The Mystery off Glen Road

night, mainly because Fleagle thinks he can take a horse from the stable whenever he feels like it.”
    Trixie shuddered elaborately. Regan was a great friend of all the B.W.G.’s and had helped them out of many scrapes. But, like Jim and Mr. Wheeler, he had a temper quick to flare, up—although just as quick to subside—and so they were very careful never to disobey his orders. “I wouldn’t dare take even an inch of old leather out of the stable without having Regan’s permission,” Trixie said, “and neither would you, Honey Wheeler.”
    Honey nodded. “Fleagle thinks he’s just wonderful. Not Regan, Fleagle, if you know what I mean. He claims that he can’t patrol the game preserve any way except on horseback, which is true, because there aren’t any roads wide enough for a jeep—just winding paths and trails.” She glanced worriedly through the French doors at the two big, broad-shouldered men who were out on the veranda now, obviously in the midst of a heated argument. “If only Fleagle would be more polite. You know, consult Regan before he goes riding off on Jupiter or Strawberry. The worst part of it,” she finished exasperatedly, “is that when Fleagle comes back with a horse all sweaty, he refuses to groom him or clean the tack.”
    It was Trixie’s turn to cover her face with her hands. “I’m surprised Fleagle is alive,” she gasped. “Regan would draw and quarter us if we returned a horse to the stable and didn’t groom said horse and saddle-soap every inch of leather.”
    “I know,” Honey said with a wan smile. “But Fleagle thinks he’s above such menial chores. Trying to keep those two men from each other’s throats is driving Miss Trask out of her mind. Look!”
    Miss Trask was the brisk kind of woman who, no matter what the occasion was, always wore tailored suits and sensible oxfords. She seldom wore a hat over her short gray hair and liked nothing better than to take long walks in the pouring rain, spurning an umbrella as something beneath her dignity. Usually her bright blue eyes had a merry twinkle in them, but they were somberly dark as she joined the two angry men on the veranda. Trixie could see that Miss Trask’s face was lined with worry as she struggled against the wind to close the French doors behind her.
    “Gleeps,” Trixie said to Honey, “she does need your help. With Tom off on his wedding trip, Miss Trask will have to do all of the chauffeuring, too.”
    “That’s right,” Honey agreed. “It’s no secret how much Regan hates cars. Besides, what with Fleagle causing him so much extra work, Regan couldn’t possibly do any driving. I’m really glad Mother and Daddy have gone off in the limousine. At least nobody has to drive Daddy to the station and back every day.” She pulled Trixie out into the hall. “The thing that scares me to death is this: Suppose Regan quits. He’s fed up to the teeth with Fleagle. Miss Trask and I hoped to tell Daddy today that he’s got to fire that gamekeeper, but Mother and Daddy left before we had a chance.” Trixie shuddered again. “If Regan quits, our lives are ruined. Your father would sell the horses in no time flat, because, of course, there just isn’t any groom in the whole wide world like Regan.”
    “More than that,” Honey continued, “there are very few people who are as understanding as Regan is. I mean, we’re really awful nuisances, in spite of the fact that we try not to be. Some weeks we exercise the horses every single day, rain or shine. Then all of a sudden, not one of us goes near the stable.
    Like during exams, or when the boys spent every spare minute shingling the clubhouse roof. Or when they were painting the walls and building the shelves and making the furniture. You and I did ride then, after school and sometimes before breakfast, but we didn’t exercise Jupe and Starlight. So Regan had to, and although he didn’t complain, I know he was furious. The thing is, he wouldn’t mind so much if we didn’t wait until the last minute to let him know whether we’re going to ride or not.” Trixie sank down on the bottom step of the staircase. “I don’t know how Regan stands us,” she admitted. “We Bob-Whites have got to pull ourselves together and make more sense. We’d better have a conference right away.”
    Honey giggled nervously. “You just said that, only you were talking about the hurricane. Here come the boys now. You bring them up to date on everything, Trixie.