Binky's jaw dropped. He couldn't believe he had heard such bold words from the cute little hamster girl sitting before him.

"Have you ever read Much Ado About Nothing by Shakespeare?" Mavis asked him. Positive that he hadn't, she went on. "Beatrice asks Benedick to prove his love for her by killing the man who framed her innocent cousin Hero. Now I'm not asking you to kill Molly, just to fight her."

"B-b-but I can't fight Molly," stammered Binky. "She's a girl. And besides, she might win."

"Fight her and I'll kiss you," said Mavis gleefully.

Binky groaned. He could think of no honorable way to escape from the sticky situation in which he had placed himself.

----

When Beat arrived at her apartment, she found her father at the computer, preparing slides for a political science lecture scheduled for the following week. Her mother was cleaning up the flour left on the kitchen counter by the batch of fresh crumpets she had made.

"Mum, Dad, guess what?" said Beat excitedly as she pulled off her parka. "Mavis isn't rich after all. Her dad runs a local bank branch, and her mum's a general practitioner. She goes to Uppity Downs because of her uncle's will."

"That's lovely, dear." Mrs. Simon gestured toward a tray of crumpets on the kitchen table.

"I'm not hungry." Beat walked up to her mother and looked at her pleadingly. "Mum, do we have any rich uncles who are about to kick the bucket?"

"Beatrice Margaret!" Mrs. Simon pointed an angry finger at Beat. "Don't you dare talk that way."

"You don't have any rich uncles," said Mr. Simon without looking away from the computer. "Or rich aunts. The only way we'll ever be rich is if your mother's books become popular, and that shows no sign of happening soon."

Beat walked out of the kitchen, shaking her head in exasperation. "There must be a way to get enough money. Dad, what if you stopped trying to sue Mr. Crosswire?"

"Then I'd be stuck with all the lawyer fees," Mr. Simon replied, "and we'd be in worse shape than we are now."

Beat seated herself on the living room couch and began to sulk. "I wish we weren't so bloody poor," she moaned.

"Don't use gutter language," Mrs. Simon admonished her.

Mr. Simon turned in his office chair and faced his daughter. "If you want more advanced schooling, then why did you turn down the chance to advance to fifth grade when it was offered you?"

"I'd go to fifth grade at Uppity Downs if I had the chance," Beat answered.

"Lakewood Elementary is a fine school," Mr. Simon continued, "as far as the American system of education goes. Some children are rich enough or lucky enough to go to an even better school, but you're not one of them. So live with it. End of discussion." He turned back to face the computer screen.

Mrs. Simon came out of the kitchen and sat next to Beat, who looked more sullen than ever. "Honey, if we could afford to send you to Uppity Downs, we would," she said comfortingly.

"No, we wouldn't," Roger chimed in. "We'd put the money to some better use. I don't want my little girl to grow up to be like those haughty-taughty snobs."

Beat pushed herself off the couch and glared at her father. "You think everyone who's rich is a snob," she ranted. "You think you're better than they are because you're not rich. That makes you a...a...the opposite of a snob!" Having said this, she marched into her bedroom and slammed the door after her.

Climbing onto her bed, she grabbed the cell phone from her belt and sighed gloomily as she started to dial a number.

"Hello?" came a man's voice.

"Mr. Pryce-Jones, it's Beat."

"Oh, hello, Beat. Calling again so soon?"

"Why didn't you tell me that Mavis wasn't rich?"

Beat heard a pause on the other end of the connection, followed by, "Why does that matter to you?"

"It doesn't. Well, yes, it does. Because if she's not rich, and she goes to Uppity Downs, then maybe I can go too. I don't have any rich uncles, but maybe there's another way."

There was more silence on the line.

"Beatrice," said Pryce-Jones seriously, "I'm afraid I may have gotten your hopes up. When I told you that you'd fit in well at our school, what I really meant was, you'd fit in well if you had the means to enroll. I hope I didn't give you the impression that you have a realistic chance of attending."

Beat's heart plummeted like a stone.

"If it were merely a question of intelligence, we could easily welcome you in," the teacher went on. "But Uppity Downs Academy is a business, and it employs the best teachers, and pays them the salaries that they deserve. All of that money has to come from somewhere, and it comes mainly from tuition. So unless you can convince a well-to-do relative or friend to support you, my advice to you is to stay at your own school, and be content with it."

Tears came to Beat's eyes as she realized that her fondest desire would never come to pass. She flipped the cell phone closed and tossed it onto the floor.

----

Elwood City's main cultural venue, the recently completed Katzenellenbogan Music Hall, towered above the surrounding office buildings and parking garages like a gigantic breadbox. That was the popular consensus as to the appearance of the drab, windowless structure.

Regardless, music fans of all ages were thrilled at the chance to attend the first concert held in the building, which would feature the talents of Wynton Marsalis and his jazz quintet. An hour before the program was to begin, dozens of people were already milling about in the lobby, admiring the paintings lining the walls and the modern sculptures mounted at various points.

Most excited of all were Fern, Arthur, Francine, and Alan, who constituted the Sue E. Armstrong Quartet for as long as Sue Ellen was unable to play her saxophone. For the occasion the kids were wearing the best clothes they could find. Francine had acquired a pair of black satin pants (she refused to wear a dress), Arthur wore a white shirt and bowtie, and Fern was clad in a red sequined gown. Musical instruments--a drum set, bass, and keyboard--had been provided for them, and were waiting at the west end of the lobby. The coordinator of the Young Musicians Program, a raven-haired raven woman, greeted the four kids as they arrived.

"You kids ready to make some music?" she asked with enthusiasm.

"You bet!" exclaimed the smiling Fern. "Bring on the fans!"

As Arthur, Francine, and Alan sat down and began to tinker with the unfamiliar instruments, the patrons slowly started to form a ring around them. Then three more kids--Muffy, Sue Ellen, and Van--pushed their way through the throng toward the young musicians.

"Make way, everyone," Muffy bellowed. "Wheelchair boy and girl with broken arm coming through." The spectators politely stood aside, allowing the three children to assume their positions next to the performers.

Muffy cleared her throat and spoke into the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen! It gives us great pleasure to present to you...the Sue E. Armstrong Jazz Quartet, with special guest vocalist, Fern Walters!" Fern bowed politely to the assembled crowd.

"On keyboard, Arthur 'The Aardvark' Read!" Arthur smiled and waved.

"On drums, Francine 'The Frenzy' Frensky!" Francine waved her drumsticks in the air.

"On bass, Alan 'The Brain' Powers!" Alan pumped his fist triumphantly.

"In the sidelines, Sue Ellen 'The Felon' Armstrong, the founder of our group, who is unable to play with us tonight!" Sue Ellen waved with her good hand.

"Van Cooper, who manages the whole mess!" Van waved and blew a kiss to the spectators.

"And myself, Muffy Crosswire, who really had nothing to do with any of this, which is why their clothes are so tacky!" Fern scowled at her.

"What are you waiting for?" Muffy called to the musicians.

"A-one, a-two, a-three..." Fern began, and the quartet launched into a rendition of a Fats Waller standard:

"No one to talk with, all by myself,

No one to walk with, but I'm happy on the shelf.

Ain't misbehavin', I'm savin' my love for you."

As the patrons whistled and tapped their feet to the lively music, a man stood nearby talking into a cell phone. "I'll let him know right away. Good luck."

"I took a trip on a train," Fern warbled, "and I thought about you..."

The man who had held the cell phone conversation was now talking to another man, who appeared quite consternated. "You can't be serious!" he protested. "How many things can go wrong in one night?"

Time passed quickly, and Fern belted out one song after another, pausing only for occasional drinks of water from a nearby bottle. The gathered patrons one by one left the scene and entered the main hall to take their seats. Soon only three were left, and Fern noticed that the wall clock read five minutes until the hour. She and the other musicians concluded their song, and the three remaining listeners applauded and started toward the hall.

Fern wiped her brow. "Oh, that was exhausting," she muttered to Arthur, Francine, and Alan. "I don't think I could do that again."

"We'd like you to anyway," came a man's voice from behind her. Turning, she saw two dark-complexioned bear men standing before her, wearing tags that identified them as music hall personnel.

"Marsalis and his quintet have been delayed," said one of the men. "They may be as much as forty-five minutes late. We'd like you to take your instruments to the main stage and cover for them."

Fern, Arthur, Francine, and Alan felt as though all their vital organs had suddenly leaped into their throats and were choking them.

(To be continued...)