The heavy front door closed solidly behind Trixie, cutting off the traffic noises from outside as suddenly as turning off a radio. Inside, Town Hall seemed as quiet as a ghost town.
The two main meeting rooms on either side of the hallway were deserted. The long corridor that ran past the stairway was dark and gloomy-looking, and the stillness of the old building made Trixie feel she should walk softly. She went up the steep flight of stairs almost on tiptoe.
Mr. Johnson s office was at the far end of the second-floor corridor. The door was standing open. Trixie saw the folded papers on the desk where Mr. Johnson had said they would be. Tucking them into her jacket pocket, she started back down the hallway toward the stairs.
She had almost reached the stairs when she saw a door directly across from the stairway open slowly. A tall man backed out into the hall and soundlessly closed the door. Turning, he saw Trixie.
“Are you, uh, looking for someone?” Trixie asked, suddenly nervous.
“I’m looking for the caretaker’s office,” the man answered in an unfriendly tone.
“Oh.” Trixie forced herself to smile. “That’s it down there, at the end of the hall, but Mr. Johnson isn’t in now. He’s outside—”
“Thanks,” the man interrupted. He turned and started down the stairs.
“Mr. Johnson is right out in the common,” Trixie said helpfully.
“I’ll talk to him later,” the man called back, already at the bottom of the stairs.
“Jeepers!” Trixie scratched her head. “I wonder who that was.” She turned to look at the closed door through which the man had come. The door was unmarked.
Twisting the knob, Trixie opened the door and poked her head inside. The small square room was dirty and completely empty, except for a narrow steel ladder bolted to the floor in the middle of the room. The ladder went up to a hatch set in the high ceiling.
Curious, Trixie started to climb, counting each rung as she went. After thirteen rungs, her head was pressed against the hatch. Hooking one arm around the top rung, Trixie cautiously pushed the hatch open. She smelled fresh air.
“This is the belfry!” Trixie exclaimed aloud. She stretched her neck to look around the empty tower, noticing the worn wooden floor, the low arched openings, and the weathered ceiling with another hatch that led up into the cupola. “It isn’t much bigger than Bobby’s tree house,” Trixie muttered. Then she gasped. “And come to think of it, I think that man was the same one I saw from the tree house!”
Bad News • 9
TRIXIE FOUND the other Bob-Whites waiting impatiently in tie station wagon.
“Where have you been?” Mart demanded. “Clambering capriciously in the cupola?”
“As a matter of fact,” Trixie said, sliding in beside him, “I was almost in the cupola. I climbed up to the belfry to have a look around.”
“What!” Brian exclaimed.
“Trixie!” Honey gasped. “How did you—”
“On the ladder,” Trixie said casually. “After the man asked me where Mr. Johnson s office was.”
“Wait a minute, now,” Jim ordered. He turned the station wagon onto the street and headed toward Crabapple Farm. “Okay, Trixie,” he said, “how about starting at the beginning?”
Trixie told about seeing the man come out of the second-floor room. “He said he was looking for Mr. Johnson s office, and I told him that Mr. Johnson was standing right outside the building,” she said. “There wasn’t any sign on the door where he came out, so I just sort of looked inside.”
“And?” Brian prompted.
“There wasn’t anything in the room except a ladder up to the ceiling,” Trixie said.
“And so you climbed it,” Mart deduced. “Real smart. If the only thing in the room had been an open window, would you have defenestrated yourself?”
“De-what-a-strated?” Trixie asked.
“I think he means jumped out,” Brian offered. “Oh,” Trixie said. “No, silly,” she told Mart. “I was just curious about where the ladder went, since that man had just come out of the room.”
“And the ladder went up to the belfry,” Jim said. “That’s right,” Trixie confirmed. “So, what was that man doing up there?”
“Elementary, my dear Beatrix,” Mart said. “Mr. Johnson said he had some papers for a roofing contractor. That was the contractor, up looking at the roof. Case closed.”
“Mart’s right,” Honey agreed.
“I’m not so sure,” Trixie muttered.
Brian glanced at his watch. “We wont have time for our meeting now,” he said gloomily. “But I guess it doesn’t matter. With Hoppy gone, there’s no reason to have a walk-a-thon. So we won’t be on the radio, after all.”
“At least for the time being,” Trixie said with forced cheerfulness. “We can all hope that Hoppy will be found soon. If he is found, he could be recoppered before they put him back up on top of Town Hall.”
“If he’s found,” Brian repeated as Jim pulled into the driveway at Crabapple Farm.
When Trixie, Brian, and Mart entered the kitchen, Bobby was singing “Meet me in St. Loooey, Looey” in a high, squeaky voice.
Brian and Mart were headed for the hall to hang up their jackets, and Trixie took hers off and handed it to Mart. “I’m sorry were late again, Moms,” she said.
“Meet me at the FAIRRR,” Bobby sang at the top of his lungs as he placed napkins at each place around the table.
“Who taught Bobby that old song?” Trixie asked. Mrs. Belden smiled wanly. “The radio,” she sighed. “WSTH has played it several times today. Someone has been calling in and requesting it.” She rubbed her forehead and frowned. “Regan wants Bobby to exercise Mr. Pony tomorrow,” she said, “and his school reopens the day after that thank goodness. I’ve had a headache all day.”
“You go and sit down, Moms,” Trixie urged, feeling more guilty than ever about being late. “I’ll finish getting dinner.” Trixie picked up a spoon and took over at the stove.
“Hi, Trixie!” Bobby said, waving a napkin at her. “I know nother old-fashioned song now. Want to hear me sing it?”
“I believe I heard you singing when I came in,” Trixie told him. Taking the silverware from the drawer, she handed it to her little brother. “Let’s see how quietly you can put these on the table, Bobby,” she whispered. “Moms has a headache.”
Bobby made a silent O with his lips. “Okay,” he whispered back. Tiptoeing to the table, he began his new task, very carefully placing each piece of silverware in its proper position.
Reddy began barking a minute later, and Bobby forgot to be quiet. “Here comes Dad!” he yelled. He and Reddy raced for the front door.
In spite of his avowed preference for hamburgers, Mart ate baked ham, scalloped potatoes, and buttered carrots with great enthusiasm. “It’s delicious, Moms,” he said. “Dinner fit for a despot.”
“It wasn’t cooked in a pot,” Bobby objected. “It was cooked in the oven!”
“No thanks to me,” Trixie said with a grin, then turned to speak to her father. “We stopped by Town Hall after school, Dad,” she told her father.
“Oh?” Peter Belden buttered a hot roll. “Have they found the weather vane yet?” he asked.
“Not a sign of it,” Brian answered.
“I’m sure it must have been stolen,” Trixie said seriously.
Her father raised an eyebrow. “Stolen?”
Trixie nodded. “If the wind just blew Hoppy off the roof, someone would have found him by now. The wind surely wasn’t strong enough to blow him very far away from Town Hall.”
“That’s true,” her father agreed. “But why would anyone steal a weather vane, Trixie?”
“That weather vane is an antique,” Mrs. Belden pointed out. “It might be worth quite a bit of money. But I don’t think that anyone in Sleepyside would steal it. Maybe it was just broken to pieces when it fell.”
“There were no pieces found, either,” Trixie persisted. “Hoppy just vanished.”
>
Trixie and her brothers were cleaning up the kitchen after dinner when Mr. Belden yelled for them to come to the living room in a hurry. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, Trixie followed her brothers. The radio in the living room was on, and Trixie’s father gestured for them to pay attention to what the announcer was saying.
“... and the weather vane, made in the shape of a grasshopper, has been missing all day. The weather vane was apparently blown down by the storm, but the area around Town Hall has been searched thoroughly, and no trace of it has been found.
“The weather vane is about three feet long and weighs sixty pounds. It is over two hundred years old and believed to be one of the grasshopper vanes made by Shem Drowne, a Colonial coppersmith who crafted the famous grasshopper for Faneuil Hall in Boston. Authorities consider the Sleepyside weather vane to be very valuable, and it’s feared that it has been stolen.”
“There!” Trixie gasped. “See what I mean?”
Her father hushed her.
“…a word from Sergeant Molinson of the Sleepyside Police,” the newscaster continued.
“Good evening.” Sergeant Molinson s familiar gruff voice came from the radio. “We must now assume that the antique weather vane from the top of our Town Hall has been stolen. The police department asks that all citizens of Sleepyside be on the alert. Any information concerning the possible whereabouts of the weather vane should be reported to the police at once. Thank you for your cooperation.”
“Well, now it’s official,” Trixie said.
“You were right, young lady,” her father conceded. “You know, it’s funny—I must have looked at that weather vane a million times over the years, and I never gave a thought to the possibility that it might be valuable.”
“I never did either,” Mrs. Belden agreed. “Maybe it should have been on display in the museum, locked up in a case. But it’s always seemed so-so natural for it to be up there on top of Town Hall.”
Trixie slumped in a chair. “And we were going to announce our walk-a-thon on WSTH tomorrow,” she said.
“Yeah,” Brian added, “but there’s no sense in trying to raise the money for recoppering the weather vane now.”
“I hate to say this, Trixie,” Mart mumbled. “But I think Hoppy’s luck just ran out.”
Bob-Whites on the Air • 10
HONEY TELEPHONED early the next morning. “Don t take the bus this morning, Trixie,” she said excitedly. “Jim and I will come by for all of you in the station wagon.”
“Okay,” Trixie said. “What’s up?”
“I don’t have time to tell you now,” Honey said. “See you in a few minutes.”
Trixie told her brothers that Jim would be driving them to school.
“How come?” Mart inquired.
“I don’t know,” Trixie said, “but Honey was excited about something. I guess shell tell us on the way to school.”
Bobby stood with them near the back door as they waited for the station wagon. “I kinda wish I could go to school today,” he said.
“What? Are these poor ears deceiving me?” Mart said. “A Belden who wants to go to school?”
“It’s Tuesday,” Bobby explained. “That’s chocolate milk day. We get chocolate milk after recess in the morning.”
Trixie mussed his hair. “I’m sure Moms will let you have some chocolate milk here after you get back from riding Mr. Pony,” she said.
“Oh, yeah, Trixie,” Bobby said with a smile. He waved her close and whispered in her ear: “Regan and me are gonna ride to my tree house.”
“That’s a good idea,” Trixie whispered back. “You can tell me all about it this afternoon.”
Jim honked, and Trixie and her brothers called good-bye to their parents and went out the door.
“Hi, everybody,” Trixie greeted as they climbed into the station wagon. “What’s going on, Honey?”
“Let me guess,” Mart said. “Jim is lucubrating to become a bus driver.”
“Not that I know of,” Jim said.
“Wait till you hear!” Honey commanded happily.
“Were waiting,” Brian urged.
“Well,” Honey began, “last night I telephoned Mr. Perkins. I told him we were canceling our walk-a-thon, since Hoppy is missing, and that we wouldn’t be making the announcement on his radio station.”
“And?” Trixie prodded,
“And Mr. Perkins told me that he wants us to make another announcement for Him, instead. He’s going to offer a reward of one thousand dollars for Hoppy’s return, and he wants us to announce it!”
“One thousand dollars!” Brian said.
“Wow!” Mart exclaimed.
“Why didn’t you call and tell us last night?” Trixie asked.
“I promised Mr. Perkins I wouldn’t say anything until this morning,” Honey said. “The police asked him to wait for twenty-four hours before offering a reward.”
“One thousand dollars,” Trixie breathed. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Enough to keep me supplied with hamburgers for a year,” Mart rhapsodized.
“Hey!” Trixie gasped. “If we found Hoppy, then we could donate the reward to have him recoppered.”
“That’s fine,” Brian said. “But where do we start looking for him?”
“I don’t know,” Trixie admitted. “When are we going to make the announcement, Honey?”
“We’re supposed to be at the station right after school,” Honey said. “Mr. Perkins said we could rehearse for a while, and then tape the announcement when were ready. It’ll be on the evening news.”
“The evening news,” echoed Mart with satisfaction. “I always did want to be an anchor person.”
That afternoon, the Bob-Whites made their way to the reception room at WSTH. The radio station was housed in a new brick and glass building on the outskirts of Sleepyside.
Stepping to the receptionist’s desk, Honey introduced herself. “I’m Honey Wheeler, and these are my friends—”
“Oh, yes.” The attractive young woman smiled. “Mr. Perkins is expecting you. Come with me, please.” As the receptionist stood, the phone rang and a switchboard light blinked. She punched a button and picked up the receiver. “Station WSTH,” she said. “May we play a song for you?” She listened for a moment, then said, “Yes, sir. Were always happy to play a request.”
When she hung up, the young woman shook her head. “That’s the fifth time today that same man has called to request the same old song. He must be crazy about ’St. Louis Blues.’ Come with me. I’ll show you to the recording room.”
She led the Bob-Whites down a short corridor and into a small, nearly empty room. A single row of chairs lined one wall, and a microphone stood in the middle of the floor.
“You’ll use this room to record your announcement,” the receptionist told them. “It seems a bit small, but we don’t usually have seven people at a time making recordings,” She pointed toward a window in one wall. “The disc jockey and the engineer are in there,” she said. “Make yourselves comfortable. Mr. Perkins will be with you in just a minute.”
After the receptionist had gone, Trixie looked around the room. “This isn’t what I thought the inside of a radio station would be like,” she said in a disappointed tone.
“What did you expect?” Jim asked. “Tubes and wires and transistors all over the place?”
“My parents love this station,” Di said. “They listen to it a lot.”
Trixie nodded. “Moms says the old songs really make her feel good.”
“Except when Bobby sings them,” Mart added wryly.
The door opened then, and Mr. Perkins came into the room. He was a small man with snow-white hair and a neatly clipped moustache. He looked every bit as dignified as a wealthy and successful man should, but his smile was warm and friendly while he shook hands with each of the Bob-Whites as Honey introduced them.
“Thank you for coming,” Mr. Perkins said. “I understand that you young people are rather well known in th
e community for being helpful to those in need. Well, this business of the weather vane being stolen has me upset. I haven’t lived in Sleepyside for too many years, but I know that the grasshopper weather vane is an important part of the town’s history.
“Your plan to raise money with a walk-a-thon and have the weather vane recoppered was a splendid idea. It showed that you are proud of Sleepyside’s heritage. But now, we must direct our efforts toward getting the weather vane back. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have announce the reward I’m offering for the return of the weather vane.”
Mr. Perkins handed each of the Bob-Whites a sheet of paper. “I wrote seven short paragraphs,” he told them, “so that you can take turns reading. Each one of you can read one paragraph.”
Dan glanced at the sheet and nodded. “We can each take a turn. We’ll do it in alphabetical order.”
“Fine, fine,” Mr. Perkins said. “Go through it a few times, and let me “know when you’re ready to record. I’ll be in the next room there with the engineer. You can signal me through the window.”
The Bob-Whites watched as Mr. Perkins adjusted the microphone to the proper height “Now, don’t be nervous. If we have to, we can record this a dozen times, but Tm sure you’ll get it right on the first try ” Those words of encouragement gave Trixie and the others the confidence they needed. Silently, each of them read over the script.
“Okay,” Brian said, “let’s run through it now. I’ll go first.”
Brian stepped to the microphone and began. “Where is our weather vane? The copper grasshopper has been missing from the Town Hall roof since Sunday night.”
Dan followed. “The weather vane had been standing on Town Hall for over two hundred years—ever since Sleepyside was founded.”
Di was next. “The grasshopper is three feet long and weighs sixty pounds. It has round glass eyes, and its body is hollow. A long, thin spire passes through its body to bold it on its base.”
Honey spoke up. “Sleepyside’s weather vane looks very much like the famous grasshopper atop Faneuil Hall in Boston. Some people believe that Shem Drowne, the coppersmith who created the Boston weather vane, also made one for Sleepyside.”
The Mystery of the Phantom Grashopper Page 6
