26-THERE MUST BE SOME MISTAKE!

THERE MUST BE SOME MISTAKE! That night, I fell into bed. Tomorrow I will definitely sleep in, I told myself. But at six o'clock the next morning, someone was knocking at my door. WHO IS IT NOW? I asked, exasperated. "It's the hotel manager, Gerattimo!" a voice squeaked. "Have you forgotten you are leaving today? You're very late! You're going to miss your plane!" I opened the door in a daze. "What do you mean I'm leaving? I've paid for a whole week," I muttered. The hotel manager just shook his head. He showed me a piece of paper from the TRUST ME, YOU'LL LIKE IT! travel

agency. It read: Gerattdmo Stilton: booking for two nights I was speechless. The hotel manager put his paw on my shoulder. "I know you want to stay longer, Gerattimo. The Rathole is such a wonderful hotel," he murmured. "But you must go home now. Better shake a paw. Remember, it's twenty miles to the airport. And if you don't leave now, the next available plane doesn't leave for another month." THAT DID IT. There was no way I was spending another month on San Shabby Fur Island. I grabbed my suitcase. Then I jumped on the strange bicycle and took off like a madmouse. It was a VERY, VERY, VERY LONG ride. Still, I managed to catch my plane just before it took off. I collapsed into my seat and fell into a

DEEP, DEEP SLEEP. The next thing I knew, a flight attendant was shouting in my ear. "Wake up, we've reached our destination, Mr. Gerattimo!" Ah, sweet, sweet Mouse Island. I had never been so glad to be home. I smiled at the flight attendant. "The name's Geronimo, Geronimo Stilton... I said with a yawn. Outside the airport, I hailed a taxi. "Take me to the TRUST ME, YOU'LL LIKE IT! travel agency, please," I told the driver. The taxi stopped in front of the agency. I leaped out. But I didn't get far. A card was stuck in the shop window.

CLOSED FOR VACATION. —SMOOTHIE SLICKMOUSE p.s. IN CASE OF AN EMERGENCY, PLEASE CONTACT MY PARTNER, MR. TRAP STILTON Just then, it hit me. Trap was Smoothie's partner. That's why he wanted me to book a trip with Smoothie. He was making money off me. Oh, what a cheesebrain I'd been! I ran to my cousin's thrift shop, Cheap Junk for Less. There was a card in this window, too. CLOSED, SUPER-CLOSED, I'M AWAY, GOT IT? I'M AT THE HIGH-CLASS RODENT LUXURY RESORT. (NOT IN A RAT'S NEST LIKE THE ONE THAT MY CHEESEBRAIN COUSIN GERONIMO WENT TO.)