The Get Rich Quick Club by Dan Gutman Page B

police haven’t caught you yet,” I said. “Once they do, they’ll throw you in jail.”
    â€œI don’t wanna go to jail!” wailed Eddie.
    â€œOh, come on up and have a pozzie,” 4 Quincy said, extending her hand to them. Eddie stopped crying immediately, the little faker.
    â€œOkay, we let you up,” I said. “So what’s in the box?”
    Eddie opened the box. It was filled with clumpy dust, like what you’d find if you opened up a vacuum cleaner bag.
    â€œIt’s from my mommy’s clothes dryer,” he explained. “She lets me clean the lint screen.”
    â€œYou collect dryer dust ?” Quincy asked, unbelieving.
    â€œSure!” Teddy said. “Soon we’ll need a bigger box.”
    Rob, Quincy, and I looked at one another. These Bogles were weird.
    â€œMy grandpa planted this tree, you know,” Eddie told us. “He throwed a seed into a hole in the ground right here and planted it himself.”
    â€œIs that the fair dinkum?” 5 Quincy asked.
    Rob and I rolled our eyes. We both knew the Bogle twins were compulsive liars who would make up any kind of nutty story that came to their minds. I had already heard that the Bogles’ grandpa was the first man on the moon, the inventor of Silly Putty, and George Washington’s photographer.
    â€œAin’t that right, Teddy, about Grandpa planting this tree?”
    â€œYup. Our grandpa was Johnny Appleseed.”
    Rob and I snickered. We could have told the twins that the tree wasn’t an apple tree. We could have told them Neil Armstrong was the first man on the moon. We could have told them that photography wasn’t invented until way after George Washington was dead.
    But that would have spoiled the fun. Listening to the Bogle boys tell their tall tales was just about as entertaining as anything on TV, and somehow it helped us forget that we had two months of summer ahead of us with nothing to do.
    â€œYou sprogs are a cack,” 6 Quincy chuckled.
    â€œWhat do you wanna do?” I asked when we had tired of teasing the clueless Bogles.
    â€œI don’t know,” Rob said. “What do you want to do?”
    â€œWe could go to the flicks,” Quincy said.
    â€œI don’t have any money,” I muttered.
    â€œBowling?” Rob suggested.
    â€œThat costs money too,” I reminded him.
    â€œWhy don’t we go to the playground?” Teddy Bogle suggested. “Going to the playground doesn’t cost anything.”
    â€œGoing to the playground is no fun,” I informed him. “If it was fun, it would cost money. Anything fun costs money.”
    What a depressing thought. Money was the thing I wanted more than anything, and I didn’t have any of it. I had spent my birthday money, and Christmas wasn’t for months. This was a serious problem.
    â€œDo you know what makes the world go around?” I asked the group.
    â€œThe gravitational pull of the sun?” Rob guessed.
    â€œNo,” I replied.
    â€œWind?” guessed Quincy.
    â€œOink?” oinked Chester the pig.
    â€œA giant hamster?” guessed Teddy. “Running on a treadmill?”
    â€œNo,” I told them. “It’s money . Money makes the world go around.”
    They all looked at me.
    â€œMoney can’t buy world peace,” Rob said.
    I turned to him. “Who needs world peace when you can buy a piece of the world?”
    â€œI’ve got a piggy bank at home,” Eddie Bogle announced.
    â€œHow much money do you have in it?” I asked.
    â€œNone,” he replied. “All I have is the piggy bank.”
    I told you Eddie was annoying.
    â€œCome on, blokes,” Quincy said. “Hit your kick.” 7
    We emptied our pockets. I had a dime. Rob had a nickel, two pennies, and a half a pack of Life Savers.The twins each had a penny that their mother had given them for good luck.
    â€œI haven’t a brass