The Mysterious Visitor

Money you worked hard all last summer to earn. The rest of us haven’t contributed nearly as much. I’m glad you’re going to get your share back."
    "Don’t be ridic," Trixie said. "It’s not the money I’m worried about. What bothers me is what we are going to do between now and next spring, which is about as soon as you boys will be able to start working on another clubhouse."
    Jim sighed. "Frankly, I don’t know, Trix. And in the meantime, what are you Beldens going to do with all of the sports equipment Brian and Mart brought down from your garage last weekend? I don’t know where you could store it." "We’ll just have to donate it to the scrap drive," Trixie said forlornly.
    "That can’t happen," Jim said firmly. "Skis, sleds, ice skates, snowshoes, a pup tent, outdoor cooking utensils—" He spread his hands. "Those things look old and tired now, but it will run into a lot of money when you try to replace them with new ones."
    "You’re telling me," Trixie said sarcastically. "But, Jim, there isn’t room at our place for them. And if we leave them outdoors they’ll be ruined." Jim took her hand and led her out through the French doors to the veranda. "There isn’t room up here for them, either, Trix. You couldn’t safely put another thing in the cellar, attic, stable, garage, toolhouse, or even the boathouse. I know, because Dad and I have been inspecting the premises on account of Fire Prevention Week. He pulled her down beside him on the swing.
    "But relax, kid. As Micawber would say, ‘Something is bound to turn up.’ "
    Trixie groaned. "I wish you and Honey had never decided to read David Copperfield together. All you seem to do is quote from it. All I can remember about Micawber is that he spent most of his time in debtors’ prison. A cheerful thought!" "That’s not all you remember about David Copperfield," Jim said, laughing. "Last night you said Uncle Monty reminded you of the villain, Uriah Heep. Do you still think that Di’s uncle is as slippery as an eel, Trix? I mean, do you still think that he’s an impostor?"
    "Yes, I do," Trixie said. "And I’ll prove it someday. Wait and see."
    Jim narrowed his green eyes. "As Tom said last night, sleuth around in your imagination all you like, but steer clear of Hawthorne Street. You’ll have to promise me that, Trixie."
    Trixie hastily changed the subject. "We’d better call a meeting of the B.W.G.’s right away, Jim, and decide what to do about a clubhouse." "That," he agreed, "is the most important thing on the agenda right now. We’d better call a meeting at once. Where is everybody?"
    "Honey," Trixie told him, "is down at the clubhouse measuring the windows for the curtains. I can’t bear to tell her the bad news. She bought the material ages ago with the money she earned working as her mother’s secretary. You remember all those letters Honey answered, don’t you, Jim? She worked two whole weekends so she could buy that stuff that looks sort of like gunny-sacking to me. What’s it called?"
    "Monk’s cloth," Jim said. "It’s expensive, but it’s just exactly what we want, Trixie. It’s a neutral shade and it wears forever."
    "Oh, I think it’s swell material," Trixie said. "I’d have died if Honey had wanted to hang gingham or dainty ruffled curtains. It just isn’t that kind of a clubhouse. But," she added miserably, "Celia will probably have all sorts of frilly ideas. Organdy and such. Ugh!"
    "Celia has very good taste," Jim said sternly. "But that’s not the point. We’ve got to have a meeting right away. Where are Brian and Mart?" "They ought to be here soon," Trixie said as they started down the veranda steps. "When last seen they were cleaning the chicken coop. At least Brian was. Mart was sitting on an upturned pail, giving him directions."
    Jim laughed. "That situation didn’t last long, I’ll bet. Knowing Brian, Mart did his share of the work, so they ought to be through by now." "You’re so right," Trixie said, pointing toward the stable. "Here they come, and Mart does look as though he’d moved an arm muscle or two." "Hi," Mart greeted Trixie and Jim. "Why are you two so glum? One would think Brian had been slave-driving you instead of poor me." "Glum is the word," Trixie replied. "We’ve lost the clubhouse!"
    Brian stared at her as though she had lost her mind. "What are you talking about? Houses don’t go around getting lost."
    Mart gazed up at the sky. "Haven’t seen any cyclones around recently.