The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road

art class next year if you’re still at Sleepyside. Mr. Crider is a good teacher, and, for a change, there should be no shortage of supplies, now that Trixie and her friends have raised all this money.”
    The school principal, who had just arrived at the picnic, overheard Nick’s comment. “That’s right,” he agreed. “Actually, that’s only the half of it. This bikeathon—and the need for it—has caused a lot of comment in the community. The school board is on the spot for neglecting the art department. Chances are they’ll allot a good deal more to the art department budget next year.”
    Nick, in his excitement at what the principal had just said, pounded Ben Riker on the back. “Did you hear that?” he demanded. “If I work hard enough next year, I can put together a portfolio that will be accepted by any art school in the country. Now that I’m sure of that, I just know I’ll be able to scrape together the tuition somehow.”
    Ben looked enviously at Nick, admiring him for having a dedication that he himself had never felt. “I’m sure you will, Nick. I’m sure you will.”
    While Nick was getting encouragement from Ben Riker and the principal, Trixie was getting discouragement from Sergeant Molinson, in the form of another stem warning against meddling in police business.
    “I told you when you turned in the deutsche mark,” he said, “that the counterfeiters would be desperate criminals. Did you listen to me? No! You went out, in the dead of night, without telling anyone where you were going, and got yourself caught by those very same men.”
    “But—” Trixie started to protest.
    “But nothing, Trixie,” the sergeant cut her off. “As a policeman for the town of Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson, I’m charged with protecting the safety and well-being of the town’s citizens. That includes you, Trixie Belden. Would you tell me, please, how I can do my duty when you insist on taking foolish and unnecessary risks?”
    Trixie stared at the ground. She had started to tell the sergeant that she hadn’t intended to get herself into a dangerous situation, that she’d simply gone to the abandoned house without thinking to tell anyone. She realized that that excuse would hardly make Sergeant Molinson feel better.
    I thought I’d escaped his lecture when he left the abandoned house last night, Trixie thought. I guess he just went home to rehearse it. Trixie bit her lower lip. What an awful thing to think! Sergeant Molinson is just concerned about me. I should be grateful, instead of angry.
    “Anyway,” Sergeant Molinson said, apparently feeling that he’d given Trixie enough of a lecture, especially on such a happy day, “you got out of danger unharmed one more time. The two culprits we arrested last night gave us the name of the engraver they got to work for them. And you’ll be happy to know that I received a call this morning from the president of a bank in upstate New York. His bank had taken in quite a bit of the counterfeit German currency that ring turned out when they were operating up there. The bank pledged a large sum as a reward to the first person who located the counterfeiters’ operation, and some of the other banks in the area added money
    of their own to the reward.
    “It’s quite a lot of money all together—about five thousand dollars. That money will go to you, since you discovered the hideout. I suppose that you have a worthy charity all picked out. No?” he questioned, seeing Trixie shaking her head.
    “I can t give that money to my favorite charity because I didn’t earn it,” Trixie said excitedly. “Nick did! He was already hiding in the van when I got to the abandoned house, so that means that he was the first to find it! Wait till I tell him!”
    “You don’t have to,” Nick said over Trixie’s shoulder. “I—I couldn’t help but overhear.” Nick’s eyes were shining. “It looks like my problems are all solved, along with the mystery.”
    Nick looked down at the piece of paper he’d tom out of the sketch pad and was now holding in his hands. “I—I actually came over to give you this, Trixie. It was supposed to be a joke, but now— I’m not sure it’s appropriate, but take it anyway.”
    Nick held out the piece of paper, and Trixie took it. She began to laugh. The other Bob-Whites gathered around her and looked at it, and then they began to laugh, too.
    “How can you say this isn’t appropriate?” Mart asked. “Why, I can’t think of