true," said Masklin gloomily. "So let's just sit down and be quiet, shall we?"
They sat in silence for a long time, under the seat.
Then Gurder said, "That human there has got a hole in its sock."
"What about it?" said Angalo.
"Dunno, really. It's just that you never think of humans as having holes in their socks."
"Where you get socks, holes aren't far behind," said Masklin.
"They're good socks, though," said Angalo.
Masklin stared at them. They just looked like basic socks to him. Nomes in the store used them as sleeping bags.
"How can you tell?" he said.
"They're Hi-style Odorprufe," said Angalo. "Guaranteed 85% Polysomething. We used to sell them in the Store. They cost a lot more than other socks. Look, you can see the label." Gurder sighed.
"It was a good Store," he muttered.
"And those shoes," said Angalo, pointing to the great white shapes like beached boats a little way away. "See them? Crucial Street Drifters with Real Rubber Soul. Very expensive."
"Never approved of them, myself," said Gurder. "Too flashy. I preferred Mens, Brown, Laced. A nome can get a good night's sleep in one of those."
"Those Drifter things are Store shoes, too, are they?" said Masklin, carefully.
"Oh, yes. Special range."
"Hmm." Masklin got up and walked over to a large leather bag half wedged under the seat. The others watched him scramble up it and then pull himself up until he could, very quickly, glance over the armrest. He slid back down.
"Well, well," he said, in a mad, cheerful voice.
"That's a Store bag, isn't it?" he said.
Gurder and Angalo gave it a critical look.
"Never spent much time in Travel Accessories," said Angalo, "but now that you mention it, it could be the Special Calfskin Carry-on Bag." "For the Discerning Executive?" Gurder added.
"Yes. Could be." "Have you wondered how we're going to get off?" said Masklin.
"Same way as we got on?" said Angalo, who hadn't.
"I think that could be difficult. I think the humans might have other ideas," said Masklin. "I think, in fact, they might start looking for us. Even if they think we're mice. I wouldn't put up with mice on something like this if I were them. You know what mice are like for widdling on wires. Could be dangerous when you're ten miles high, a mouse going to the bathroom inside your computer. So I think the humans will take it very seriously. So we ought to get off when the humans do." "We'd get stamped on!" said Angalo.
"I was thinking maybe we could sort of... get in this bag, sort of thing," said Masklin.
"Ridiculous!" said Gurder.
Masklin took a deep breath.
"It belongs to Grandson Richard, 39, you see," he said. "I checked," he added, watching the expressions on their faces. "I saw him before, and he's in the seat up there. Grandson Richard," he went on, "39. He's up there right now. Reading a paper. Up there. Him."
Gurder had gone red. He prodded Masklin with a finger. "Do you expect me to believe," he said, "that Richard Arnold, the grandson of Arnold Bros. (est. 1905), has holes in his socks?"
"That'd make them holy socks," said Angalo. "Sorry. Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood a bit. You don't have to glare at me like that."
"Climb up and see for yourself," said Masklin. "I'll help you. Only be careful." They hoisted Gurder up.
He came down quietly.
"Well?" said Angalo.
"It's got R. A. in gold letters on the bag too," said Masklin. He made frantic signs to Angalo.
Gurder was looking as though he had seen a ghost.
"Yes, you can get that," said Angalo, hurriedly. " 'Gold Monogram at Only Five Ninety-nine Extra,' it used to say on the sign."
"Speak to us, Gurder," said Masklin. "Don't just sit there looking like that."
"This is a very solemn moment for me," said Gurder.
"I thought I could cut through some of the stitching and we could get in at the bottom," said Masklin.
"I am not worthy," said Gurder.
"Probably not," said Angalo cheerfully. "But we won't tell anyone."
"And Grandson Richard, 39, will be helping us, you
They sat in silence for a long time, under the seat.
Then Gurder said, "That human there has got a hole in its sock."
"What about it?" said Angalo.
"Dunno, really. It's just that you never think of humans as having holes in their socks."
"Where you get socks, holes aren't far behind," said Masklin.
"They're good socks, though," said Angalo.
Masklin stared at them. They just looked like basic socks to him. Nomes in the store used them as sleeping bags.
"How can you tell?" he said.
"They're Hi-style Odorprufe," said Angalo. "Guaranteed 85% Polysomething. We used to sell them in the Store. They cost a lot more than other socks. Look, you can see the label." Gurder sighed.
"It was a good Store," he muttered.
"And those shoes," said Angalo, pointing to the great white shapes like beached boats a little way away. "See them? Crucial Street Drifters with Real Rubber Soul. Very expensive."
"Never approved of them, myself," said Gurder. "Too flashy. I preferred Mens, Brown, Laced. A nome can get a good night's sleep in one of those."
"Those Drifter things are Store shoes, too, are they?" said Masklin, carefully.
"Oh, yes. Special range."
"Hmm." Masklin got up and walked over to a large leather bag half wedged under the seat. The others watched him scramble up it and then pull himself up until he could, very quickly, glance over the armrest. He slid back down.
"Well, well," he said, in a mad, cheerful voice.
"That's a Store bag, isn't it?" he said.
Gurder and Angalo gave it a critical look.
"Never spent much time in Travel Accessories," said Angalo, "but now that you mention it, it could be the Special Calfskin Carry-on Bag." "For the Discerning Executive?" Gurder added.
"Yes. Could be." "Have you wondered how we're going to get off?" said Masklin.
"Same way as we got on?" said Angalo, who hadn't.
"I think that could be difficult. I think the humans might have other ideas," said Masklin. "I think, in fact, they might start looking for us. Even if they think we're mice. I wouldn't put up with mice on something like this if I were them. You know what mice are like for widdling on wires. Could be dangerous when you're ten miles high, a mouse going to the bathroom inside your computer. So I think the humans will take it very seriously. So we ought to get off when the humans do." "We'd get stamped on!" said Angalo.
"I was thinking maybe we could sort of... get in this bag, sort of thing," said Masklin.
"Ridiculous!" said Gurder.
Masklin took a deep breath.
"It belongs to Grandson Richard, 39, you see," he said. "I checked," he added, watching the expressions on their faces. "I saw him before, and he's in the seat up there. Grandson Richard," he went on, "39. He's up there right now. Reading a paper. Up there. Him."
Gurder had gone red. He prodded Masklin with a finger. "Do you expect me to believe," he said, "that Richard Arnold, the grandson of Arnold Bros. (est. 1905), has holes in his socks?"
"That'd make them holy socks," said Angalo. "Sorry. Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood a bit. You don't have to glare at me like that."
"Climb up and see for yourself," said Masklin. "I'll help you. Only be careful." They hoisted Gurder up.
He came down quietly.
"Well?" said Angalo.
"It's got R. A. in gold letters on the bag too," said Masklin. He made frantic signs to Angalo.
Gurder was looking as though he had seen a ghost.
"Yes, you can get that," said Angalo, hurriedly. " 'Gold Monogram at Only Five Ninety-nine Extra,' it used to say on the sign."
"Speak to us, Gurder," said Masklin. "Don't just sit there looking like that."
"This is a very solemn moment for me," said Gurder.
"I thought I could cut through some of the stitching and we could get in at the bottom," said Masklin.
"I am not worthy," said Gurder.
"Probably not," said Angalo cheerfully. "But we won't tell anyone."
"And Grandson Richard, 39, will be helping us, you
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