The Mystery of the Memorial Day Fire

funds might cover a small can of putty. That’s about it.”
    “Where does it all go?” Trixie asked in amazement. “I work my fingers to the bone to earn my allowance, and practically every cent of it goes into the treasury. Everyone else works just as hard and gives just as much. Somehow, though, we never have any money left over in the spring. I don’t understand it!”
    “I think my co-president is asking for a treasurer’s report, Mart,” Jim said.
    “Very well,” Mart Belden said, taking a notebook out of his hip pocket. “Last October thirty-first, we held Halloween festivities here in the clubhouse. For said festivities we purchased two gallons of cider, cinnamon sticks, cloves, and a dozen apples for bobbing, as well as orange and black crepe paper for decorations.
    “During said festivities, Ms. Wheeler reminded us of those less fortunate than ourselves, with the result that we sent a five-dollar contribution to UNICEF.
    “At Christmas, we voted to buy a pair of gloves for Regan and a wool scarf for Tom Delanoy, the Wheelers’ groom and chauffeur, respectively, in recognition of the help and support they had given us through the year. Bottles of cologne went to Mrs. Helen Belden and Miss Trask, Honey’s governess, for the same reason.
    “On February fourteenth, another festive occasion was held here at the clubhouse, for which we bought red and white crepe paper.
    “In April, we voted to send ten dollars to that family near Tarrytown whose home was destroyed by a flood. That,” Mart concluded, shutting the notebook, “leaves our treasury with a total of six dollars and nineteen cents as of this date.”
    “Six dollars! “ ‘ Trixie shouted. “That’s worse than I thought!”
    “Well, I, for one, feel better,” Dan said. “We did a lot of good with the money we had, and we had a lot of fun. That’s what counts.”
    “I agree, Dan,” Brian said. “I don’t think we have to feel bad about how we spent the money. We do have to worry about coming up with some more, though.”
    “I could ask Daddy,” Honey said, without much enthusiasm.
    “Oh, no, you couldn’t,” Trixie retorted instantly, as Honey had known one of the Bob-Whites would. “The only rules this club has are to help others and to pay our own way. If we ask for handouts, we just won’t be the same club.”
    “I know that,” Honey said. “I’d really hate asking for the money, anyway, even though I know my father would be happy to give it to us. I’m so much more proud of myself since I started earning my own spending money and club dues.”
    “You earn it the hard way, too,” Trixie said, “repairing all of Bobby’s tattered and torn clothes for Moms. Ugh! I can’t stand sewing.”
    “Well, I love sewing, so earning my way isn’t as horrible as you make it sound. You actually work a lot harder, gardening and chasing after Bobby and trying to keep him from making all those tatters and tears than I get paid for mending,” Honey said loyally.
    “Ahem,” Jim said again. “That kind of mutual admiration is what’s so wonderful about the Bob-Whites, but right now we have other things to discuss. Does anyone have any ideas for raising money?”
    An uncommon silence followed Jim’s question. “I take it that’s a no,” Jim said, grinning in spite of himself. “Well, I’m glad we held this meeting as early in the summer as we did. We still have time to raise the money and get the work done. If anyone thinks of anything, let the rest of us know.”
    “I just thought of something,” Honey said.
    “Oh, good!” Trixie said. “What?”
    “Miss Trask had Celia pack us a lunch,” Honey said, whisking a picnic hamper out from under her chair.
    “Oh, you!” Trixie said, giving her best friend a playful swipe.
    “Once again, attention to my alimentary system will alleviate my agitation,” said Mart.
    “You mean the food will take our minds off our problems, just as it did last night,” Trixie said. “It didn’t work for me last night, though, and I don’t think it will work now, since you’ve reminded me of it.”
    “Oh, no,” Brian groaned. “Look what you’ve done, Mart. You’ve got Trixie worrying about Nick Roberts and his father again.”
    “Why are you worried, Trixie?” Di asked.
    “Have you heard something more about the store?”
    “Something more ?” Trixie echoed in amazement. “How much more do you need? The store is gone, and that means Mr. Roberts is out of