“It’ll be the best float ever!” shouted Freddy. “I’ve been working on something top secret in my lab for it.”

“What is it?” asked his father.

“I can’t tell you yet, Dad, it’s a surprise.”

Nancy said, “I thought I’d act out all the plays of Shakespeare while we’re driving along the parade route. You know, to give the crowd something really special.”

Her father scratched his chin. “All of Shakespeare’s plays, Nanny Boo-Boo? Umm, the parade route’s not that long.”

“Dad, my name’s Nancy, remember?” she scolded. “Don’t worry, I’m going to talk really fast. And you never know; I might even get discovered along the way.”

“Discovered? Like by the people from the nuthouse?” piped in Freddy. “Does that mean I can have your room when they take you away in the straitjacket with duct tape over your mouth?”

“Hmmpph,” said Nancy as she flounced away with a squirt of ketchup aimed at her little brother.

A few minutes later Freddy walked outside to inspect the Burger Castle sign that hung across the front of the restaurant. The project he was working on for the float competition was based on the sign, and studying the sign helped him think about how the float design should look. The Burger Castle had once been a Laundromat made to look like an old castle complete with drawbridge and turrets. When the Funkhousers bought it, the turrets were sagging like frowning faces and its walls were crumbling. The floors were uneven, the doors didn’t open, and there were few windows. It was very dark inside.

The tall, thin Alfred Funkhouser had rubbed his sharp chin as he stared at the grand wreck for the first time. He then whipped out a level and plumb line and, using a thingamabob that looked like something very dangerous if it were thrown at you, he made a calculation. “It’s three-quarters of an inch from total collapse. It’s perfectly perfect!” he proclaimed, putting a hand through his jet black hair and rubbing a spot off his glasses.