The Mysterious Code

adopted brother Jim and think that nothing would
ever make me quite as happy as to be asked to be a B.W.G., and now—”
    “And now,” said Trixie, once
more the efficient co-president of the club, “now we aren’t going to go down
without a fight.”
    “Maybe we should get
the facts first, instead of just trying to read Mr. Stratton’s mind.” Jim was
being practical. “Don’t you think it would be a good idea if we were to talk to
Mr. Stratton before that meeting this evening?”
    “That’s what I’ve
been trying to tell you ever since I came in,” Trixie said. “Mr. Stratton said
he wanted all of us to come to his office at three thirty this afternoon to
talk about the club.”
    “What do you think
that means?” Diana asked. “A chance for us to save the club?”
    “Trixie doesn’t know
that Di,” Brian said. “I know this, however. If Jim and I don’t get back into
the kitchen pretty soon, we’ll be fired. That might make such a dent in the
club’s funds it would die a natural death.”
    “Let’s meet here,
then, at three twenty-five. We’ll go to the principal’s office together,”
Trixie said solemnly. “Jeepers, I forgot to eat my lunch. Not one of us ate
anything. It’s real trouble, sure enough, when we’re too worried to eat. I
never thought I’d live to see this happen.”
    The six members of
the B.W.G.’s were a sadfaced lot The club had been organized, in the first
place, because the members’ families lived out in the country near the little
town of Sleepy-side. All of them had to take the bus to school. The town boys
and girls had many after-school activities which the bus travelers could not
share.
    Trixie, her
brothers, Brian, Mart and little six-year-old Bobby, lived at Crabapple Farm on
Glen Road, two miles from Sleepyside.
    On the western boundary
of the farm, and just up the hill, Honey Wheeler, thirteen, lived with her
parents and her adopted brother Jim, fifteen. Their home, Manor House, was a
huge estate with acres of beautiful rolling lawn, a bird sanctuary and wild
game preserve, a private lake, riding horses, and many servants.
    Diana Lynch,
thirteen, too, whose father had recently become a millionaire, lived on another
large country estate. Her twin brothers and twin sisters were much younger.
    In spite of the vast
wealth of the others, the Beldens loved their white frame farm home best.
Though Mr. and Mrs. Belden worked hard—Mr. Belden had a position in the
Sleepyside bank— they never lacked time to make sure that their children s
friends felt welcome.
    The club members,
whose secret whistle imitated a bobwhite’s call, all wore red jackets which
Honey had made for them, with “B.W.G.” crossstitched on the back.
    They had remodeled
the old gatehouse on the Wheeler estate and now used it as a clubhouse. When
they had first discovered it, it had been almost a ruin, set in a tangle of
shrubs and vines. The B.W.G. s had worked hard to remodel it. The boys had done
most of the repair work on the roof and interior. The girls had painted, made
curtains, and helped clear away the vines and shrubs.
    It was a rule of die
club that all funds used in the work of the club had to be earned by the
individual members. Honey’s father and Diana’s father would have financed the
club for any amount, but the members did not want this. Trixie contributed five
dollars a week which she earned helping her mother. Honey, who had learned to
mend and sew at summer camps and private schools, earned the same amount as
Trixie by doing mending. Diana was paid to help look after her little brothers
and sisters. Mart did all the odd fobs he could find around the neighborhood.
Jim and Brian, of course, had jobs working in the school cafeteria.
    As a group they had
patrolled the game preserve before Mr. Maypenny, the present gamekeeper, had
been employed. For this, Mr. Wheeler had paid them the regular gamekeepers
wages.
    Recently, too, when
they had been at a dude ranch in Arizona for two weeks at Christmastime, they
had substituted for the regular work crew, who had left mysteriously. Dianas
uncle, who owned the ranch, had paid them the same wages that he paid die
regular employees.
    Working together,
planning together, playing together, the six had grown into a close-knit clan.
They believed sincerely in the worthwhile objectives of the Bob-Whites of the
Glen.
    Surely nothing could
happen that would destroy the club now.

Trixie’s
Big Idea • 2
     
    Don’t you think