The Mysterious Code

happen when I’m around,” Trixie said. “How could I help it
if that burglar came back to Mrs. Vanderpoel’s house when I was there?”
    “It would have been
just as easy for you to step out into the hall and call the police as it was to
go prance into that lean-to kitchen by yourself. Is it any wonder my hair is
turning gray when I think of what might happen to you?”
    “I never even
thought of calling the police,” Trixie said. “Anyway, how did I know it wasn’t
a cat prowling around? You know I had to tell Mrs. Vanderpoel that the desk had
been stolen. Do you know what she said?”
    “I can’t imagine...
and I never could see why you didn’t tell her before.”
    “I didn’t want her
to think I was so helpless as to let someone steal it right under my nose.
Well, when I told her, she said, ‘Land sakes, child, I’ve known about it for a
long time. I still know more about it than you do.’ What do you suppose she
meant by that?”
    “Why didn’t you ask
her?” Mrs. Belden wanted to know.
    “I didn’t have a
chance. Say, Moms, they sent Bull Thompson to reform school. You don’t have to
worry about him anymore.”
    “They haven’t sent
the rest of his gang anywhere. Until they do, I’ll not have an easy moment.
Thank goodness it’s only a little over two weeks till your antique show. Then
I’ll have a rest from worry until you begin another project,” Mrs. Belden said.
    “Don’t be so cross
with me, Moms,” Trixie said.
    “I don’t mean to be,
but, goodness, Trixie, you’ll be fourteen years old the first of May, and
you’ve never been content to be a girl instead of a tomboy. You’ve never even
dressed like the pretty girl you are, since that cousin of Honey’s was here.
Maybe after the antique show is over, you can plan some real boy-girl parties,
and not do any more detective work.”
    “That’s just what
I’m trying to tell you, Moms,” Trixie said. “You’ll be glad to know that Di is
having a dress-up party at her house Friday evening. It’s sort of a
pre-Valentine party. Her mother and father are having people in for dinner
February fourteenth, so Di is going to have her party early.”
    “That will mean a
new dress for you, Trixie,” her mother said, delighted.
    “Not a fancy one,
Moms, please. Di said her party this time isn’t going to be the way it was at
Halloween, when her imitation uncle ruined the whole thing with all that crazy
food and hired orchestras.”
    “I hope it’s
simpler,” her mother said, “because it didn’t sound to me like a young people’s
party at all. Trixie, I’ll meet you this afternoon, and we’ll find a dress for
you—shoes, too.”
    “Heels?” Trixie
asked.
    “Of course,” her
mother said, obviously pleased at Trixie’s new interest in clothes.
    “I’ll have to get
shoes, of course,” Trixie agreed, “but just forget about the dress. I can wear
one of Honey’s or maybe one of Di’s. They have closets full of them. Then you can
give me the money the dress would cost, and I’ll add it to the UNICEF fund.”
    “There are several
things wrong with that reasoning,” her mother told her. “In the first place, I
want you to have a pretty dress or two of your own. You hardly own a thing but
sweaters and skirts. You’re forever wearing Honey’s clothes.”
    “She doesn’t care,”
Trixie insisted.
    “This time I care,” Mrs. Belden said.
    “All right, Moms, if
you feel that way about it,” Trixie said. “Can you pick me up about two thirty?
I’ll be out of English class then. Maybe Honey and Di will go with me to get a
dress.”
    “This is to be our expedition,” Mrs. Belden said. “I want you to have the prettiest dress we can
find. Sometimes I think you pay too much attention to what the girls say and
haven’t an idea of your own about clothes.”
    “Honey and Di can
put on anything and look beautiful,” Trixie said, not at all enviously. “Honey
is just gorgeous, and you know it. And Di is even prettier. Everyone at
Sleepyside High thinks Di is the prettiest girl in the class.”
    “I think Trixie
Belden is going to give her some competition,” Mrs. Belden said.
    “You wouldn’t be
prejudiced, would you, Moms?” Trixie teased. “Have you taken a good look at my
freckles lately? And my waist? It’s simply miles around.”
    “It’s nothing of the
sort,” her mother said, provoked. “That’s another thing we’ll shop for—a
girdle.”
    “Gleeps, Moms, I’d
never wear it, not in a