The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road

at me because I’m not Ben Riker’s friend. Now Nick is acting angry because he thinks I am.
    “Well, I didn’t call to talk about Ben Riker,” Trixie told Nick. “I called to tell you that we have a plan to help the art department raise money. Would you like to hear about it?”
    “Sure,” Nick replied. His tone implied that he doubted whether the plan would be much help.
    Trixie drew a deep breath and tried to recall her earlier enthusiasm. Somehow, Nick’s attitude was causing her to have doubts, too. Nevertheless, she related the Bob-Whites’ plan for the bikeathon to Nick, telling him about all of the people they’d already contacted and including the big surprise— that Mr. Wheeler was the owner of the house where the Bob-Whites planned to have the first rest stop. When she finished, she waited breathlessly for Nick’s response.
    There was a long pause before Nick replied. “It sounds as if you have the whole thing worked out,” he said finally. “Where do I fit in?”
    “We were wondering if you—or someone from the art department—would be willing to make the posters and pledge cards. The posters will be placed around town to get people interested in signing up both as riders and as sponsors. Then, when riders do sign up, they’ll be given pledge cards. They’ll get different people to sign them, offering to pay so many cents for each mile of the route. After the bikeathon, we contact the people who have signed all the pledge cards, and that’s how we collect the money. So you see, the posters and pledge cards are pretty important. Usually we make posters and things ourselves, but in this case, since the money is going to the art department, we felt it was important to have them look sort of—well, artistic—and that’s why I’m calling,” Trixie finished lamely. She wondered why she felt apologetic about asking Nick to help.
    There was another long pause before Nick answered. “I don’t have as much spare time on my hands as you and your friends seem to, but if this bikeathon business is supposed to help the art department, I guess I should help out. Talk to me about it in school tomorrow.”
    “Thanks, Nick. Where should I meet—” Trixie heard a clicking noise and realized that Nick had already hung up. “Well,” she muttered, hanging up the phone, “I guess I succeeded in my assignment— if I can track Nick down at school tomorrow to talk to him.”
    Trixie started to walk away from the phone, then snapped her fingers as another thought struck her. She picked up the phone again and dialed Honey’s number.
    When Honey answered, Trixie told her about Nick’s reluctantly agreeing to do the posters and pledge cards, then added, “But guess what we forgot. There are going to be simply loads of kids biking around that route—and we know where it goes, but they don’t. We’ll have to have arrows up along the roads, pointing the direction. I don’t want to ask Nick to do the arrows, too—not after the way he reacted to doing the other stuff. Besides, how artistic does an arrow have to be? I think we should handle those ourselves.”
    “You’re right, Trixie,” Honey agreed. “I think we have some poster board and paint down at the clubhouse. I’ll be glad to help.”
    “That’s great,” Trixie said. “How about meeting me at the clubhouse in an hour?”
    “Oh, Trixie, I can’t do it today,” Honey said apologetically. “My parents are taking Jim, Ben, and me to a baseball game in the city this afternoon, and then to dinner afterward. I’m sorry.” Trixie once again felt resentment of Ben Riker welling up inside her. Without stopping to think, she said sarcastically, “In all the time I’ve known you, I didn’t realize that you were such a baseball fan, Honey. At least, I’ve never known you to let a baseball game interfere with doing something worthwhile. I guess I’ll just have to take care of everything alone.”
    As soon as the words were spoken, Trixie regretted them. For the third time that day, she found herself waiting uncomfortably for the person on the other end of the telephone to speak.
    When Honey did respond, it was in an icy tone that Trixie had never heard her use before—would not, in fact, have believed possible from her gentle, tactful friend.
    “Might I point out to you, Trixie Belden, that all of the other Bob-Whites had their assignments completed yesterday—before the picnic that you ruined with your flash of temper. I hardly