The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road

bikeathon, Ben?” he asked.
    Ben chewed slowly on a bite of his hamburger for a moment and washed it down with a swallow of lemonade. “I might go along for the ride if it’s a nice day. To tell you the truth, though, I’m not very concerned with raising money for your beloved art department. For one thing, I hope to bid good-bye to the sleepy little town of Sleepyside long before school starts next year. And for another thing, I wouldn’t knock myself out for any art department. Art students are all just a bunch of dabblers, anyway.”
    Across the table, Trixie could see her brother Brian giving her a steady, piercing look that meant, “Calm down, Trix, and back off.” But it was too late to stop her temper from flaring.
    “You can’t really believe that, Ben Riker. It’s so far from the truth that nobody could say something like that and mean it. I think the truth is that you just don’t have the talent or the ability to work hard that it takes to be an artist. So you hide behind saying that artists are ’dabblers.’ ”
    Ben Riker looked startled for a moment after Trixie finished her tirade. He opened his mouth as if to answer, then closed it and fixed it in a snide grin. Instead of speaking, he just waved one hand in the same gesture that he would use to brush away a bothersome insect.
    Ben’s response—or lack of it—made Trixie angrier still, and she probably would have begun another outburst if her brother Brian hadn’t interrupted. He yawned broadly and said, “I guess the rest of you didn’t spend the whole day in the fresh air plowing up a garden. Mart and I did, and we’re tired. I think the Beldens should call it a night.” Mart looked more surprised than tired while Brian was speaking, but then he glanced quickly from Trixie, who looked angry, to Honey and Jim, who looked embarrassed, and realized what his brother was trying to do. He quickly stood up, yawning and stretching, and said, “Indubitably, my dear brother. Your idea is apropos, as always. Coming, Beatrix?”
    Trixie rose quickly, muttered a good-night under her breath, and started off toward home.
    Her brothers said more lengthy good-bye’s and thank-you’s, then hurried after her. Brian caught up with Trixie first and threw his arm around her shoulder. “Good old Trixie,” he said. “Predictably unpredictable, as usual. When are you going to learn to control your temper?”
    “Well, that Ben Riker deserved it!” Trixie said. “He-”
    Mart interrupted. “He may have deserved it, Trixie. I think he deserves a lot worse than a tongue-lashing. The point is, do Honey and Jim deserve it? Do they deserve to be embarrassed and hurt at their own party? I don’t think so. It’s not worth trying to get even with Ben Riker if it endangers our friendship with Honey and Jim.
    And little outbursts like yours do endanger the friendship.”
    “Oh, Mart, you’re right,” Trixie moaned. “I couldn’t bear it if the Wheelers and the Beldens weren’t best friends, especially if I was the cause of it. Nothing Ben Riker could say or do could be worse than losing Jim and Honey. I’ll try to remember that. And, Brian, thanks for getting me out of there before I lost my temper some more.” The Beldens walked the rest of the way to their house in silence. Trixie looked at her brothers. I don’t know what they’re thinking, but I’m thinking that there’s big trouble ahead for the Bob-Whites if Ben Riker stays in Sleepyside.

Depression ● 5

    RIGHT AFTER BREAKFAST the next morning, Trixie went to the telephone and dialed Nick Roberts’s number. She was thinking, with a chuckle, that she’d already memorized his number without ever actually speaking to him on the telephone, when she heard Nick’s voice saying “Hello” on the other end of the line.
    “There you are!” Trixie blurted. “I had begun to think that you and your whole family had left town!”
    “Who is this?” Nick said. His voice sounded annoyed.
    Gleeps! thought Trixie. There I go again, not using the telephone manners that Moms has tried so hard to drum into my thick skull. A caller should always identify himself first thing. Now Nick’s upset, and I can’t say that I blame him.
    Aloud Trixie said, Tm sorry, Nick. This is Trixie Belden. I met you at the art fair the other day, remember?”
    “Sure. Your friend broke Amy Morrisey’s vase,” Nick said, his voice still chilly.
    I can’t seem to win, thought Trixie. The other Bob-Whites are mad