The Mystery in Arizona

daffodil.”
    “Oh, stop it,” Trixie yelled. “Why do you forever keep on using silly phrases like ‘I believe’ when you know perfectly well that the Wheelers weren’t living in the Manor House when I was in the third grade?”
    “Besides,” Di continued loyally, giving Mart a stem look, “she didn’t fall off the stage on purpose. I remember it all very well because I was the daffodil right behind her. First her paper skirt fell off; then she tripped on it, and the next thing we knew she was practically in the lap of the teacher who was playing the piano.” She laughed in spite of herself. “It really was awfully funny,” she told Honey, “because Trixie was sort of plump in those days—like Bobby is now, you know.”
    “You were pretty plump yourself,” Trixie told her sourly. Then she joined in the laughter. “I was a scream in those days,” she admitted. “I guess we all were. Anyway, I’m willing to be one of the first three couples on the floor this evening, but only if I can wear my Levi’s.”
    “Oh, no,” Di cried in a horrified tone of voice. “You’ve got to wear one of those darling new dresses you bought in Peekskill.”
    Trixie shrugged. “I suppose I will, but I won’t be responsible for the consequences.”
    “I will,” Jim said gallantly. “As my partner, you will be the most graceful lady on the floor.”
    Trixie blushed and quickly changed the subject.
    “We've got a lot to discuss before the dance starts,” she said and told the boys about Rosita’s problem.
    Jim whistled. “We’ve got to do something about her,” he agreed. “Since the motto of our club is to help others, we should be able to think of some way out for her.”
    “I’ve thought and thought,” Trixie said forlornly. “If only she weren’t so proud, Mrs. Sherman would be delighted to give her the money.”
    “Since when did Lady Astorbilt become Lady Bountiful?” Mart asked.
    “She always has been a sweet old thing,” Trixie said and explained. Then she told the boys about the way Tenny was masquerading as a cowboy in order to earn money while he was working for his Ph.D.
    “I sort of suspected his lingo right along,” Jim said, grinning. “It was just a little bit too pat What a great guy he is! Maybe someday he’ll teach at my school during a summer session.”
    They finished clearing the tables then, but when the girls started to stack the dishes in the sinks, the boys shooed them out of the kitchen. “Git along, little dogies,” said Jim. “We’re goin in cowboy rig, but you gals has got to get prettied up for this here stampede.”
    They wore their flowered cotton frocks and tied ribbons around their hair. “I feel like a fool,” said Trixie to Di and Honey, “but you two look darling.”
    “You look good enough to eat,” Di told her truthfully. “If Mrs. Sherman weren’t going in her flour-sack gown, you’d be the belle of the ball.”
    They all giggled as they hurried out to the living room, where the party was already in full swing. Another cowboy had joined the “orchestra” with his accordion, and Uncle Monty at the microphone was shouting, rather than singing:

“All right, boys, heel and toein’,
Swing yore pardners, kiss ’em if you kin.
Now to the next step and keep a-goin,
Till you jine yore pards aginr

    Jim grabbed Trixie’s hand, Brian crooked his arm at Honey, and Mart bowed low in front of Di. In less than a minute the Bob-Whites were part of the colorful, laughing crowd.

“Gents to the center, ladies ’round ’em—
Form a circle; balance all.
Whirl yer gals to where you found ’em;
Promenade around the hall.”

    “How do you like the piñata?” Jim asked.
    Trixie stared up at the brown, oblong thing which hung from the ceiling rafters. “It doesn’t look much like a jar,” she said.
    “It’s not supposed to be an olla,” Jim told her. “It’s supposed to look like a hog-tied calf. The piñata doesn’t have to be a jar, you know. It can be in the shape of anything that seems to be suitable to the occasion.”
    Uncle Monty announced the end of the first dance with:

“Shake yore hoofs and ketch your kitty,
Promenade all to yore seats.”

    When Trixie caught her breath, she asked Jim, “What is the occasion? I mean, you don’t usually have a piñata at a square dance, do you?”
    “No,” Jim agreed. “But it’s Uncle Monty’s birthday. The dogie done up in a piggin string is a surprise thought up by Foreman Howie. Di