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his legs.
    Richie stood at the front of the room, by the bulletin board that held announcements of upcoming folk dances, poetry readings, and a sign-up sheet for the next outing to Sizzler. He smiled nervously. “Things are tough,” he began, “but we’ve all been through bad times before. We have to stick together. We don’t want to lose the Fourth Quarter.”
    “I say we should take the offer they’ve made to buy us out,” Elmer yelled out. ’That way we won’t end up with nothing.”
    “Where we’ll end up is living in some dump on the wrong side of the railroad tracks,” Richie said vehemently. “I went to check out the place where they want to move us. It’s broken down and it stinks.”
    “Well, at least we’ll all go there with a check in our pocket,” Elmer cried, still grouchy from not getting a chocolate cookie. “If we don’t take their deal right now, then we’ll all be tossed out of here with no place to go and no money to get there.”
    The group started shaking their heads and muttering as Richie called for them to calm down.
    “My run-proof panty hose really works. I’ve got a patent on it. I’m showing it off this weekend at the convention. All the big companies will be there.”
    “But Richie, your last big invention bombed,” Millie Owens choked.
    “Do you call the Clapper a bomb? The guy who invented that beat me to the marketplace. My device worked practically the same way.”
    “Richie, it’s easier to clap hands to shut off the television than it is to sneeze it off.” Millie snorted.
    “Not for people with arthritis,” Richie protested.
    Flo placed the tray of Gatorade on a side table. “Let’s get to the point.”
    Richie agreed. “Now we all put money into the option. Of course none of us want to lose it. That’s why we just have to sit tight until this weekend, when I show the panty hose at the convention.”
    “But you told us that the panty hose was wonderful and that all the companies would be lining up to buy it,” Elmer accused. “What happened to that?”
    “I sent them letters, but it’s not until they see it that they’ll know. That’s why we’re doing the fashion show. They’ll all want it, I’ll sell it, and we’ll get to stay here. By the end of this weekend I’ll be a millionaire and I’ll buy this place for all of us. It’s our only hope.”
    Flo interrupted. “Let’s get a report from our treasurer.”
    Nonna Begster stood up with her clipboard in hand and walked to the front of the room. She had an angelic-looking face and graced the group with a beatific smile. Her white cardigan sweater was thrown around her shoulders and buttoned at the neck, leaving its arms dangling at her sides. She cleared her throat and began speaking in a voice that was clear as a bell. “As of three P.M. this afternoon, Eastern Daylight Time, our account at Ocean Savings contained eight hundred twenty-two dollars and seventy-seven cents. This is a result of our bake sale, door-to-door pot-holder drive, and paper-recycling effort. Given that we need one point one million dollars to purchase said property, that leaves us in need of one million, ninety-nine thousand, one hundred seventy-seven dollars and twenty-three cents. Thank you.”
    “Give me a break,” Elmer yelled. “We’ve got to win the lottery to raise that much money. Like I said before, we should just take what they’re offering and not risk losing everything.”
    “I can’t stand the idea of leaving this place,” Millie Owens moaned sadly. “My son and daughter-in-law would take me in, but they live in Montana and it gets so friggin’ cold there.”
    “Oh, I know what you mean,” Wilhelmina Jackson said enthusiastically. “My daughter-in-law is a pain in my butt.”
    Richie interrupted. “If we could all just agree to wait till the end of the weekend and my fashion show, which a few of you ladies have agreed to model in, then I promise you we won’t have to leave . . .”

R EGAN