The Mystery of the Phantom Grashopper

by Campbell, Julie

  “That’s terrific,” Trixie said. “I made Dad promise to call Mr. Johnson this morning and tell him about Sammy. Could you call Sammy right now, before classes begin, and tell him to go to Town Hall and see Mr. Johnson?”

  The happy expression faded from Miss Lawler’s face. “Sammy isn’t staying with me,” she said. “He’s rented a room somewhere, and he doesn’t have a phone.”

  “Oh,” Trixie said, disappointed.

  “Wait a minute!” Miss Lawler said, opening her purse and searching for something. “He did give me a number to call where I could leave a message for him,” she recalled. “Ah, here it is!”

  “Call right now,” Trixie urged, starting out the door. “I’ll bet he gets the job,” she added confidently.

  That afternoon, as Trixie and Honey entered their social studies class, one look at Miss Lawler’s face told them Trixie had been right.

  As the girls passed her desk, Miss Lawler said, “Sammy got the job, Trixie. Thank you, and please give our thanks to your father, too.”

  Trixie grinned. “I knew Sammy would get the job,” she said. “Now he can stay in Sleepyside.”

  Miss Craven closed the door and crossed to her desk. “Good afternoon, class,” she greeted them. “Trixie, Honey, take your seats, please. We’re ready to begin.”

  As they walked to their desks, Trixie whispered, “Wait till we tell the other Bob-Whites about this!”

  Later that afternoon, Jim rapped the gavel on the table in the Bob-White clubhouse. “The meeting will come to order,” he announced in his most official-sounding tone.

  The six other Bob-Whites stopped talking and sat down in their assigned places around the table. Trixie took her place beside Jim.

  The clubhouse was warm and snug, decorated in cheerful colors and comfortably furnished. It bore little resemblance to the broken-down gatehouse it had been. Trixie and Honey had discovered it at the edge of the Wheeler property, overgrown with vines and bushes. With the Wheelers’ permission, the Bob-Whites had all worked to clean and repair the gatehouse and transform it into a perfect clubhouse.

  Jim scanned the agenda for the meeting. “First thing on our schedule is a vote of thanks to Trixie,” he said.

  The others looked questioningly at Trixie. She reddened with embarrassment.

  Jim smiled. ’Trixie helped to get Sammy a job at Town Hall,” he declared, “so he’ll be staying in Sleepyside, close to Miss Lawler. There’s one club project completed in record time.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Di said.

  “Great!” Brian exclaimed. Everyone clapped.

  “Mr. Copresident,” Mart called out, “I note that a certain member of the club is still in violation of our punctilious appearance rule. An unkempt jacket reflects an unfavorable image of our club, hence I call attention to the right jacket sleeve of Miss Beatrix Belden.”

  Jim turned his head to hide his smile, then coughed and answered pompously. “Thank you, Mr. Secretary-Treasurer,” he said. “Violation is duly noted. And since it was first pointed out on Saturday, said violator now owes the club treasury fifty cents—ten cents a day.”

  The clubhouse erupted with laughter. Trixie tried hard, but she couldn’t keep from laughing herself. “Gleeps!” she said. “I forgot all about the button. I looked for it on Sunday, honest!”

  “Well, it’s not in here,” Mart said, holding out the cashbox. “Fifty cents, please.”

  Suddenly Trixie’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Mr. Copresident,” she announced, “I would like to point out another member of the club who is also in violation of the punk—punkta—whatever that rule is. Look closely, and you’ll see a spot of catsup on the jacket of the secretary-treasurer.”

  “Where?” Mart yelled, jumping to his feet. “Show me!”

  “Right there, Mart,” Honey said, pointing to a dark red spot on the front of the bright red jacket.

  “Yikes!” Mart looked at the spot. “How did that get there?”

  “Well, it didn’t come from here,” Trixie said, dropping her fine into the box and holding it out to her brother. “Pay up, Mart,” she ordered.

  “Nolo contendere,” Mart acknowledged wryly as he dug in his pocket for a dime and dropped it in the box.

  Jim rapped for order. “We may have another club project to contend with now,” he said, looking over the agenda. “Trixie told me about it, and she’ll explain it now.”

  Trixie was serious at once. “When Dad told me about Mr. Johnson needing a helper, he also said something about Hoppy. Mr. Johnson says that Hoppy needs to be replated with new copper. Otherwise, the weather vane may be damaged by the weather this winter. The town council has given Mr. Johnson money to repair the roof, but there isn’t enough money to have Hoppy recoppered, too. That means Hoppy may have to be taken down from his perch—permanently.”

  “No more good luck,” Mart teased, but his tone held regret.

  “Town Hall just won’t be the same without Hoppy on top,” Di said.

  “Di’s right,” Trixie agreed. “I think that a worthy project for the Bob-Whites would be to help raise the money to have Hoppy recoppered.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Dan said quickly. The others nodded.

  Di looked worried. “But what can we do?” she asked. “We’ve already given a winter carnival and had an antique sale. How eke can we raise the money?”

  “How about a walk-a-thon?” Trixie suggested. “We’ve never tried that before.”

  Brian was interested at once. “I like that idea,” he said. “We could get a lot of people from school to volunteer as walkers, and set up a course through town with special checkpoints at various places along the way—”

  “Good,” Trixie said. “But first we have to find some sponsors—businesses, or just people who are interested—to pledge a certain amount of money for every mile someone walks. And we need some good publicity before we begin.”

  “I have an ideal” Honey exclaimed. “My father is a good friend of Mr. Perkins, who owns WSTH. Maybe he’d announce it on his radio station for us.”

  “Great!” Trixie said. “Your dad can help us solve that problem.”

  The Bob-Whites spent the rest of the meeting making further plans for the walk-a-thon.

  On the way back to Crabapple Farm, Trixie sighed. “I wish I could get good ideas for my social studies report as easily as I do for club projects,” she said.

  “I thought you finished that report,” Brian said. “It’s almost done now,” Trixie admitted. “I have to make a couple more drawings of coins, that’s all. Honey and I are going to stay after school for a while tomorrow. We’ll come home in a cab.”

  After social studies class the following afternoon, Trixie and Honey talked with some classmates in the hall and asked for their help with the walk-a-thon. When the hall had emptied, they returned to the classroom to work on their reports.

  “I’ll be here for a while,” Miss Lawler said. “Ask if you need help.” She went to work on a stack of test papers.

  Pulling chairs close to the case, the girls examined the ancient coins once more. Honey quickly located an old Roman coin she needed and began sketching, but Trixie puzzled over one row of Chinese coins for several minutes.

  There were a great many round copper coins with holes in the middle. “They all look alike to me,” Trixie muttered softly.

  “But they’re not,” someone said in her ear.

  “Oh!” Trixie jumped. “Sammy!” she said. “You startled me.”

  “Sorry,” Sammy said earnestly. “I came to see Cis. I’m glad to find you here, though. I want to thank you and your father for helping me get my job at Town Hall. Cis told me that your dad put in a good word for me, and I sure appreciate it. You’ll never know how much you’ve helped me.”

  Trixie reddened. Being thanked for doing something good made her feel uncomfortable. “That’s okay,” she said with a shrug. “We’re glad you got the job.”

  “Sammy,” Miss Lawler said, “why do
n’t you help Trixie with those Chinese coins. She’s using some of them in a report on Chinese culture. I’m sure you can help her.”

  Seeing the surprised expressions of Trixie and Honey, Miss Lawler explained. “Sammy’s a pretty accomplished numismatist. He was interested, so I taught him everything I know about coins.”

  “That’s neat,” Trixie said. “Do you collect coins, too, Sammy?” she asked.

  “Why, sure,” Sammy said with a sneer, his voice suddenly sounding bitter. “All of us rich people collect coins. I carry my coin collection right here in my pocket.” Roughly he pulled out a coin. “Look,” he said, “a buffalo nickel! Vereee valuable. I scratched my initials into it so no coin thieves would get it. See?”

  “Sammy—” Miss Lawler began.

  But Sammy’s old grin was back. Returning the coin to his pocket, he said, “You don’t mind a little music while you work, do you?” He lifted a transistor radio from his shirt pocket and turned it on. “I’m a rock music freak,” he admitted.

  For the next half hour, Trixie kept Sammy busy answering questions about the row of round coins.

  “Why do some have a round hole in the middle and others have a square hole?” she asked.

  Sammy explained that the ancient Chinese had found their copper supply getting low. Their coins were made from copper, and they needed more coins, so apparently they decided to cut the middle out of one coin to make two! Their original coins had a small square hole in the center. So when they cut the centers out, they had one small coin with a square hole in the middle and a somewhat larger coin with a circular hole in the middle.

  Trixie was fascinated. She made careful drawings of the two types of coins.

  “Now look at that one,” she said, pointing to another coin in the row. “That doesn’t have any hole at all. How come?”

  “That’s a more modem Chinese coin,” Sammy told her. “Chinese coins have no holes in them now.”

  “Okay,” Trixie said, closing her notebook. “I’ve got everything I need for my report now. How about you, Honey?”

  Honey laughed. “I finished a long time ago,” she said. “I’ve just been listening to Sammy.”

  Sammy wiped his brow as if he had been laboring strenuously. “Whew! Im glad I’m not a teacher,” he said. “That’s work!”

  Miss Lawler smiled and covered the display case with the green felt dustcover. “Sammy, why don’t you drive Trixie and Honey home?” she suggested.

  “I’ll walk down to the diner, and you can meet me there.”

  “We’ve bothered Sammy enough today,” Honey said quickly. “Trixie and I can call a cab.”

  Sammy laughed. “No problem. I’ll be happy to take you guys home, if you don t mind riding in my old truck. Come on.”

  Sammy’s yellow pickup looked old and dilapidated, but surprisingly, the engine was smooth and powerful, and the ride was almost as good as that of the Bob-White station wagon.

  Trixie spoke loudly against the volume of the radio. “I never knew a truck could ride like this.”

  For answer, Sammy speeded up, ignoring the speed limit signs. “It doesn’t look like much, but it goes,” he bragged.

  Trixie was glad to see her driveway up ahead. “Turn there,” she said in plenty of time for Sammy to slow down. “You can drop me off first. Honey’s house is up on the hill.”

  Seconds later, Trixie was climbing down from the high cab seat of the truck. “Thanks for the ride—and the coin lesson,” she said.

  The truck was already moving again. “My pleasure,” Sammy called back, backing down the driveway at a fast speed.

  That’s funny, Trixie thought, walking to the door. Sammy said he was a rock music freak, but the radio in the truck was playing old-fashioned music. Must have been WSTH.

  That Oar Again • 6

  MOMS, have you seen the gold button that belongs on my Bob-White jacket?” Trixie asked on the following afternoon.

  Mrs. Belden looked up from the warm ginger cookies she had just taken from the oven. “It was on your night table,” she said.

  Trixie sighed. “I know. But it’s not there now. You know what?” she asked, helping herself to a cookie.

  “I’m positive that Bobby has it in his button collection at the tree house.”

  Mrs. Belden nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” she said shrewdly.

  “Oh, Moms,” Trixie rushed on, “I know it’s Friday afternoon, but could I please be excused from the dusting, just—”

  “—this once,” her mother completed the familiar phrase. Then she laughed. “Go ahead, Trixie,” she said, “but you’ll have to hurry. I don’t like your being in the woods by yourself, and it’s getting dark early these days.”

  “Bobby’s tree house isn’t deep in the woods, Moms,” Trixie reminded her. “The old road is just on the other side of the trees.”

  “I know.” Her mother slid the next batch of cookies into the oven. “Be sure to take your flashlight, though.”

  Trixie was already at the door. “I have it right here,” she said with a grin. “I won’t be long.”

  A few minutes later, Trixie was jogging along at a steady pace, headed into the woods. She remembered the exact location of the tree house, but getting there on foot took quite a bit longer than getting there on horseback.

  The sun was almost gone when Trixie finally reached her destination and climbed up into the little tree house.

  Bobby’s treasures were lined up on the floor in boxes and tin cans. Trixie sat down and carefully spread the button collection out at her feet. “Colored buttons, plain buttons, wooden buttons, and—jeep-ers, a black shoe button! That’s from my old Raggedy Ann doll.” Trixie mumbled to herself as she sorted through the collection. One by one, she let the buttons drop with a clink back into the tin. “And here, at last, is my Bob-White button!” she said. “No more fines!”

  With a sigh of relief, Trixie tucked the gold metal button into her pocket and returned the others to the tin. As she stood, she saw a flash of light through the trees beside the old road.

  “There must be a car driving on that road again,” Trixie said to herself. Peering through the branches, she spotted the car, coming along the old road. “Hey!” Trixie breathed. “That’s the same car that I saw following everyone a few nights ago!”

  She observed the car pulling to a stop. The driver climbed out and stood for a moment, looking around. Then he crossed in front of the car to examine the faded road sign. In the glare of the headlights, Trixie could see that he was tall and strong-looking, with dark hair cut close to his head.

  What’s he looking for? Trixie wondered, watching as the man returned to his car.

  It was quite dark now. Trixie cupped her hand around her flashlight and climbed down from the tree. As her feet touched the ground, she slipped on the leaves and fell with a clatter of breaking twigs. Her flashlight flew from her hand, shooting a beam of light out to the trees near the road.

  “Hey! Who’s there?” the man beside the car shouted.

  Without looking back, Trixie grabbed her flashlight, scrambled to her feet, and raced down the path toward Crabapple Farm.

  Mrs. Belden was at the stove, stirring her special sauce for the turkey cutlets, when Trixie entered the warm, bright kitchen.

  “Is that you, Trixie?” her mother asked, without looking up from her cooking. “You’re just in time to drain the vegetables and butter them. I can’t leave the sauce now.”

  “Okay, Moms,” Trixie said, hoping she didn’t sound out of breath and frightened.

  “Did you find the button you were looking for?” her mother asked.

  “Yes, I did,” Trixie answered. “And I’m going to sew it on right after dinner, before Bobby has a chance to collect’ it again.”

  “Let’s hope he hasn’t collected all of my thread,” Mrs. Belden said with a chuckle.

  After helping clean up the dinner dishes, Trixie got a needle and some red thread from her mother’s sewing box and sat on the
living room floor beneath a lamp. After several tries at threading the needle, she finally succeeded and went to work sewing the button into place on her jacket sleeve.

  Brian was stretched out on the floor nearby, reading a magazine. “It’s a good thing Honey volunteered to make our jackets,” he remarked. “If Trix was doing it, I’m afraid we’d all get pretty chilly waiting for them.”

  “She’s merely heeding what Ben Franklin said about sewing,” Mart said.

  “And what was that, young man?” Mr. Belden asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Haste to baste makes waste,” Mart recited with an impish grin.

  Everyone winced.

  “Well,” Trixie countered, “I’ll bet that Ben Franklin could eat a hamburger without getting catsup on his jacket!”

  “Touché,” Mart said. “I forgot about that. Moms, how do I get a catsup stain out of my jacket?”

  “The same way I get the catsup stains out of all your clothes,” Mrs. Belden advised. “Use some spot remover first, and then soap and water.”

  Mart hurried off.

  “Speaking of Honey,” Trixie said, “I’m going to call her and ask how her social studies report is coming.”

  Actually, Trixie couldn’t wait to tell Honey about what she had seen at the tree house. Dialing quickly, she soon heard Hone/s voice at the other end of the line. “Do you remember Tuesday night, when I saw a car following you?” she asked.

  “I remember you said something about a car... someone not knowing his way around Sleepyside,” Honey said.

  “You said it was somebody who didn’t know his way around,” Trixie said. “But I’m sure that car was following you. And I saw that very same car again tonight.”

  “Really?Where?”

  Trixie told about going to Bobby’s tree house to look for her jacket button. “The man got out of the car and looked around,” she said. “What do you suppose he was doing poking around that old dead-end road?”

  “Maybe he still doesn’t know his way around,” Honey said.

  “Hmmm,” Trixie said skeptically. “Well, I think something is up. I’m going to keep an eye out for that car. See you tomorrow afternoon?”