"The profit motive is what made this nation great," trumpeted Ed Crosswire. "It's what made us Crosswires what we are today. Only a fool sells things for what they're worth. No one can make a living that way."

It sounded like a discourse on economic theory, but it was delivered in the dining room of the Crosswire mansion by an exhausted, slightly pale man in a green shirt and tie. Muffy had heard similar speeches many times before, and so had her mother. Only baby Tyson, who was giggling and taking clumsy steps on the thick brown carpet, didn't appear bored.

"Our inventory was virtually wiped out last week," Mr. Crosswire went on. "We received a hundred new cars over the weekend, but we haven't sold a single one. Everybody comes to the lot expecting to see the same low, low prices that they saw when I was under the influence of...whatever influence it was that made me so generous."

"We've been through worse times," replied Mrs. Crosswire nonchalantly.

"No, Millicent, we haven't," her husband retorted. "After the events of the past two weeks, keeping Crosswire Motors afloat will be a challenge. We will all have to tighten our belts and make do with less."

Muffy frowned. "I guess this isn't a good time to ask why you haven't hired me a new chauffeur yet."

Mr. Crosswire narrowed his eyes at her. "Because I may have to let go ofmy chauffeur before this is over," he answered grimly.

Her father's words faded into oblivion as Muffy lost herself in thought. Did she really want a new chauffeur? None of her friends commuted to school in a limousine. There were times when she wanted to throw it all away, to live an unremarkable life of relative poverty, and there was one particular time when she had done so, and had been punished for it. Nothing would change--she would always be a poor little rich girl, as sure as her last name was Crosswire. For three generations the name had stood for industry, success, and money, money, money, and her father was determined to not be the weak link in the chain. The family's used car empire would remain solvent, whatever the cost.

"The communists are behind it," Mr. Crosswire ranted. "They used some sort of mind control weapon on the city and made everyone honest and kind-hearted."

She wanted to stick her nose in a book. Her friends used the same books she did--as long as she was studying, she was no different from them. But she couldn't leave the table until her father's long-winded tirade concluded.

"They want to sap and impurify our precious bodily fluids," he went on.

----

The inanity of Mary Moo Cow didn't compare to that of The Giggles, a new children's show from Australia--at least that was Arthur's assessment. Maybe it was the fact that the stars were four grown men who didn't wear costumes and ended every other sentence with "mate". Maybe it was that ridiculous pirate, Captain Wifflebat.

"Ahoy, mates!" bellowed the captain, a scruffy man who wore an eyepatch and an animatronic parrot on his shoulder. "All aboard me friendly pirate ship!"

As he watched the dozens of brightly dressed kids follow the grinning pirate, Arthur shook his head in disgust. "This is a baby show," he grumbled.

D.W., who sat on the couch to his right, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it is."

Arthur smiled at her. "If you think it's a baby show, then it really must be a baby show."

On D.W.'s right was seated Baby Kate, who giggled and clapped her hands as she thrilled to the bouncy songs.

"As soon as Kate can talk," D.W. speculated, "she'll ask Mom to buy her the CD. Then she'll play it over and over again, and drive me crazy."

She and Arthur exchanged knowing glances.

D.W. rested her chin in her hands. "I'm turning into my brother," she lamented.

As they stared blankly at the TV screen, the doorbell rang, and their parents answered it. D.W. glanced into the kitchen...and saw a face she hadn't seen for two weeks.

"Nadine!" D.W. couldn't leap out of the couch quickly enough. As she hurried to greet her young squirrel friend, Arthur shut off the TV, grabbed Kate in his arms, and followed after.

"D.W., I haven't seen you for such a long time," Nadine gushed. "We had to get out of Salem because Mr. Winslow said a witch was after us, and then I stayed at aunt Judy's house in Nashua."

"I'm so glad you're safe," exulted D.W., hugging the once-imaginary, now-real girl.

Accompanying Nadine were her mother, Maria Harris, and a new Elwood City resident, Augusta Winslow--setting the stage for a bizarre reunion.

"Hello, Dave," Augusta greeted Mr. Read. "You've gotten taller."

Arthur had wondered for days how his father would react...

"Er, I don't think I know you," said Mr. Read, extending his hand to what appeared to be a strange rabbit woman.

"Uh, Dad," the disappointed Arthur spoke up, "that's Gus Winslow."

His father shot him an incredulous stare.

"I was there," Arthur continued. "I saw him change."

From that moment on, Arthur's parents essentially ignored him and absorbed themselves in friendly conversation with the visitors. Maybe they'll believe me when it's not April Fools Day anymore, he thought.

Placing Kate in her high chair, Arthur leaned against a wall, stuck his hands in his pockets, and listened to the chitchat between his parents and the two ladies. Finding it dreadfully dull, he wandered past Nadine, who was showing D.W. some postcards her aunt Judy had given her, and pushed open the front door.

Strolling idly along the sidewalk, he thought about the many unusual things that had happened to him during the school year--meeting a telepathic dog, standing before the Unicorn Council, watching an invisible presence attack George in the classroom, losing Sue Ellen, hearing Francine confess her love for him, being kissed by two girls at once, being turned into a cat, being knocked flat on his back by a kid on a runaway bicycle...

He didn't notice the scream of terror soon enough. When he looked up from his shoes, he saw a rat boy on a yellow bicycle hurtling toward him, unable to stop in time.

The impact knocked the breath from his lungs. Dazed, he fumbled about for his lost glasses, then found them and placed them over his eyes. Uninjured, he pushed himself to his feet and brushed the dust from his shirt. The next thing he saw was Alan, rolling up to him on a bike similar to the other boy's. "You okay, Arthur?" the bear boy asked.

"Uh, I think so," answered Arthur, taking off his spectacles to examine the lenses for cracks.

"I'm so terribly sorry, Arthur," came a voice from behind him, inflected with a colonial accent. Turning, he saw the boy who had once been a 17th-century girl, who went by the name of Dudley Proctor.

"At least you've learned how to go in a straight line," Alan quipped.

Dudley pushed his yellow bike up to Arthur's side. "Alan is being kind enough to teach me how to ride a bicycle," he explained. "It's not going well, as you can see."

"It takes practice," said Arthur glibly.

"Yes, practice," Dudley repeated. "Once I have knocked down every child in the city, I shall be an expert."

"Where do you live now, Doll...er, Dudley?" Arthur inquired.

Alan fielded the question. "My mom's filling out all the forms so she can take him in as a foster child."

"And I shall be a splendid foster child indeed," Dudley boasted.

Alan positioned his bicycle on the opposite side of Arthur. "Let's try it again," he instructed Dudley, "only this time, remember to use the brakes."

Before Alan and Dudley could mount their bikes, two more children approached them--George and his seven-year-old sister, Salma. The moose girl had wavy brown hair with red ribbons, and she wore an attractive red silk dress that reached her ankles.

"What's up, guys?" George hailed them. "Going on a bike ride?"

Alan and Dudley lowered the kickstands on their bicycles. "I'm giving Dudley lessons," Alan replied. "What about you?"

"I'm taking Sal to the library," George answered. "She wants to see the snake exhibit."

Salma grinned, flashing a pair of buck teeth. "Mom bought me a new dress," she informed the boys. "How do you like it?"

"It's nice," said Arthur and Alan in facile unison.

"It's...exquisite." Dudley, seemingly transfixed by the red dress, spoke in a reverential tone. "May I...may I touch it?"

"Go ahead." Salma held up a pleat so that Dudley could run his fingers over it.

"So soft," the rat boy muttered wistfully. "So luxurious. It must have cost a king's ransom."

"A what?" asked the befuddled Salma.

"A lot of money," Dudley clarified.

Salma giggled. "Not really. What's your name?"

"It's Dudley." The tone of his voice hinted that he despised the sound of his chosen name.

"My name's Salma Nordgren," the moose girl told him. "Everybody calls me Sal."

Dudley reluctantly let go of Sal's skirt. "It's a beautiful dress," he commented. "You're a beautiful girl."

Sal lowered her head bashfully and made doe-eyes at the boy. "Thanks."

George chimed in with a question. "Have any of you heard of someone called Dr. Portinari, from Philadelphia?"

Arthur, Dudley, and Alan traded blank looks.

"Okay. Come on, Sal," George urged his sister, and she followed him toward the library, looking over her shoulder at Dudley on occasion.

The rat boy watched the pair fade away, and sighed. "Oh, to be a girl again," he moaned, "and have a dress like hers."

Alan put a hand on Dudley's shoulder, trying to ease his sorrow. "I know this is tough for you," he said gently. "But you're a boy now. If you wear a dress, everyone will think you're gay."

"I would be gay," replied Dudley, "if I were a girl, and had that dress. I would be the gayest girl in all creation."

Arthur and Alan stared at each other, as if trying to mentally decide which of them should inform Dudley of the manner in which certain words had changed in meaning over the centuries.

But before they could decide, they burst into uncontrollable laughter.

TBC