“But the Bob-Whites of the Glen isn’t a secret club,” Jim said, “except when we try to do good, and we don’t shout that to the world.”
“That is to be commended,” Mr. Stratton agreed. “The real fault seems to be that the work is carried on in too restricted a field.”
“We can only do so much,” Brian said. “And we do help people outside our own members. I can’t talk about it, but we do.”
“I think the members of the school board might consider a state or a national project,” Mr. Stratton said.
“Creeps, we aren’t the American Red Cross,” Mart said in a low voice.
“I beg your pardon,” Mr. Stratton said, “I didn’t hear you.”
“I meant, do you think we should be like the American Red Cross?” Mart, ashamed now, repeated.
“Nonsense!” Mr. Stratton said. “Of course everyone helps the Red Cross. I’m afraid you don’t grasp what I mean. I can say, though, and it is food for serious thought: The board feels very strongly that you must show a valid reason to continue to exist or, well, they didn’t actually say so, but they meant that you will have to disband.”
“We couldn’t!” Trixie almost shouted.
“No, we couldn’t,” Diana echoed. “Why, Mr. Stratton, we’d do anything else in the world except give up the Bob-Whites.”
Jim and Brian and Mart exchanged glances. Jim spoke for the trio. “I’m sorry, sir, but that is something we couldn’t do. We think our club has a good purpose and we can’t see why anyone should try to make us disband. We just couldn’t break up our club.”
“Even if refusal meant expulsion?” Mr. Stratton asked reluctantly.
“Not that!” Trixie gasped, her mind turning to what her mother and father would surely say. She squared her shoulders. “Is there anything we can do, Mr. Stratton?”
“I don’t know,” Mr. Stratton said sadly. “I’ll try to explain to the board that the Bob-Whites are not a secret society in the true sense of the word, at least not the kind they deplore. If only you could have some really worthwhile project under way.”
It was apparent that Mr. Stratton was not the nosy troublemaker Mart had labeled him; that he really was their friend.
“I wish we felt free to tell you some of the things the B.W.G.’s have done,” said Honey. “Why just this Christmas we earned four hundred dollars out at a dude ranch and—”
“Honey!” Jim warned.
Honey covered her mouth with her hand. She had been so carried away she had almost told that they had given the money to the little Navaho hotel maid at the ranch to help pay for her father’s operation.
While Honey had been talking, Trixie had wriggled around in her chair, impatiently waiting to have the floor. Now she jumped up. “I have a wonderful idea!” she said. “Mr. Stratton, could we please have just about fifteen minutes for a small conference?”
Mr. Stratton took out his watch. “Mercy, yes,” he said. “I had an appointment at four fifteen, and it’s nearly four thirty now. Just stay right here and talk things over. I’ll be back at five.”
Trixie, Honey, Diana, Brian, Jim, and Mart stood till he left the room. Then they pulled their chairs close around Trixie.
“Let’s have it, Master Brain,” said Mart. “I don’t see much ahead for the Bob-Whites but sabotage by the school board.”
“Don’t say that, Mart!” Diana cried and stamped her foot. “I know Trixie will think of something to get us out of this trouble.”
“She can get us into more trouble than a bunch of Kilkenny cats,” said Mart.
“And out of trouble, too,” Jim said. “I’ll never forget who saved me from the fire when my great-uncle’s mansion burned.”
“You’d have been a gone goose if she hadn’t thought of a way out when Diana’s phony uncle tried to kidnap both of you,” Brian reminded Mart.
“That’s right,” Mart said shamefacedly. “She saved Bobby, too, when the copperhead snake bit him.”
“Please …” Trixie begged.
“We could go on and on telling of things Trixie has done for us,” Honey said, “even if she did get us into some bad situations, too. Right now, though, we have only a few minutes to think of something to keep the Bob-Whites from going out of existence. All right, Trixie, what’s your idea?”
“How about something to help UNICEF, the United Nations International Children’s Emergency Fund?” Trixie asked. Then she added dramatically, “That would cover the whole world!”
“Say, Trixie, that really sounds like something,” Mart said excitedly. “Just let the school board try to put the heat on us when we’re doing something for the United Nations!”
“It isn’t time for back-patting yet,” Jim said slowly. “What does the Children’s Fund do, Trixie?”
“I only know about a few things,” Trixie said, “but they are almost miraculous.”
“For instance?” Jim asked.
“Working with other organizations in the United Nations, UNICEF has trained nurses, doctors, teachers, technicians, in about eighty countries in the world, helping them to make use of their own resources. You see, it isn’t just for today they are helping, but for years to come.” Trixie’s eyes shone as her idea unfolded.
“Can you tell us of some specific instance where the Fund has operated?” Mart was insistent. “Mr. Stratton will have to have facts to present to the board.”
“Heavens, they already know about the Fund itself, because we’ve been donating to it for a long time,” Trixie said. “For your information, though, I can tell you that in Nicaragua, for instance, the Fund has helped build dry-milk factories, so that milk could be manufactured in the flat dairy land, and transported burro-back over the mountains for children who have never even had a cup of milk in their lives.”
“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!”
Chapter 3
“The Winnah!”
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.”
The Mysterious Code Page 2
