The Mysterious Code (3 page)

“Trixie Belden, do you really mean they’ve never had a drop of milk before?” Honey was so tenderhearted her eyes filled with tears at the very thought.

“That’s what I mean. In a lot of other non-dairy countries, too, such as Thailand, technicians sent out by UNICEF have been teaching people how to make milk from soy beans. First they taught them to grow, cultivate, and harvest soy beans.”

“Food isn’t all, either,” said Brian. Because he was going to be a doctor, he was aware of the health needs of people in far-off countries. “Those nurses and doctors that UNICEF trains have helped people get rid of malaria, trachoma, tuberculosis, typhoid, diphtheria, and almost every crippling disease that has attacked undernourished children.”

“That surely makes the little things we’ve been doing to help one another look pretty small,” Diana said. “What can we do to raise money?”

“A bake sale?” Honey asked.

The boys threw up their hands and hooted.

“
You
could teach skiing,” Diana told them.

“Heck, everyone around here knows how to ski,” said Mart. “I wouldn’t have any pupils.”

“Well,
you
think of something then, smarty,” Trixie said.

“Nobody would come to an amateur play we’d give,” Honey said.

“We have them free all the time at school,” said Brian. “No, it has to be something quite different, and something we can all help with. If it isn’t, I don’t think Mr. Stratton will consider it.”

“Anything I can think of would take forever to raise any money,” said Diana, “like baby-sitting, and reading to sick people, and … Trixie Belden, you’ve thought of something!”

“I have!” Trixie said exultantly. “I’ve exactly the right thing … an antique show!”

“A what?” Mart asked.

“An antique show!” Trixie repeated.

“How could we have an antique show?” Mart asked.

“Well, you know how it is, here in the East,” Trixie said, the words falling over one another in her eagerness to explain. “
Everyone
is interested in antiques.”

“Yeah, and everyone has them,” Mart said woefully, thinking of the four-poster bed in his room at home, and comparing it with the neat bunk beds he had seen pictured in a magazine.

“Nobody ever has
enough
antiques,” Trixie said. “Anyhow, we’d exhibit some of the rare ones owned by people in the country around here, so other people could see them.”

“We could charge admission!” Diana said breathlessly.

“Of course,” Trixie said. “The big thing, though, would be to gather up old broken furniture from all around, repair it, refinish it, and sell it. The boys could do that.”

“And what would
you
be doing in the meantime?” Mart asked.

“I’d make some rag dolls to sell.” Honey answered instead of Trixie. “And some aprons.”

“I don’t know what I could do, but it sounds perfectly super, Trixie,” Diana said.

“You and I can take our sleds and gather up a lot of small things—chairs, footstools, and little tables,” Trixie said. “We can call on people to ask them to let us show their antiques, too. I think we could get Tom, your chauffeur, to pick up the bigger things, couldn’t we, Honey?”

“I’m sure he’ll help,” Honey said.

“You and Diana can help sand the old furniture, too,” Mart said. “Taking the old finish off is the worst part.”

“We’d be glad to,” Trixie said, so in love with the project she would agree to do anything.

“We can all put it over,” Brian said, “but it’s going to mean a lot of hard work because each of us has other chores at home.”

“And extra schoolwork to make up for being away in Arizona,” Trixie moaned. “It isn’t impossible, though. Let’s shake hands on it, Bob-Whites!”

They all shook hands solemnly.

“For goodness’ sake keep your fingers crossed,” Trixie went on. “I think I hear Mr. Stratton coming down the hall. He just
has
to let us do it. Just think, we’d be doing something to help all those children, and maybe save the Bob-Whites, too!”

The B.W.G.’s were busy with pencils and paper when Mr. Stratton came in.

“Well, it looks to me as though you’ve been doing some planning,” he said. “You don’t look nearly so dejected, either,” he added.

“No, sir, we’re not,” Jim said. “We think Trixie has thought of something that may appeal to the board members. If you only approve of it we’ll work real hard to make it a success.”

“It isn’t a question of
my
approval,” Mr. Stratton said. “You know who the board members are, and how seriously they take their work. We have the finest schools in Westchester County. Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School is their special pride, and they are pretty much upset over the situation here just now. They’ve had a complaint, too, recently, from a source they respect, about possible secret societies here. They want the school to be everyone’s school.”

“But we’ve already told you that we started our club because we don’t have a chance to work and
play with others after school,” Trixie said.

“The bus is right there waiting for us as soon as school is out,” Diana reminded him. “We don’t have any chance to be with the other kids.”

Mr. Stratton smiled. “The meeting is to be held this evening, you know. Hadn’t you better tell me of your club’s plan, Trixie?”

In a forthright manner, without being dramatic, Trixie outlined the planned project of the Bob-Whites of the Glen. Her blue eyes grew big and serious as she told of the work of UNICEF; of how the B.W.G.’s hoped to contribute to the Fund through money received from an antique show; that it would mean hard work on their part, and how eager they were to help.

“You have presented a very good case for your club,” Mr. Stratton told Trixie when she had finished talking. “The other club members seem to be just as inspired as you are.”

“I didn’t realize how much need there is to help children in oppressed parts of the world until Trixie told us of UNICEF,” Jim said.

“Not any of us did,” Honey added, “and even if we don’t get to keep on with our club, we still all want to help, don’t we?” She nudged Diana, and looked expectantly at Brian and Mart.

“I feel the same as Honey,” Diana said.

“Me, too,” Mart said. “I know a keen way to take off old varnish. I
like
to work on furniture.”

“I’ll do everything I can,” Brian said. “I think we all owe you a vote of thanks, Mr. Stratton, for giving us this chance to work for UNICEF.”

“It is
your
plan, not mine,” Mr. Stratton reminded them. “And it is the board members, not me, who will give you your chance. I’ll lay the whole matter before them. You may be sure they will be fair.”

“They can’t possibly know what it means to us,” Trixie said sadly.

“I’ll try to present
that
view of it to them, too,” Mr. Stratton assured her. “Now I think you may be excused. I’ll let you know tomorrow about the board’s decision.”

It was growing dark when the B.W.G.’s left the schoolhouse. The long low modern building was deserted except for the janitors. Street lights appeared one by one, casting early evening shadows on the banked snow on either side of the street. Cars hurried by carrying businessmen from commuter trains and from offices to homes.

The B.W.G.’s had been so intent on their problem that they hadn’t been aware of the passing of time.

“Jeepers, it’s almost six o’clock!” Brian said. “We’d better get on the phone and explain why we’ve been late.”

“Moms will be sure something has happened,” Trixie said. “We should have called her before. She always says that all she wants us to do is to let her know
where
we are,
what
we are doing, and
why
.”

“Tell her Regan will come for us in our station wagon,” Honey said, “or Tom. I’ll go now and call my home.”

Regan was the Wheelers’ groom. He looked after the five riding horses and the stables. He was much more than a groom. Because Honey’s parents were away so much of the time, he helped Miss Trask look after the big house and estate, Honey and Jim, and, in fact, all the rest of the Bob-Whites and their brothers and sisters.

The Bob-Whites knew he would put aside whatever he was doing and come for them. Brian and Jim, though, in quick consultation, were not sure that was what they wanted him to do.

“Wait a minute, Honey,” Jim called. Honey walked back to where the others were standing. The rest of the Bob-Whites looked at Jim, waiting to hear what he had to say.

“Can you stand it,” he asked, “to wait till tomorrow
to find out what action the board members take?”

“Is there an alternative to our own disposition?” Mart asked, patting his mouth to cover an imaginary yawn.

“Oh, stop it, Mart,” Brian said. “There is this alternative: We can stay in town till the meeting is over and go out to Mr. Stratton’s house and ask him what the board decided.”

“Why, yes!” Trixie cried. “Of course we can do that … that is, if our parents will let us. Let me see, we’d better call Regan first and be sure he can pick us up when the meeting is over. Then we can call our parents. Heavens, I’ve just thought of something.…”

“Run up a flag,” Mart said, laughing, “Trixie’s brain is working.”

“Every once in a while it works,” Trixie said. “How do you suppose the walks were shoveled at Crabapple Farm, Mart? Daddy will be home by now and he’ll be furious at you and Brian.”

“Seems to me this is the night you were supposed to take care of Bobby till Moms gets home from her Guild meeting,” Mart remembered. “Won’t you be in for a little parental ire yourself?”

“Miss Trask stopped by the school and took Bobby home with her,” Honey said.

Trixie sighed in relief. “I guess it’s up to you to call Daddy,” she said to Brian. “He knows by now that something has delayed us.”

“I’ll tell him we’ll get up early in the morning and shovel the snow,” Brian said. “Here goes!”

Honey and Diana went inside the school, too, to use the public telephone in the vestibule.

“Another problem arises,” Mart said, when they were together again. “A question of finances. We have to eat.” He turned his pocket inside out. “I have exactly nothing.”

“I have fifty cents,” Trixie said, hunting in the pocket of her car coat.

“Think no more about it,” Jim assured them. “We have a charge account at Wimpy’s. Dad set it up for Honey and me in case of an emergency. We can fill up on hamburgers, French fried potatoes, and malts at least. Let’s go.”

“Saved!” Mart said.

Forgetting for a little while the dark cloud that filled their sky, the B.W.G.’s crowded into the narrow replica of a dining car.

Only one person was at the counter—Spider Webster.

“Well, if it isn’t the prize member of the FBI and
her squad,” Spider said as they filled the seats around him.

Trixie wrinkled her nose at him.

“Have you rounded up any crooks lately?” Spider asked.

“No, but I wish I could. There are some crooks just spoiling to be caught.” Trixie was serious.

The man behind the counter waited.

“Two hamburgers all around,” Jim said. “Is that all right, gang?”

They nodded.

“With everything,” Mart added, “onions, catsup, tomatoes, relish—”

“And French fried potatoes,” Jim added. “Heaps of them. I’m starved.”

“We didn’t eat a thing at noon,” Honey explained. Their faces fell, remembering. “Chocolate malts, Mike,” she told the counter man. “And hurry!”

“Now what’s this about the crooks who need attention?” Spider wanted to know, moving the catsup bottle over to Trixie who sat next to him.

“Haven’t you heard about all the things that have happened at Junior-Senior High?” Honey asked.

Spider’s face sobered. “Why, yes, yes I have. We’re working on it.”

“The teachers seem to think it may be an inside job,” Mart said.

Spider spoke nervously. “They do?” he asked. “The police haven’t any clues so far as I know. I don’t think they’ve ever thought it was any of the students, though.”

Spider’s brother, Tad, fourteen, was a freshman at Sleepyside High. Their father and mother were dead and Spider had tried to take over their place with Tad. The B.W.G.’s had some idea of how much Tad worried his brother, and it made them provoked. They didn’t think Tad was really bad, but they did wish he would act his age.

Mart went on talking. “The teachers think it must be kids,” he said. “You see, they do crazy things like some kids do.”

“Like what?” Spider asked.

“Such things as upsetting desks, spilling wastebaskets, even breaking some of the windows.…”

“No looting?” Spider asked.

“Last night, yes,” Mart answered. “Isn’t that what you told us, Trixie?”

“Last night,” Trixie said soberly, “someone stole some money from Mr. Stratton’s desk, and a number of the lockers were broken open.”

The look on Spider’s face alarmed her when she said this. Suddenly she remembered a conversation she had overheard in the hall. Tad was telling another member of the Hawks that he had asked his brother Spider for ten dollars for some equipment they needed. Tad said his brother told him he didn’t have the money. Could it be that Spider wondered if Tad might have found another way to get his hands on some money?