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house of the three Figgs. “Must be the spark plugs.”

    Truman greeted the latecomers at the door of the rambling house.
    â€œGot stuck with another lemon, Newt?”
    The greeting had been repeated so often over the years it seemed to be part of the ritual.
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    â˜… “That Truman Figg!” the people of Pineapple said. “He’s not a double-jointed idiot; he’s a triple-jointed idiot. No place too high or snug he can’t get to, but he just might paint your windows and wash your signs. Once at Sophie and Doc Davenports’ he signed his name on all the windows and painted the washer. He may be a real fancy letterer, but what can Flabby Benckendorf do with a ten-foot sign that reads ‘Benckendrug’s Dorfs’? There ought to be a law against naming idiots after presidents of the U.S.A.”
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    The Figg troupe, minus the Kanines, was gathered and waiting in the parlor. Fido winked at Mona, who nodded, indicating all was in order for tomorrow’s bus-painting.
    â€œ ’Twas on the Isle of Capri
That I met her,
‘Neath the shade
Of an old apple tree....”
    Singing and tapping, Sissie entered the room and bowed to imagined applause.
    â€œEverybody ready?” she asked.
    Ignoring Remus’ remark that they had been ready for half an hour, she directed the congregation into a circle in the middle of the floor. “Now, all sit down,” she commanded. “Come on, Mona.”
    Draped in an easy chair, Mona glumly refused to participate.
    â€œI’ll just watch.”
    â€œDon’t be such a pill, Mona,” Fido said. He crossed his feet and lowered himself into the lotus position without using his hands. He was blowing his nose.
    Romulus and Remus flopped down together, hand in hand.
    Florence sat down almost imperceptibly, having the least way to go. His gasp of surprised pain was drowned out by the loud grunt Kadota emitted as he squatted and bounced on the carpet.
    His wife, Gracie Jo, family outsider, knelt down beside him on a cushion.
    Newt, always confused about which leg folded over which, was arranged by Sissie.
    â€œLeave room for Truman,” she ordered. The floor-sitters sidled, rocked, and knocked into one another as they moved in both directions to make space for the missing brother.
    â€œHere I come,” Truman shouted, cartwheeling down the hall. He bounded into the room with two handsprings, leaped up into a one-and-a-half twist, and landed cross-legged on the floor between the twins. He was greeted with shouts and applause.
    Caprification was about to begin.

    The believers closed their eyes. Florence, the eldest, smiled gratefully at the unbelievers, then reverently opened the old diary and read:
    â€œCapri!” the Figg family shouted in unison. Florence handed the diary to the next eldest brother, and Kadota read:
    â€œCapri!” everyone shouted. Now the book should have passed to the next eldest, but no one knew which twin was born first. Together Romulus and Remus recited their father’s entry from memory:
    â€œMine eyes have seen the glory
of a tree so wild and free,
That is standing on an island
that’s surrounded by the sea;
Whatsoever, howsoever,
wheresoever it may be,
All Figgs go to Capri.
Glory, glory hallelujah,
Glory, glory hallelujah,
Glory, glory hallelujah,
All Figgs go to Capri.”
    â€œCapri!” Truman fell forward onto his palms, stood on his head, somersaulted into the air, and landed squarely on his feet.
    The Rite of Caprification was over.
    â€œSomebody give me a hand,” Kadota pleaded. Newt and Fido tugged the grunting veterinarian to his feet as, one by one, the members of the family rose from the floor and stretched their cramped muscles. The skeptics went to the kitchen to prepare refreshments, leaving the believers to debate the whereabouts of Capri.
    Sissie and Newt were not tempted by the unworldly kingdom. “We like it right here with the sweet