Twelve year old Frogger Archibald is so desperate to earn money for a pair of new running shoes, he agrees to babysit the Terrible Troth twins, four-year-old brothers with a reputation for ruining the careers of Tichburg's best babysitters. But things just get worse during a visit from 85-year-old Cigar Davis, a neighbor. While Frogger is away on a short errand, Cigar manages to get Kenny's head stuck in a porch railing and then disappears as the fire department arrives to free him. When the rescuers finally depart, Frogger is left to clean up the mess and find the wandering old man.

BUBBLES AND BANGING

There was no immediate sign of Cigar when Frogger and the twins entered the house, so they checked the kitchen and the back porch in search of him. Certainly, there was clear evidence that he had been here earlier. Coffee still dripped across the kitchen counter, and drawers had been pulled out and emptied onto the floor. Wisps of white hair floated across the porch, gently wafting from the pile that surrounded Mrs. Troth's good linen tablecloth. Some of it had settled into the flowerbeds at the base of the porch, adding a feathery whiteness to a bed of purple periwinkle. There were also clear signs that the boys had engaged in a toy-tossing match during Frogger's absence, for a variety of action heroes peered out from the foliage below. Frogger sighed and grabbed the twins before they could return to the massive pile of toys spread across the porch.

"Kerry, I've got to clean you up before lunch. Once we get that oil slick off your head, we can eat."

Reasoning that dish detergent was supposed to be good at washing grease away, he steered Kerry toward the kitchen sink, standing him on a wooden chair so that he could reach the faucet. As warm water gushed from the spout, Frogger checked the temperature twice, then eased the boy's head under the stream. Ignoring the squawks of protest, he lathered Kerry up with the green liquid soap until his head was covered in suds.

"Keep your eyes shut tight," he commanded. "We'll rinse the soap off in a second."

Feeling left out, Kenny pushed a chair up to the counter beside them and used a frying-pan spatula to scoop up a mound of bubbles. Waving it frantically, he succeeded in launching the bubbles across the room.

"Hey, I want to do that too," whined Kerry, his eyes wide open despite the risk of the soap.

"So just shake your head, bubble brain," suggested Kenny.

Kerry decided to ignore the insult and gave his head a terrific shake, spattering soap all over Frogger. Soon, the counter and floor were a soapy mess, and the boys were shrieking gleefully - Frogger included. Turning it into a game, he coaxed Kerry to put his head back under the faucet for a thorough rinse and then obliged Kenny by doing the same to him. By the time they were finished, everyone was soaking wet and soapy puddles dotted the floor, but Kerry's oily head was as clean as a whistle, and the trauma that had taken place on Mrs. Gilmore's porch was forgotten.

When the soapy free-for-all ended and Frogger had turned off the tap, he started to dry the boys' heads using some dish towels he found in a pile of linens on the floor. It was nearly noon, and it seemed that at least the twins' lunch would be served on time. Things were beginning to look manageable again when a distant thwack sounded overhead.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Three muffled thuds that sounded as if . . . as if someone were pounding a wall with a . . . with a sledgehammer! Frogger shushed the twins and stood near the front hallway to listen harder. Two more thuds indicated that whatever it was, it was upstairs. Maybe on the third floor.

Certain that it must be Cigar Davis, Frogger felt no fear about investigating further, although he suddenly had a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. If the old man was up to something, it was bound to be more trouble for Frogger. Taking each twin by a hand, he crept up the 20 stairs to the second-floor landing. The interiors of most of the rooms were visible from the top step, and none of them offered a clue as to the source of the racket.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The burst of noise seemed to be coming from two directions at once. Above their heads, the ceiling shook, while at the end of the hall, a closed door rattled on its hinges. Certainly the sound was louder upstairs, and it seemed to be emanating from behind a narrow door located between the Troths' bedroom and the bathroom.

"What's in there?" whispered Frogger, pointing to the source of the noise.

"Stairs," answered Kenny.

"We're not allowed to go up them," stated Kerry.

"Where do they go?" asked Frogger.

"The attic," replied Kenny.

"Mommy's attic," added Kerry. "No one is allowed to go up there."

"Is it a ghost?" asked Kenny. "It's probably a ghost - and he's going to get you." He turned to his brother and made a scary face, stretching his mouth wide and bugging out his eyes.

"Nah. I think it's just Mr. Davis," said Frogger bravely. "Let's go on up and see what he's doing."

"I like him," offered Kerry. "He's lots of fun."

Followed by the boys, Frogger walked resolutely to the closed door and gently turned the knob and pulled. It was stuck, so he took a firmer grip and yanked hard. There were two more thuds overhead before the door flew open and a white cloud of dust came floating down on top of them. Frogger got the worst of it and began to cough violently, while the twins squeezed past him and charged up the steps through the haze. Frogger followed blindly, bent over so that he could feel his way up the steep steps. The stairs turned sharply to the right and then straightened out. As Frogger climbed, the cloud diminished, and he could begin to make out what must have been Mrs. Troth's office.

Beams of sunshine from two skylights illuminated the room, capturing the floating motes of dust in long, high columns, while the rest of the room was lost in shadow. Peering hard, Frogger made out the shape of Cigar Davis, flanked by two smaller figures. Everything was covered in a fine white powder, including the twins, whose damp hair and skin were caked with it. As he approached the trio, Frogger spotted a large crowbar and a sledgehammer next to a gaping hole in Mrs. Troth's clean white plaster wall.

"Boys, I found what I wuz lookin' fer," Cigar rejoiced. He was in high spirits, oblivious to the destruction around him. The twins huddled closer. "When I wuz young - 'bout Frogger's age there - I had a secret hidin' place up here. My folks stored things in the narrow crawl spaces behind them walls, 'n I'd crawl in there with a flashlight 'n hide when I wanted ta be by m'self - which was fairly often. I always seemed ta be in some kinda trouble."

The twins nodded understandingly. Certainly Frogger had no difficulty believing that the old man had upset his parents on a regular basis. Probably half the village was ready to lynch him at any given time.

"Well, my daddy 'n mama kept boxes 'n trunks full of ol' clothes 'n pictures 'n bits o' furniture up here, so I decided ta hide away a few treasures of my own. I found a loose floorboard in the crawl space, 'n I kept all sorts o' things down there, where nobody'd ever find 'em."

Cigar beamed over at Frogger, assuming that his story was so logical, no one could question the wisdom of bashing a huge hole in a newly renovated room in a house which did not belong to him.

"Yessir, Frogger, when I saw that picture of my Hazel hangin' in the front hall, I got ta thinkin' I'd left a lotta things behind with Doris when I headed South years ago. Sure 'nuff, all those ol' pictures 'n things are gone - heaven knows where, cuz I've just seen the one so far - but I started wonderin' if some of my boyhood treasures weren't still tucked away up here in my secret hidin' place."

At the word treasure, Kenny and Kerry moved in even closer to their newfound hero.

"You found treasure in Mommy's special room?" whispered an awestruck Kerry.

"Is it ours now?" asked Kenny.

"Oh, no, siree," laughed Cigar. "Yer folks may've bought the house 'n all the ol' junk in it, but I still own all the secrets." Turning to Frogger, he picked up a bright yellow Space Flight Starship with two headlights that he had found in the twins' room and directed its beams into the dark looming hole, big enough for three or four kids to climb through at once.

"Now, if ya'd do me the honor of takin' a peek, Frogger, we'll finish up this treasure hunt so's we can get back ta the barberin' business. My ol' body's just not up ta crawlin' around like it used ta be."