The Mystery of the Ghostly Galeon

Delight!”
    Gingerly, Miss Trask raised Honey’s glass to her lips and sipped. “My goodness,” she exclaimed, “that is good punch! What a peculiar name to give it, though. In the old days, we didn’t have to think up fancy words to describe anything like that.”
    “And was the inn a success?” Jim asked.
    Miss Trask sighed. “No, I suppose not. Oh, we had our small share of tourists during the summer. But the rest of the year, I’m afraid, things were very slow.”
    “Well, they’re not slow now,” Trixie pointed out. She looked around the crowded dining room. “The people here tonight can’t be tourists, except for the Bob-Whites, that is. So it looks as if the townsfolk like it here, too.”
    A tall blond waiter appeared suddenly at her elbow. Although he was dressed in the usual pirate costume, he was, Trixie thought, a vast improvement over scruffy Weasel Willis, who had gloomily served them their drinks.
    This waiter quickly and efficiently delivered menus to each of them. Then he grinned and said, “My name’s Smiley Jackson, and when you’re ready, I’ll take your order.” He turned to Miss Trask. “The boss says to tell you he’ll be joining you soon.”
    “I can see why he’s called Smiley,” Mart said when the waiter had gone. “I’ve never seen so many glistening bicuspids in all my life. He must have at least a hundred in his oral cavity.”
    Trixie laughed and studied the menu. “I almost wish Smiley had stayed and practiced some reverse psychology on us. Everything sounds so delicious, I don’t know what to order.”
    “The Weak-Hearted Willies sound terrific,” Dan said. “Listen to the description: ‘Chicken pies, whose interiors will please your palate and whose exteriors will melt in your mouth.’ ”
    “Or we could have Flaming Trask-ka-bobs,” Brian said. “How does this sound? ‘Chunky beef wedges, marinated in Pirate’s Inn’s own special and delicate sauce, skewered, and cooked to perfection over an open fire.’ ”
    After much agonizing over the tantalizing descriptions, Smiley Jackson finally received eight orders of Captain’s Chowder. The thick, creamy soup was to be followed by Swashbuckler’s Steak (“cooked the way you like it”), one demure order of iced tea (for Miss Trask), three more Maiden’s Delights for the girls, and four Jolly Rogers—also punch—for the boys.
    Mart tried to order the Yo-Ho-Ho Rum Cake for dessert, but Smiley merely said casually, “I think the boss has something else planned for you tonight.”
    “Probably Yummy Yardarm Yogurt,” Trixie said, jokingly, knowing her brother didn’t like yogurt.
    “Or perhaps I-Scream-You-Scream-We-All-Scream-for-Ice-Cream,” Jim suggested.
    Miss Trask sighed. “I simply don’t know what to expect this evening,” she said. “My brother Wouldn’t say what his surprise is going to be. I must say, though”—she glanced at the fearsome portrait facing her—“that picture is quite taking away my appetite.”
    “Would you like to change places with me?” Trixie asked quickly. “That way you won’t have to look at it.”
    “Thank you, Trixie,” Miss Trask said briskly, but I will not be chased from my chair by an inanimate object. I can’t imagine why the original painting had to be removed, though. It was much nicer than this one.”
    Privately, Trixie agreed with her. She wasn’t sure whether this portrait really did lend atmosphere to the room. All she knew was that having it behind her made her feel acutely uncomfortable. Every time she glanced over her shoulder, she imagined that the pirate’s eyes were watching only her.
    When she confided this fancy to Di, she discovered that her friend had the same feeling.
    “The picture isn’t going to spoil my dinner,” Di whispered, “but I sure wish Mr. Trask would move it someplace else. Where is he, anyway?”
    When he did arrive, the Bob-Whites almost didn’t recognize him. In place of his pirate chief’s costume, he wore a smart dark blue suit, a pale blue shirt, and a striped tie.
    Instantly, he was the courteous host, making sure that his guests had everything they wanted. Then, when they were enjoying their meal, he told them story after story of the old inn’s earlier days.
    Mart, not to be outdone, promptly told several stories of his own. Soon the captain’s table was the merriest spot in the room.
    Once, after a particularly noisy burst of laughter, Trixie found the Weasel’s one eye staring in