Jim continued. “The weather vane may be a valuable antique, but more important, it is a meaningful part of Sleepyside history.”
Mart went on. “Raymond Perkins, owner of this radio station, is offering a reward of one thousand dollars for the return of the weather vane.”
Trixie’s turn had come. “Any information about the weather vane or the person or persons responsible for its theft should be given to the police department or to Mr. Perkins at station WSTH.”
Then, with great feeling, Trixie added, “Please, everybody who’s listening—help us find our Sleepyside weather vane.”
Mart looked up, surprised. “Hey, that isn’t in the script.”
A little embarrassed, Trixie shrugged. “It just popped out,” she said. “Do you think it would be okay to say it on the recording?”
“Indeed it would,” Mr. Perkins said, entering the room. “I listened through the speaker in the next room,” he confessed. “You all sounded like professionals! Let’s record.”
The Bob-Whites were still glowing with pride when they crowded into Wimpy’s for colas on the way home.
“Our elocution certainly sounded effective,” Mart said.
“Let’s just hope it helps to get Hoppy back,” Trixie added.
Bobby Takes a Tumble • 11
ASTHE BOB-WHITES SIPPED their colas, Trixie grew unusually quiet.
“Now what are you ratiocinating about so intently?” Mart asked.
“I’m thinking—about Hoppy, of course,” Trixie replied. “Suppose the wind didn’t blow him off the roof of Town Hall. Is there a way that someone could have taken him down?”
“I’ve kind of wondered about that myself,” Jim admitted. “If somebody actually planned to steal Hoppy, they wouldn’t wait around for a storm to blow him down. They’d figure out a way to go up and get him.”
“Hey, that’s right,” Mart said.
“How would anybody get Hoppy down from the roof?” Di asked.
“A ladder?” Honey offered.
“I don’t think so,” Trixie said, shaking her head. “Where would anybody get a ladder that tall? The only ones I’ve ever seen that could get that high are the ones on a fire engine.”
“Maybe we ought to look on the roof of the fire department and see if they have a new weather vane,” Brian joked halfheartedly.
“How about a crane?” Dan put in.
“No,” Mart said. “Too heavy. A crane would have left deep tire marks in the grass on the common.” Honey nodded. “And besides, somebody would have noticed a big thing like that.”
“Nobody was outside that night, though,” Trixie reminded her. “And the power was off, so there weren’t any fights.”
“Let’s drive by the common and see if we come up with anything else,” Mart suggested.
“That’s a good idea,” Trixie said. “I’m ready; let’s go!” She sprang to her feet.
A few minutes later, Jim pulled the station wagon into the parking lot not far from the common. The offices in Town Hall were closed, and the building was dark inside. The big elm trees behind the building had lost most of their leaves, and the empty cupola on the roof was especially noticeable against the late afternoon sky.
“I wonder—” Trixie began.
“Hey!” Honey interrupted. “There’s Sammy. He must be feeling better now.”
Sammy was cutting across the common, walking with his hands in his pockets and eyes downward. He reached the sidewalk and passed the station wagon without looking up.
Mart rolled down the window and called, “Hey, Sammy!”
The young man jumped and looked almost as if he were going to run. When he recognized the Bob-Whites, a look of relief came over his face. “Oh, it’s you,” he said.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Mart apologized.
As Sammy came up beside the station wagon, he pulled a small white earphone from his ear and patted the transistor radio in his shirt pocket. “I was listening to music. I didn’t hear you drive up.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I just finished working, and I’m beat.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be working so hard, Sammy,” Honey said, “if you’ve been sick. And it must have been awfully busy around here today.”
Sammy glanced up at the empty cupola. “The whole deal is a mess,” he snapped. “I almost wish I’d never come to this place.”
Trixie couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “You really are tired,” she said. “Can we give you a lift somewhere? Were on our way home from WSTH—”
“That hick station?” Sammy interrupted scornfully. “What were you doing there—helping them dust off all their moldy oldies?”
Honey flushed. “Mr. Perkins, the man who owns the station, is a good friend of my parents,” she said softly.
“That’s their problem,” Sammy said.
Trixie was upset now. “Mr. Perkins is a very nice person. He’s putting up the re—”
“Aw, I’m only kidding,” Sammy said. “I’m sorry. I really am tired. My truck’s just up the street. See you guys later.” He pushed the earphone back into his ear and walked off, whistling a familiar-sounding tune.
“I never expected Sammy to act like that,” Di said, surprised. “I wonder what’s wrong with him?”
“He’s just tired,” Dan said. “Everybody gets cranky once in a while.”
Brian shook his head. “Sammy seems kind of odd at times,” he said. “I can’t quite figure him out He’s almost like two different people.”
“Know what?” Trixie spoke up. “Sammy lied to us. He told me and Honey that he was a ’rock music freak.’ But I think he’s listening to WSTH right now, and they’re playing old-fashioned music.”
Jim turned on the radio in the station wagon, already tuned to WSTH. The melody playing was the same one that Sammy had been whistling.
“See?” Trixie said. “What’s that tune?”
“I’m not sure,” Jim said. “But it isn’t rock music.”
“Try to remember the tune,” Brian prompted. “We’ll ask Moms what it is when we get home”
“Speaking of getting home,” Jim said, “that’s what we’d better be doing.” He started up the engine, looked over his shoulder, and pulled the station wagon back onto the street.
A few minutes later, Jim dropped Trixie and her brothers off at Crabapple Farm.
“Hey, everybody, come and look at me,” Bobby called from upstairs when he heard the door open. “I’m a invalid!”
“Jeepers!” Trixie hurried up the stairs, with Mart and Brian right behind her.
Bobby was propped up in his bed, wrapped in a blanket. One of his eyes was bruised and swollen almost shut, and he wore two bandages on the side of his face. He grinned, enjoying the opportunity to surprise the big kids.
Mrs. Belden was sitting in a chair beside the bed. “Bobby could hardly wait for you to get home and see his bruises,” she said with a shake of her head.
“Bobby!” Trixie exclaimed. “What in the world happened to you?”
Brian touched the skin around his little brothers eye with gentle fingers. He whistled softly. “Wow! That’s quite a black eye you’ve got there,” he said.
“Yup,” Bobby agreed. “Mr. Pony got scared and runned away—and he tossed me off just like that!” Bobby tried to snap his fingers but gave up. “I didn’t cry, though,” he boasted. “I just got up and caught Mr. Pony, the way you did, Trixie, when he got scared before.”
Trixie gently mussed her small brother’s tousled curls. “Good for you,” she praised.
Mrs. Belden stood. “Stay here and talk with him while I go put his dinner on a tray,” she told Trixie and her brothers.
Trixie sat down beside Bobby. “Tell us all about it,” she urged.
“Well—” Bobby drew a long breath—“Mr. Pony and I were riding along near my tree house,” he began, forgetting to keep his secret from the boys. “Regan was there, too, but he was working over by that old road. All of a sudden, the wi
nd blowed real hard, and a big pile of leaves went flying all around—” he waved his hands in an arc—“and... and a big critter scared Mr. Pony! Mr. Pony went ’EEEEE-eeee!' and jumped up in the air, and I fell off.”
“Wow,” Trixie said. “Did it hurt?”
“Yeah!” Bobby’s eyes clouded with a hint of tears, which he blinked back. “But I was worried about Mr. Pony, so I chased him, and I caught him! I talked to him, like you did, Trixie, till he wasn’t scared anymore. Then I took him over to Regan. Regan washed all my cuts and put on these bandages and brought me home to Moms. He told her he was real proud of me.”
Trixie smiled. “I’m proud of you, too, Bobby,” she said. “And I’m sure glad you aren’t badly hurt.”
“Moms says I have to go downtown to the doctor tomorrow before I go back to school,” Bobby declared, feeling very important. “That’s to make sure I’m not broken. And then,” he added, beaming with delight, “Moms says we can get hamburgers at Wimpy’s, just like you big kids do.”
Brian laughed. “You’re getting to be a ’big kid’ yourself,” he said.
“Moms said she’d bring the radio up here so I can hear you on the radio tonight,” Bobby announced. “Are you gonna sing?”
Trixie fluffed his pillow and tucked his blanket around him. “No, silly,” she said. “We’re going to talk about Hoppy, remember? I’ll go down and help Moms with your dinner now, okay?”
“Don’t forget the chocolate milk,” Bobby reminded her.
Down in the kitchen, Trixie helped her mother prepare a tray with Bobby’s dinner.
“How did the announcement turn out?” Mrs. Belden asked.
“We were all pretty nervous at first,” Trixie admitted. “But Mr. Perkins is so nice, he made it seem easy.”
Mrs. Belden poured chocolate milk into Bobby’s glass. “I’m sure you all did a great job,” she said.
“I just hope someone will be able to collect that reward soon,” Trixie said. “Everyone has been watching for anything suspicious, but Hoppy may already be a long way from Sleepyside.”
“Maybe your announcement on the radio will help to track him down,” Mrs. Belden said.
“That reminds me,” Trixie spoke up. “What’s the name of this tune, Moms?” She whistled the tune that Sammy had been whistling in front of Town Hall.
“You must have picked that up at WSTH,” Mrs. Belden said, shaking her head. “They’ve been playing it all day. It’s ’St. Louis Blues.’ ”
Trixie Finds a Clue • 12
RIDING THE BUS to school the following morning, Trixie told the others about Bobby’s accident.
Mart nodded. “He has a fuliginous oculus,” he said with a smirk.
Di gasped. “That sounds terrible!”
Brian smiled. “I think Mart’s talking about a black eye,” he said.
Honey looked relieved. “Bobby was lucky. Being thrown from a horse, even a pony, can sometimes be serious.”
“Moms is taking him to the doctor this morning for a checkup,” Trixie told her.
“Speaking of mothers,” Honey said, “my mother s birthday is this week. I’m going to go shopping for her gift after school. Do you and Di want to come with me?” she asked Trixie.
“Sure,” Trixie agreed at once.
Di shook her head. “I can’t. I have a piano lesson this afternoon.”
“That beats chopping firewood,” Dan said with a grin. “I’ll be busy after school for weeks.”
The bus pulled into the parking lot, and the young people gathered their books and headed for their homerooms.
Before the bell rang, Trixie opened her notebook to look one last time at her social studies report. “Gleeps!” she yelped. “I forgot my report!”
“Oh, no,” Honey said. “Are you sure?”
Trixie searched through an untidy collection of classroom notes. “It’s not here,” she said with a doleful sigh.
“Miss Craven doesn’t like late reports,” Honey cautioned.
“Quoth the Craven, ’Nevermore!’ ” Mart chimed in quickly.
Trixie glared at Mart, then tinned back to Honey. “You’re right, Honey,” she moaned. “I’ll call Moms and ask her to drop my paper off at lunchtime. She’ll be in town with Bobby.”
Trixie hurried to the pay phone at the end of the hall and called her mother.
“You’re just lucky I was going to be in town,” her mother scolded gently. “Don’t worry, though. Bobby and I will drop your paper off at lunchtime.”
“Thanks, Moms!” Trixie said. “See you then.” She hung up and sighed with relief.
Morning classes passed quickly, and before Trixie knew it, it was time for lunch. Trixie chatted with the other Bob-Whites and munched on her chicken sandwich until she saw Bobby’s curly head poking around the lunchroom doorway.
“Over here, Bobby,” Trixie called, waving to her little brother.
“Hi, everybody!” Bobby said after racing across the room ahead of his mother. ’Trixie, I’m not broken anyplace—and I found something new for my coin collection! Look at this!”
Bobby held out a blackened coin. “I found it when I wasn’t even lookin’,” he said, “and Moms says that makes it a good-luck piece!”
Brian took the coin and examined it. “This is an old silver dollar,” he said, surprised. “Where did he find this, Moms?”
“On the common,” Mrs. Belden answered, handing Trixie her social studies report. “We were crossing the green to the parking lot after leaving the doctor’s office.”
Jim took the coin and rubbed it with his fingers. “I can’t make out the date,” he said, “but this coin looks pretty old to me.”
Trixie jumped up, excited. “Let’s go show it to Miss Lawler!” she suggested. “She knows all about coins.” Mrs. Belden glanced at her watch. “Do you have time, Trixie?” she asked.
“Sure,” Trixie said, already crossing the room with Bobby beside her. “We’ve got ten minutes before the bell. And besides, I want you to meet Miss Lawler. You’ll like her.”
Holding Bobby’s hand, Trixie led the way to the social studies classroom.
Miss Lawler was sitting alone at her desk, reading as she ate her lunch. The classroom door was open, and Trixie called, “Are you busy, Miss Lawler? I’d like to introduce you to my mother and my brother Bobby.”
“Come in, Trixie.” With a friendly smile, the teacher’s aide stood to shake hands. “Mrs. Belden—Bobby, I’m happy to meet you,” she said.
Mrs. Belden smiled warmly. “Trixie and the boys have talked a lot about you,” she said. “They all enjoy this class.”
Bobby fidgeted. “Want to see somethin’?” he asked. He thrust his hand out, showing the coin. “I found it today.”
“My goodness, Bobby,” Miss Lawler said, taking the coin from him and looking at it carefully. “This is a Seated Liberty silver dollar. I can’t quite read the date, but I can tell you that it’s at least one hundred years old.”
“Wow!” Brian exclaimed. “That’s quite a find!”
“It certainly is,” Miss Lawler said, handing the coin back to Bobby. “Take good care of it,” she told him.
Bobby pushed the coin down deep into his pocket.’ “I’m going to put it in my collection,” he said.
Miss Lawler smiled. “Do you have a coin collection, like Mr. Quinn?” she asked, pointing to the display case beside her desk.
Bobby shook his head. “Nope,” he answered. “I collect everything. Moms says it’s junk, but Trixie thinks it’s good stuff, don’t you, Trixie?”
Trixie poked her little brother in the ribs, making him giggle. “Sure I do,” she said. “Uh-oh, there goes the bell.”
Brian and Mart waved and left at once. Mrs. Belden took Bobby’s hand. “That means it’s time for us to go to Wimpy’s,” she told him. “Miss Lawler, do drive out and see us soon,” she urged. “It’s only two miles to Crabapple Farm.”
“I—I’d really like to, but I don’t drive,” Miss Lawler said softly.
“Then we’ll drive in and get you,” Mrs. Belden offered. “Your brother Sammy is welcome to come, too.”
Miss Lawler’s face paled, and she turned away quickly. “I—I don’t have a brother,” she murmured softly.
The others were amazed. “We all thought Sammy was your brother,” Trixie explained. “He calls you Sis-”
“That’s short for Cecilia, my first name,” the teacher’s aide said, tidying her desk. “Sammy is just— a friend.”
“Gleeps. I’m sorry,” Trixie apologized.
“That’s all right,” Miss Lawler said. “You’d better hurry to your class. It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Belden, Bobby.”
When Trixie entered the social studies classroom for the last period of the day, she placed her report neatly on her desk and winked at Honey.
Honey smiled and winked back. Miss Craven was a popular teacher, but she wouldn’t tolerate late papers without a good excuse. “I forgot” was not a good excuse.
The class was almost over before Miss Craven mentioned that the reports were due. “Please leave your reports with Miss Lawler on your way out of the room,” she said, standing up behind her desk. She walked toward the door, adding, “Good afternoon, class.” Her timing was perfect—the bell rang just as she reached the door.
The students talked and laughed as they walked up the aisles and handed their papers to the teacher’s aide. Honey and Trixie were the last ones in line.
“Thank you,” Miss Lawler said automatically, adding their papers to the pile. She looked worn out and pale.
“Are you feeling all right, Miss Lawler?” Honey asked in her kind way.
The teacher’s aide managed a faint smile. Tm worried... about Sammy,” she murmured. “I haven’t heard from him since he told Mr. Johnson that he was sick. I just hope he’s okay.”
“Oh, he’s fine,” Trixie assured her. “We saw him last night. He’d been working late.”
“Really?” Miss Lawler looked relieved. “That’s good to hear. I think I’ll wait here for him. Sometimes he drops by when he’s finished at Town Hall.” She took one of the reports from the pile. “I have plenty to keep me busy,” she added.
The Mystery of the Phantom Grashopper Page 7