The Mysterious Code (4 page)

Spider’s voice broke in on Trixie’s puzzlement. “I suppose you kids think you can find the vandals, and that’s why you’re in town on a school night,” he said sarcastically. “If so, you’d better go on home. That’s a job for the police.”

“That isn’t the reason,” Trixie said and told him of the threat to their club’s existence. She told him, too, of the plan they had to try to save the club.

Tad came in while they were talking and heard Trixie telling about the proposed antique show. “Huh!” he sneered. “Who’d ever go to an old antique show? Why don’t you have a boxing match?”

“Who’d do the boxing?” Spider asked.

“
I
would,” Tad said. “I’d take on both Brian and Jim any day.”

“What a long tail our cat has!” Mart jeered.

“Yes, and I’d take you on, too, squirt,” said Tad,
doubling up his fists. “What makes you think people would be so crazy as to let you exhibit their valuable heirlooms? You take a lot for granted.”

“We
know
people will help us when they find out our show is for UNICEF,” Trixie said indignantly.

Spider looked at his watch and jumped to his feet. “I’m supposed to be out on Main Street,” he said. “See you later. Come on, Tad.”

Tad picked up his brother’s unfinished Coke, gulped it down, swaggered after Spider. “See you later,” he said. “Us Hawks want to see how the board jumps tonight, too.”

Trixie looked through the window, saw Spider open his wallet and hand a bill to Tad. Then she heard the sputter of Spider’s motorcycle.

“We want to be careful not to mention how valuable some of the antiques are that we will show,” Trixie said. “It might give people ideas about stealing them.”

“There you go,” Jim said, “wearing your Moll Dick badge again. Forget it, Trixie. Here comes the food.”

Mike put the hot fragrant plates before them.

“Is there anything in the world better than a hamburger?” Jim asked. “More French fried potatoes, please, Mike.”

“I could eat a boiled owl I’m so hungry,” Trixie said.
“What do you suppose made Spider act so odd?”

“I didn’t notice anything queer,” Brian said.

“I didn’t either,” said Diana.

“Then it must have been my imagination,” Trixie said and bit into her juicy sandwich.

“Boy, do you have a supply of that!” Mart said.

“Maybe I do have imagination, Mart, but I don’t talk with my mouth full,” Trixie retorted. “How are we going to kill time till that meeting is over?”

“We have plenty of homework to do. We could go over to the library and I could help you with your math, Trixie.” Brian was the most earnest one in the group. He always did his homework.

“Jeepers, I couldn’t put my mind on anything till we find out what the board is going to do. I know I’m the one who needs homework most, Brian; you don’t need to look at me like that. My math is getting worse every day. But could any one of you do justice to lessons now?”

They shook their heads—even Brian.

“Then I vote for an early movie.”

“
If
we have the price,” Mart said. “Someone will have to stake me.”

They hunted in pockets, poured out their contributions, passed the collection down to Jim. “It’s more than enough,” he said. “There’s even some left for popcorn.”

The movie was a stirring western. Honey, who was timid, and easily frightened, moved closer to Trixie. Absent-mindedly Trixie patted Honey’s arm to reassure her, her own eyes glued on the screen, her spirit far away, galloping madly across the prairie.

Finally the “bad guys” were rounded up, the cartoon flickered to an end, and the Bob-Whites were out on the street again.

“Five minutes after ten,” Jim said, turning his watch face up under the light. “It must be nearly time for the meeting to be over.”

“How far is it to Mr. Stratton’s house?” Honey asked, shivering. She hadn’t liked the movie.

“Just around the corner, Sis. Are you cold?” Jim asked and pulled a wool scarf out of his pocket to wrap around Honey’s shoulders.

“Not cold,” she answered. “Those western pictures frighten me.”

“How you could have followed Trixie into some of the tight spots she’s led you into, I’ll never know,” Mart said.

“I didn’t know about them until I was into them.” Honey sighed. “When I did know I’d have been more frightened to have her go on alone.”

They walked along briskly. There was only a faint
light in the upstairs room of Mr. Stratton’s house. The family must have gone to bed.

“We’ll have to be quiet,” Trixie whispered. “Oh, gleeps, there’s Tad. Warn him to be quiet, Brian. I’m freezing. I hope Mr. Stratton isn’t too long getting here.”

Tad came up to them, swelled his chest out, and beat on it with his two fists to keep warm.

“The meeting was just letting out as I passed the school,” he whispered. “If the board thinks they can put the Hawks out of business they’ll have another think coming. We’ll just go under cover.”

“You couldn’t do that,” Diana said.

“Oh, we couldn’t?” Tad jeered. “Just watch. No, honestly I sure hope we can carry on as we are. Say, Mart,” his voice grew louder, then Trixie shushed him, “we’ve got the sweetest thing at bat you ever saw, in the Pony League now—Matt Devlin.”

“Why, good evening!” Mr. Stratton’s surprised voice interrupted Tad. “This is pretty late for you to be in town on Thursday night. Of course I know why you stayed.”

“Yes, we couldn’t possibly wait till tomorrow. We can’t possibly wait another minute!” Trixie caught Mr. Stratton’s arm as he reached to open his door. “Tell us, won’t you?”

“Yeah,” Tad said. “The Hawks want to know, too.”

“I’m sorry it’s too late to ask you to come in,” Mr. Stratton said. “Here it is, straight from the shoulder. I won’t tell you of the discussion that came first. The members of the board were indignant about what has been going on at our junior-senior high school.”

“Did you tell them we didn’t have anything to do with it?” Trixie asked.

“No, because I don’t think they were thinking in specific terms about anyone. When I had an opportunity I explained how the Bob-Whites came into existence. Then I outlined the project you have in mind for UNICEF.…”

“And?” Trixie could wait no longer.

“Well, they didn’t say outright that you would have to disband.”

They all sighed with relief.

“They did say, however,” Mr. Stratton continued, “that you would be placed on probation.”

The girls groaned. The boys shuffled their feet.

“Until,” the principal went on, “until they could appraise the outcome of the antique show. So, boys and girls, it’s up to you. If you make a great success of the show, and the members of the board see how well you
can work together to accomplish great good—they
did
think that raising money for UNICEF is very worthwhile—then they will consider allowing your club to continue to function.”

“Hurray!” they cried in unison.

A window went up upstairs. “Jeepers, we’re sorry,” Trixie called up to Mrs. Stratton, whose head appeared. “But thanks a million times, Mr. Stratton. We know it was the way you talked to them that won them over. Thanks!”

“Well now, thank
you
,” Mr. Stratton said and reached again for the doorknob.

“Say, how about the Hawks, sir?” Tad’s voice was low, most unusually humble.

“The Hawks?” Mr. Stratton repeated. “Oh yes, the board members said right away that they could continue—good for the health of the members—good for the school—yes, now good night!”

He went into the house.

Tad, cocky again, and triumphant, shook his clasped hands over his head. “The winnah!” he said and dashed away.

“That’s what he thinks,” Mart said, as the group followed Tad up the street. Regan would be waiting for them at the drugstore on Main Street.

“Let’s not bother about what Tad thinks,” Jim said. “Right, Trixie?”

“Right, Jim!”
What a co-president he is!
Trixie thought.

Out in the street they went, hand in hand, heads up, singing at the tops of their voices.

Nothing could stop them now!

“Here comes Reddy again!” Bobby shouted. “He’ll get right in front of my sled! Down, Reddy! Please go back home, Reddy!”

Trixie had taken her little brother out to the hill behind Crabapple Farm to slide. Reddy, their Irish setter, wanted to go sliding, too. That is, he wanted to do anything Bobby wanted to do. It was plain to be seen which one of the children he liked best. Maybe it was because Bobby had more time to play with him.

“Go back home, Reddy!” Trixie ordered. “Bad dog!”

“He’s not a bad dog. He’s a good dog. He minds me,” Bobby said. “Sit down, Reddy! Sit down and watch me slide! Now, mind!”

Reddy obediently settled himself on his haunches at the top of the hill. He watched as Trixie settled her brother on the sled, then pushed him on his way. Reddy did want so much to play. He whimpered to try to tell them so.

Down the hill Bobby went. Trixie ran along behind him.

The next time Reddy did not sit still when Bobby started down. Instead, he ran back and forth barking till the little boy pushed off.

Then Reddy settled himself on his haunches on the icy slide and went down after Bobby.

At the bottom of the hill he jumped to his feet and barked furiously. “I can slide, too,” he seemed to say.

Again and again they went down the hill; Bobby, then Reddy, sliding, and Trixie running along beside them.

“This is the last time this morning,” Trixie finally called as Reddy, tired of sliding, raced after Bobby.

“Reddy and me don’t like last times,” Bobby said when Trixie caught up with him at the bottom of the hill. She put his sled in the garage and they went into the house.

“Reddy slided downhill, too,” Bobby told his mother, “but Trixie only pushed me eleven times.”

“Oh, Moms, it was lots more than that,” Trixie said. “You should have seen Reddy. He sat down and slid down the hill on his haunches!”

“I shut him up twice when he tried to join you, then I gave up. I didn’t know Reddy could coast, too. And, Bobby, no matter how many times Trixie pushed you, you were out long enough.” She gave Bobby a piece of
the apple she was paring. “Trixie has to dust the house for me while I make this pie—I mean these pies. The way my family can dispose of pies is a mystery to me.”

“You shouldn’t make such good ones, Moms,” Trixie said. “If I made a pie it would last two weeks, and then we’d have to throw it out.”

“I know of a way to change that,” her mother said, her pink cheeks flushed with the heat of the oven. “Next Saturday, instead of pushing Bobby on his sled, you may have a lesson in pie-baking.”

“I’ll never in a million years be able to cook as you do,” Trixie said. “We have the best food in all the world in our house—tomatoes, corn, pickles, the things you canned from our garden last summer.”

“Don’t forget that you and the boys kept the gardens cultivated and gathered all the vegetables and fruit for me. Everyone works in this house.”

“Yes, we do, but you know, Moms, we aren’t going to be able to do much around the house until after the antique show. I hope we make a lot of money to send to UNICEF. Wasn’t it wonderful of the board members to give us a chance to keep our club?”

“I suppose it was. I’ve never known what they objected to in the first place. I think the Bob-Whites have done some pretty wonderful things. I’m proud of you.
I
don’t
like all the sleuthing you do. Maybe you’ve had enough of that now.”

“Maybe so. I won’t have time for it now.”

“You get mixed up in so many things, Trixie.” Mrs. Belden sighed. “I wish you weren’t such a tomboy. You looked so pretty when you dressed up every day and pretended you were impressed with that cousin of Honey’s.”

“That drip!”

“Trixie! Watch your language!” Mrs. Belden opened the oven door, slid a pie inside, then started to roll the crust for the next pie.

“Even Honey thinks he’s one,” Trixie said. “Moms, we have a terrible amount of work to do to get ready for our antique show. I don’t even know where to begin.”

“I was talking to one of the members of the Garden Club this morning,” Mrs. Belden said. “She told me she’d let you have her two Chinese Chippendale chairs to show.”

“That’s super!” Trixie cried. “I’ll personally guarantee they won’t be scratched in any way. Regan and Tom said they’d pick up all the things the day before the show. The big problem is where to hold it.”

“Didn’t your father tell you?” Mrs. Belden asked. “I remember, now, you weren’t awake when he left for the
bank. He said he was sure he could arrange for you to use that storeroom the bank has for rent, the one just across the street from the clothing store. It’s right on Main Street.”

“Christopher Columbus!” Trixie shouted. “Right on Main Street! Wait till I tell the others.”

“You can tell Honey and Diana soon. They’re coming down the hill from the Manor House. The boys took Brian’s car into Sleepyside to have the brakes tightened. I wish Brian had snow tires on that old car.”

“He doesn’t need them. You should see the way we get Brian’s jalopy out of a snowbank. We all get out and push. We can almost lift it when it gets stuck. We don’t have any money for tires even if we did want them. Every cent we have will go into preparation for the show.”