The Mystery of the Phantom Grashopper

up there on top of Town Hall.”
    Trixie slumped in a chair. “And we were going to announce our walk-a-thon on WSTH tomorrow,” she said.
    “Yeah,” Brian added, “but there’s no sense in trying to raise the money for recoppering the weather vane now.”
    “I hate to say this, Trixie,” Mart mumbled. “But I think Hoppy’s luck just ran out.”

Bob-Whites on the Air • 10

    HONEY TELEPHONED early the next morning. “Don t take the bus this morning, Trixie,” she said excitedly. “Jim and I will come by for all of you in the station wagon.”
    “Okay,” Trixie said. “What’s up?”
    “I don’t have time to tell you now,” Honey said. “See you in a few minutes.”
    Trixie told her brothers that Jim would be driving them to school.
    “How come?” Mart inquired.
    “I don’t know,” Trixie said, “but Honey was excited about something. I guess shell tell us on the way to school.”
    Bobby stood with them near the back door as they waited for the station wagon. “I kinda wish I could go to school today,” he said.
    “What? Are these poor ears deceiving me?” Mart said. “A Belden who wants to go to school?”
    “It’s Tuesday,” Bobby explained. “That’s chocolate milk day. We get chocolate milk after recess in the morning.”
    Trixie mussed his hair. “I’m sure Moms will let you have some chocolate milk here after you get back from riding Mr. Pony,” she said.
    “Oh, yeah, Trixie,” Bobby said with a smile. He waved her close and whispered in her ear: “Regan and me are gonna ride to my tree house.”
    “That’s a good idea,” Trixie whispered back. “You can tell me all about it this afternoon.”
    Jim honked, and Trixie and her brothers called good-bye to their parents and went out the door.
    “Hi, everybody,” Trixie greeted as they climbed into the station wagon. “What’s going on, Honey?”
    “Let me guess,” Mart said. “Jim is lucubrating to become a bus driver.”
    “Not that I know of,” Jim said.
    “Wait till you hear!” Honey commanded happily.
    “Were waiting,” Brian urged.
    “Well,” Honey began, “last night I telephoned Mr. Perkins. I told him we were canceling our walk-a-thon, since Hoppy is missing, and that we wouldn’t be making the announcement on his radio station.”
    “And?” Trixie prodded,
    “And Mr. Perkins told me that he wants us to make another announcement for Him, instead. He’s going to offer a reward of one thousand dollars for Hoppy’s return, and he wants us to announce it!”
    “One thousand dollars!” Brian said.
    “Wow!” Mart exclaimed.
    “Why didn’t you call and tell us last night?” Trixie asked.
    “I promised Mr. Perkins I wouldn’t say anything until this morning,” Honey said. “The police asked him to wait for twenty-four hours before offering a reward.”
    “One thousand dollars,” Trixie breathed. “That’s a lot of money.”
    “Enough to keep me supplied with hamburgers for a year,” Mart rhapsodized.
    “Hey!” Trixie gasped. “If we found Hoppy, then we could donate the reward to have him recoppered.”
    “That’s fine,” Brian said. “But where do we start looking for him?”
    “I don’t know,” Trixie admitted. “When are we going to make the announcement, Honey?”
    “We’re supposed to be at the station right after school,” Honey said. “Mr. Perkins said we could rehearse for a while, and then tape the announcement when were ready. It’ll be on the evening news.”
    “The evening news,” echoed Mart with satisfaction. “I always did want to be an anchor person.”

    That afternoon, the Bob-Whites made their way to the reception room at WSTH. The radio station was housed in a new brick and glass building on the outskirts of Sleepyside.
    Stepping to the receptionist’s desk, Honey introduced herself. “I’m Honey Wheeler, and these are my friends—”
    “Oh, yes.” The attractive young woman smiled. “Mr. Perkins is expecting you. Come with me, please.” As the receptionist stood, the phone rang and a switchboard light blinked. She punched a button and picked up the receiver. “Station WSTH,” she said. “May we play a song for you?” She listened for a moment, then said, “Yes, sir. Were always happy to play a request.”
    When she hung up, the young woman shook her head. “That’s the fifth time today that same man has called to request the same old song. He must be crazy about ’St. Louis Blues.’ Come with me. I’ll show you to the