The Mystery of the Ghostly Galeon

their direction. On the other hand, Mr. Appleton, who was dining alone at a small table nearby, seemed to be enjoying their conversation. On several occasions, Trixie saw him smile and lean toward them, straining to hear what was being said.
    “I wonder what he’s done with Clarence?” she murmured to Honey, who immediately began to giggle again.
    Trixie was having such a good time that she quite forgot to notice whether Mr. Appleton’s every move was being watched—or even her own. Somehow it no longer seemed to matter. With the good food in front of her, and her laughing friends around her, she was beginning to think that she had never felt happier in her life.
    At last the Bob-Whites leaned back in their chairs, wondering if their stomachs would ever be able to hold another morsel of food.
    Mart groaned as Smiley Jackson deftly removed his dinner plate. “That was one of the most scrumptious meals I’ve ever had,” he announced. “Undoubtedly, my avoirdupois has now been augmented by countless pounds and ounces.”
    “If that means you shoveled food into your mouth without even pausing for breath tonight,” Trixie remarked thoughtlessly, “then I guess we’ll all agree.”
    Instantly, Mart drawled, “Take care, sister dear, for your accusation could apply equally to yourself. In other words, it’s merely a case of the pot calling the kettle black.”
    “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,
    Mart Belden,” Trixie retorted, her cheeks burning hotly.
    “It means,” Mart said, in his most infuriating tone of voice, “that people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”
    Trixie’s fingers curled around the stem of her water glass as she glared across the table at her brother.
    “On the other hand,” Miss Trask said suddenly, “a rolling stone gathers no moss, a stitch in time saves nine—”
    “And every cloud has a silver lining,” Frank Trask boomed. “By gum, Marge, I’d quite forgotten that old game we used to play.”
    “What old game?” Jim asked, bewildered. “When I was just a sprout, like yourselves,” Mr. Trask replied, “my sisters and I used to squabble among ourselves, as youngsters sometimes do.” He didn’t look at Trixie and Mart. “When that happened, we often said more than we meant to. And often tempers got hot. So to cool ’em down, we used to quote old proverbs— old sayings—at each other until someone laughed, and then the quarrel was forgotten. It was our way of counting to ten, y’see.” He leaned toward his sister. “We should have remembered our game the last time you were here, Marge.”
    Miss Trask nodded. “Yes, Frank, perhaps we should have done just that.” Trixie noticed that her cheeks were suddenly flushed.
    “In that case,” Mart announced loudly, “I hereby affirm that it is understandable that homo sapiens commit erroneous actions, while deity confers absolution.”
    Trixie looked at him and frowned. “Does that mean we shouldn’t count our blessings before they hatch?”
    She was startled when everyone laughed, until she noticed that Mart was laughing, too.
    “You’ve won the game, Trix,” Brian told her, grinning, “and it took you exactly one second to do it. Mart was saying that to err is human, to forgive divine.”
    “But it’s chickens that shouldn’t be counted,” Jim explained.
    Trixie, glad that Mart was no longer angry, joined in the laughter. “I’d sooner count blessings than chickens any day,” she told her friends happily.
    Mr. Trask leaned back in his chair. “And on that cheerful note, we get at last to the surprise I promised my sister. In fact, there are two surprises. Before I tell you what they are, I should explain that there was a time when my sisters and I thought we would have to sell this place. Naturally, we didn’t want to. Ever since anyone can remember, a Trask has been at Pirate’s Inn. It all seemed hopeless, until I had an idea.”
    “One of many,” Miss Trask murmured.
    “I borrowed some money from a good friend of mine named Nicholas Morgan,” her brother said, “and with the loan, plus a touch of imagination”—he nodded toward his surroundings— “I can honestly say that the inn is a success.”
    “Is it really, Frank?” Miss Trask asked.
    “It really is,” her brother assured her. “By this time tomorrow, I will have paid off the loan, and this place will be ours again, free and clear. But there! I see we are about to be interrupted. To