The Mystery of the Blinking Eye

that!” Trixie protested.
    When nine o’clock came, though, they were all beginning to yawn.

    “Isn’t it a glorious day?” Trixie exclaimed as they went out of the apartment building the next day.
    “Right off the top shelf!” Mart stretched his arms and pounded his chest. “If we walk through the park leisurely, we’ll just about get to Celebrity Broadcasting on time.”
    “And let Barbara and Bob carry their guitars all that distance?” Brian asked.
    “They don’t weigh a thing. I’d rather walk, wouldn’t you, Barb?”
    Barbara nodded her head. “Dan’s carrying my guitar, anyway. I’d a million times rather walk than ride. There are so many things to see. Everything’s so—”
    “There goes Barbara’s one adjective, ‘wonderful,’ Bob said. Then he added quickly, “It is, too.”
    “Let me carry your guitar for you, Maestro Robert,” Mart offered.
    Bob handed it over. “You thought I wouldn’t, didn’t you? It wouldn’t bother a monkey to carry it.”
    “Is there a hidden meaning in that remark?” Mart grinned.
    “I was kidding. Give it back. I just wanted you to see how light it is.”
    “I will not. Everyone I pass thinks Fm the musician. I’ll masquerade till we get to the studio.”
    “You won’t have long to pretend,” Dan said. “We’d better hustle. It’s late.”
    They dodged in and out among the many people hurrying along Fifth Avenue. Poodles yapped furiously at them. Slender wolfhounds, on leashes, lifted their heads disdainfully. People seemed amused and stood aside as Trixie and her crowd ran, weaving in and out, to arrive, breathless, at the entrance to the studio. Trixie glanced at her watch and realized they had misjudged the time it would take to get there.
    “Sorry!” the man at the door said. “No more tickets. You’re just too late, kids. Try another day.”
    “Oh, no!” Barbara said, tears springing to her eyes. “We can’t come another day. We’re on the program today. See, here are our guitars.” .
    “Sorry, miss. That’s what everyone tells me. The room holds just so many. When it’s full, it’s full.”
    Trixie quickly reached into her pocket and pulled out the card that Mr. Meredith, the man from Celebrity Broadcasting Company, had given them the evening he heard Barbara and Bob play and sing. “Will this make any difference?”
    “Lady, I’ll say it will.” The man whistled softly to himself. “Why didn’t you say you were invited by the big brass himself?”
    “Is Mr. Meredith ‘Mr. Big’?”
    “Is he!” the man answered. “Just follow me.”
    He led them down a corridor, through several doors marked PRIVATE, until they ended within a few feet of the stage where the show was just ready for the air. “Here you are,” he whispered. “We keep these places for the V.I.P.’s.”
    “What did he mean by that?” Barbara whispered to Dan as they quietly settled into their seats.
    “ ‘V.I.P.’ means ‘Very Important People,’ ” Dan whispered back. “How about that?”
    “Heavens! Imagine! It’s—”
    “Wonderful!” Bob finished for her.
    “Shhh!” Brian warned. “The show’s on the air.”
    The bouncy master of ceremonies stepped onto the stage in front of the microphone just as the clock hand arrived at one o’clock. After he had delivered his usual welcome talk to the audience, he introduced the first act. The lights in the small auditorium dimmed. A pretty teen-age girl sat down at the piano.
    Obviously nervous, she played Chopin’s “Polonaise” with growing control of her fingers. When she had finished, everyone applauded vigorously. The girl smiled gratefully.
    A band of neighbor women using instruments made of various pots and pans followed. It was obvious that they played together for fun instead of harmony, and everyone laughed with them.
    A black man sang “The Impossible Dream.” His voice filled the small studio and beyond. The men in the control room twisted knobs to hold down the volume. When the singer had finished, the entire audience stood to applaud him.
    “He’ll be an opera star someday; see if he won’t,” Honey whispered.
    Now it was Barbara and Bob’s turn. The master of ceremonies called them to the stage. “These are two young folk singers from Iowa, Bob and Barbara Hubbell. One of our board members, Mr. Meredith, heard them sing and invited them to come here today. They write their own words and music. I’m looking forward to hearing them, just as I am sure you