"Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing" by Judy Blume, Chapters 6–10

As soon as the nurse saw Fudge she said, “How’s my favorite patient?”

“That wasn’t so bad, was it, Peter?” my mother said.
“It could have been worse,” I admitted.

She thinks they don’t measure my feet carefully. That all they care about is selling shoes, even if they don’t have the right sizes in stock.

“Brown-and-white saddles for Fudge and loafers for Peter.”
“Okay, Peter...let’s see how those feet have grown.”

She should have slugged him. That would teach that brother of mine how to behave in Hamburger Heaven!

We took out seven books on transportation. We wanted to learn all we could about speed, traffic congestion, and pollution.

“It’s very practical. Besides getting rid of traffic it’ll get rid of air pollution and it’ll get people where they’re going a lot faster.”
“But it’s not practical, Peter!” Sheila said again. “It costs too much.”

Besides, now that I knew a monorail system was the only way to save our city I was getting upset that the mayor and all the other guys that run things at City Hall weren’t doing anything about installing one.

“Have a nice visit, Mrs. Hatcher,” Henry told my mother when we reached the lobby.

Outside my father hailed a taxi.

“He doesn’t have to be an actor or a model. He’s perfect the way he is!” Mr. Vincent insisted.

Finally my father said, “All right, George. You can use him...on one condition, though.”
“What’s that, Hatcher?” Mr. Vincent asked.
“The commercial has to be made this afternoon. After today my son Fudge won’t be available.”

I couldn’t think of any other reason why Mr. Vincent shouldn’t use Fudge in his Toddle-Bike commercial. It was settled.

He walked to a corner of the room and beckoned to the others.

Mr. Denberg and Mr. Vincent gathered around him, along with the cameraman and Janet. They looked like a bunch of football players huddled together talking about the next play.

But from the moment the first bear came on the screen Fudge sat still and watched. And after a while I forgot all about him and concentrated on the movie.

Then my father and two ushers and a man in a suit came over to me. “He was sitting right here,” my father told them, pointing to the empty seat on the aisle.

Then my father sat down and tasted his super-duper concoction.

Mom paced up and down in front of the elevator.

Fudge was cradled in her arms.

Fudge kneeled on a cot and peered out through the window.

“What seems to be the trouble, lady?” the attendant asked. “This kid looks pretty healthy to me.”

Fudge was whisked away by two nurses.

“Fudge took castor oil. And milk of magnesia. And prune juice too. Lots of that. All those things will help to get Dribble out of Fudge’s tummy.”

Things were pretty dreary at home. Every hour the phone rang. It was my mother calling from the hospital with a report.