The Mystery at Maypenny's

fantasy. It is a fantasy to think that nature and industry can exist side by side without one destroying the other.” Jim gathered up his papers hastily, then turned and walked quickly back to his chair.
    Once again the audience applauded, but Trixie could sense a difference in the applause. It was more respectful than the applause for Todd had been. Trixie was glad that the quiet science student had had a chance to be heard.
    “He was really good,” Honey said softly. “Wasn’t he?” Trixie said. Then she felt her stomach do a flip-flop. “Oh, Honey,” she said, “Brian has to speak next!”
    Brian had risen from his chair and was bending over the table, straightening his papers. He ran his hand through his dark hair, squared his shoulders, and walked toward the lectern.
    “I want to thank the second negative speaker,” he said calmly. “I am grateful, as I’m sure all of you are, that the facts of this case have finally been brought out.”
    For a moment, Trixie wondered if Brian would even try to counter the facts, but he continued.
    “Even though I’m grateful for the facts and do not dispute them, there was one comment made by the second negative speaker that was not a fact. Nature and industry can exist side by side. With the right precautions, International Pine can complete its expansion, bringing needed jobs to Sleepyside, while doing minimal damage to the environment. Here’s how that could be—” Brian broke off suddenly, staring over the heads of the people in the audience. In the silence, Trixie heard a commotion coming from the back of the auditorium. Following Brian’s gaze, she turned in her seat and looked toward the doors on the far side of the room.
    A knot of people had formed there. They seemed to be struggling with someone, and Trixie heard a voice shout, “Stop him!”
    Just then, someone broke through the knot of people and ran down the aisle of the auditorium. A murmur ran through the crowd as they watched.
    “Trixie!” Honey exclaimed, clutching at her friend’s arm. “Isn’t that John Score?”
    Even at that distance, Trixie recognized the scarecrow figure dressed in ragged clothes. “You’re right, Honey. That’s who it is.”
    Score ran down the aisle as fast as he could and vaulted onto the stage. He dashed to the lectern and leaned toward the mike. “This is what International Pine calls a minimum of damage,” he said, waving something aloft. “Is this what you want to happen?”
    Trixie realized that what he was holding was a dead duck. As the other students in the audience realized it, too, there were gasps and stifled screams.
    Mr. McLane emerged from the wings. He walked over to John Score, grabbed his arm, and tried to pull him away from the microphone.
    John Score held his ground. “This is what industry means,” he shouted. “It means dead wildlife, increased pollution, extinction of endangered species. It must be stopped! It must be stopped now!”
    The assistant principal ran out onto the stage and grabbed John Score’s other arm. Together he and Mr. McLane wrestled the thin young man off the stage and into the wings.
    The entire audience was in an uproar. The students were all on their feet; some of those toward the back were even standing on their chairs to get a better view.
    Trixie and Honey, from their seats in the third row, could see everything. To Trixie, the most interesting thing in sight was John Score’s waffle-stomper boots.
    She turned to Honey, her blue eyes wide and her face so pale that the freckles across her nose stood out in sharp contrast. “I know where he got that duck!” she exclaimed.

Shocking News • 8

    THE UPROAR in the auditorium was so great that Honey didn’t even try to speak. She just widened her eyes in a look that said, as plainly as words could, “Oh, Trixie, do you really think that was the same duck we spotted in the game preserve yesterday?”
    Trixie, in turn, raised her eyebrows and cocked her head to one side, inviting her friend to think of a better explanation.
    Mr. McLane walked back out onto the stage, adjusting his tie and smoothing his hair. The self-confident air he usually showed when appearing before an audience was gone. He looked pale and shaken. He walked up to the microphone, cleared his throat, and said loudly, “Would you all please take your seats and be quiet!”
    He had to repeat the message twice before the auditorium became quiet enough for him to continue. Even then, he had