The Ghastly Gerty Swindle With the Ghosts of Hungryhouse Lane by Sam McBratney Page A

bruise and have to be thrown out, and we’ll miss out on our natural fiber and vitamin C. Also, it’s wasteful and an insult to hungry people in Third World countries.”
    Mrs. Sweet glanced meaningfully at Mr. Sweet, who sighed and cried, “Charlie! Stop juggling with the pears.”
    The reply came from far away. “Bonnie hid my juggling balls.”
    â€œBonnie! Give him back his juggling balls.”
    â€œHe said my doll Lulubelle picks her nose!”
    Up rose Mr. Sweet, determined to nip this latest nonsense in the bud. First he gathered his children together in the hall and spoke to them firmly—Zoe, Charlie, Bonnie (nursing Lulubelle) and Muldoon, the dog.
    â€œNow listen. Nobody can concentrate with thatracket going on. If it continues, there will be no swimming pool. It will sit there empty, without water, forever. Now go and watch TV or read the
Encyclopedia Britannica.
”
    Off he marched with long and energetic strides—the walk of a man who meant every word he said. But Mr. Sweet did not know that Charlie and Bonnie liked the pool empty (it made a jolly good sunken tennis court). Zoe didn’t want to swim either—she had plans to turn the pool into a national hospital for sick seals and dolphins. However, they were quiet until after lunch.
    The next row broke out when Charlie pointed the TV remote control at Lulubelle and said, “Zap-zap-zap-zap-zap.”
    â€œStop it!” cried Bonnie, shielding Lulubelle with her arms.
    â€œStop what?”
    â€œYou’re switching her off! You did it before and you’re doing it again.”
    â€œWhere are my juggling balls, then?”
    The juggling balls were hiding up a drainpipe in the garden, but Bonnie had no intention of ever telling where they were after Charlie had said at breakfast that Lulubelle picked her nose. She hadn’t forgotten those words and she never would forget. The bashed-up, bald-headed ragdoll had survived four birthday parties, but looked about a hundred and three in spite of the brand-new pink satin bows it wore.
    Around came the remote control again. Zap!
    â€œMOMMEEE!”
    â€œWhat is it now?”
    â€œMommy, he’s switching off Lulubelle. He’s switching off my Lulubelle with the remote control.”
    The excitement in the air made Muldoon howl as if the postman was coming. (He hated the postman with all his heart.) Meanwhile, Charlie had accidentally switched channels, so that Zoe, instead of watching her nature program, saw Popeye swallowing spinach and then beating up Bluto.
    â€œMommy! The swine is channel-hopping again and I should have been an only
child
!”
    Into this din rushed Mr. Sweet with the light of battle flashing in his eyes. “You—up to your room. You—find those juggling balls. You—do the dishes. Into your bed, dog!”
    He watched them all go, then returned to the other room, where he sat at the backgammon board for some moments as if to marvel at the silence.
    â€œGeoffrey.”
    â€œYes, dear?”
    â€œWouldn’t it be a good idea if we sent the children away for a holiday?”
    Mr. Sweet knew what his wife meant. They could both do with a break. But who in their right mind would take them? He rolled his dice and got blasted double fives
again.
    * * *
    Later that day the Sweet kids (including Muldoon) met on the bottom of the empty swimming pool to hear Zoe read the letter they had just received in the mail. It was from Amy Steadings, their friend in Hungryhouse Lane:
    Dear Zoe, Charlie and Bonnie,
    How are you all? It’s so nice to be writing to you again. When are you coming to visit me, I’d like to know? Soon, I hope, now that the holidays have started. From your last letter, Zoe, I see that you are doing a project on ghosts. I wonder what your teacher will make of it! How is the juggling, Charlie? I’m sure you’ll soon be good enough to join a circus. Bonnie, did you get the satin