The Mystery of the Phantom Grashopper

recording room.”
    She led the Bob-Whites down a short corridor and into a small, nearly empty room. A single row of chairs lined one wall, and a microphone stood in the middle of the floor.
    “You’ll use this room to record your announcement,” the receptionist told them. “It seems a bit small, but we don’t usually have seven people at a time making recordings,” She pointed toward a window in one wall. “The disc jockey and the engineer are in there,” she said. “Make yourselves comfortable. Mr. Perkins will be with you in just a minute.”
    After the receptionist had gone, Trixie looked around the room. “This isn’t what I thought the inside of a radio station would be like,” she said in a disappointed tone.
    “What did you expect?” Jim asked. “Tubes and wires and transistors all over the place?”
    “My parents love this station,” Di said. “They listen to it a lot.”
    Trixie nodded. “Moms says the old songs really make her feel good.”
    “Except when Bobby sings them,” Mart added wryly.
    The door opened then, and Mr. Perkins came into the room. He was a small man with snow-white hair and a neatly clipped moustache. He looked every bit as dignified as a wealthy and successful man should, but his smile was warm and friendly while he shook hands with each of the Bob-Whites as Honey introduced them.
    “Thank you for coming,” Mr. Perkins said. “I understand that you young people are rather well known in the community for being helpful to those in need. Well, this business of the weather vane being stolen has me upset. I haven’t lived in Sleepyside for too many years, but I know that the grasshopper weather vane is an important part of the town’s history.
    “Your plan to raise money with a walk-a-thon and have the weather vane recoppered was a splendid idea. It showed that you are proud of Sleepyside’s heritage. But now, we must direct our efforts toward getting the weather vane back. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have announce the reward I’m offering for the return of the weather vane.”
    Mr. Perkins handed each of the Bob-Whites a sheet of paper. “I wrote seven short paragraphs,” he told them, “so that you can take turns reading. Each one of you can read one paragraph.”
    Dan glanced at the sheet and nodded. “We can each take a turn. We’ll do it in alphabetical order.”
    “Fine, fine,” Mr. Perkins said. “Go through it a few times, and let me “know when you’re ready to record. I’ll be in the next room there with the engineer. You can signal me through the window.”
    The Bob-Whites watched as Mr. Perkins adjusted the microphone to the proper height “Now, don’t be nervous. If we have to, we can record this a dozen times, but Tm sure you’ll get it right on the first try ” Those words of encouragement gave Trixie and the others the confidence they needed. Silently, each of them read over the script.
    “Okay,” Brian said, “let’s run through it now. I’ll go first.”
    Brian stepped to the microphone and began. “Where is our weather vane? The copper grasshopper has been missing from the Town Hall roof since Sunday night.”
    Dan followed. “The weather vane had been standing on Town Hall for over two hundred years—ever since Sleepyside was founded.”
    Di was next. “The grasshopper is three feet long and weighs sixty pounds. It has round glass eyes, and its body is hollow. A long, thin spire passes through its body to bold it on its base.”
    Honey spoke up. “Sleepyside’s weather vane looks very much like the famous grasshopper atop Faneuil Hall in Boston. Some people believe that Shem Drowne, the coppersmith who created the Boston weather vane, also made one for Sleepyside.”
    Jim continued. “The weather vane may be a valuable antique, but more important, it is a meaningful part of Sleepyside history.”
    Mart went on. “Raymond Perkins, owner of this radio station, is offering a reward of one thousand dollars for the return of the weather vane.”
    Trixie’s turn had come. “Any information about the weather vane or the person or persons responsible for its theft should be given to the police department or to Mr. Perkins at station WSTH.”
    Then, with great feeling, Trixie added, “Please, everybody who’s listening—help us find our Sleepyside weather vane.”
    Mart looked up, surprised. “Hey, that isn’t in the script.”
    A little embarrassed, Trixie shrugged. “It just popped out,” she said.