Free Wrath of the Grinning Ghost by John Bellairs Page B

boat just like this an' I'd stay on the water for twenty-four hours a day!"
    Once they reached the island, the professor spied a ramshackle wooden shop called The Sand Dollar Store. A tattered poster beside the door announced that bicycles could be rented, and soon the two boys found themselves on twin red Schwinns with big, fat balloon tires that wouldn't sink into sand. They rode with their suitcases across the handlebars. Behind them the professor pumped along on a slightly rusted blue bicycle. He had lashed his suitcase to the rear fender, and he was quite a sight as he sat upright on the seat with great dignity, his chubby legs moving like pistons to push the pedals.
    They rode down the dirt road toward the Pirate's Cove cabins. "Look at me, John baby," crowed Fergie, leaning back. "No hands!" He raised his hands off the handlebars and rolled along with a smug smile on his face. Johnny was always too afraid of falling to try that trick. It was not so much that he feared getting a bump on the head. He was far more scared of getting a bad scrape and coming down with a deadly tetanus infection. Johnny was terrified of tetanus, or lockjaw. He held on tight to his handlebars.
    "One side, amateur!" roared the professor. Fergie grabbed his handlebars and swerved over to the right, ahead of Johnny. He looked around in bug-eyed astonishment as the professor pedaled serenely past, his arms folded across his chest. He stuck out his tongue at Fergie and winked mischievously. "I was doing the no-hands trick before your father was born!" he announced. "Watch me and learn a thing or three!"
    Just by leaning this way and that, the professor made his bike swoop gracefully from side to side. Fergie laughed his head off. "Better get a grip, Prof," he yelled. "If anybody sees you, they'll think a performing bear escaped from the circus or something!"
    "Says you!" returned the professor, but he did put his hands back on his handlebars. "John, unless I'm mistaken, that is our destination just ahead. I've reserved the same cabin that you and your dad stayed in. I hope that won't bother you."
    "No," said Johnny truthfully. In fact, he felt comforted by being back on Live Oak Key, where he and his father had enjoyed their vacation so much.
    They went into the main cabin, the one with the little newsstand and store and the check-in desk. A skinny, sour-faced, middle-aged man was behind the counter. He wore a loud Hawaiian shirt with pink and purple parrots all over it. The man was even shorter than the professor, and he had a head of spiky, rusty-red hair that bristled in all directions like a worn-out broom, except for a shiny pink bald spot right on the top of his head. As the professor asked for the key to the cabin, the man said in an irritable, whiny voice, "You din't say there was gonna be three o' you. That's an extry five dollars a night!"
    Johnny braced himself for an explosion, and indeed the professor began to puff himself up like the frog in the fairy tale, the one that tried to pump himself up to the size of an ox and finally blew himself to pieces. But the professor ground his teeth so loud that Johnny could hear the grating noise. Finally the old man simply grunted. "Very well," he snapped, and he pulled out his wallet and counted the money, slamming every bill on the counter. "And I shall certainly be sure to tell all my many Florida-bound friends of your hospitality!"
    Fergie said he had never seen a house raised up on stilts before, and he clambered up the steps, unlocked the door, and plunged right in. Before Johnny had even crossed the porch, he heard the air conditioner clatter to life.
    The professor took the bedroom that Major Dixon had used, and Johnny got his old room back. Fergie happily announced that he planned to sleep on the sofa, right in front of that magnificent air conditioner. As soon as they had unpacked their bags, they changed into more comfortable clothing. The professor had brought his red fishing cap along,