Harry,” he said. “Yes?” said Harry Cat. “Maybe next summer we could go to the country.” “Maybe we can.” “I mean—the country in Connecticut,” said Tucker. “I know what you mean,” said Harry Cat.

The end