The Mystery on Cobbett's Island

after the soaking they had all received. She soon brought two steaming cups of coffee for El and Miss Trask and told Honey that hot chocolate would be ready for the Bob-Whites as soon as they had changed their clothes.
    “Yippee! Hot chocolate!” cried Mart as he dashed upstairs to put on dry clothes for the second time.
    When they all returned to the library, they found that the doctor had already arrived and was examining El’s leg. Dr. Holmes was a big man with graying bushy hair and shaggy brows. As he worked, he made gruff noises and said, “Hmmm, hmmm.” He straightened up and scowled over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses, which he wore halfway down his nose. “And which one of you is responsible for this contraption?” he asked.
    “I am, sir,” said Brian in an unnaturally quiet voice. He had suddenly realized, when he saw the doctor’s face, that he might have done everything wrong. Could it be that he had done more harm than good?
    “Well, you’re to be commended, young man. You have not only remembered to avoid shock by keeping your patient as warm and dry as possible in this abominable weather, but you have also put on a very passable splint. If all the accident cases I get were cared for as sensibly as this, my job would be a lot less complicated.”
    “Thank you, sir,” said Brian earnestly, “but the others did as much as I did.”
    “Well, it was good work,” growled the doctor. “Now, don’t just stand around. Go get some of that cocoa I smell, or you’ll all have pneumonia. And you might bring me a cup, too. I love chocolate.” His eyes twinkled merrily.
    Trixie, who had at first been apprehensive, now realized that Dr. Holmes’s gruff manner covered a kindly, good-humored personality, and she hurried out to ask Celia to bring him an extra-large cup of cocoa.
    By the time he had finished drinking it, the fire department ambulance was at the door, and two men, whom the doctor introduced as volunteer drivers, put the patient inside and drove off to Dr. Holmes’s office, where an X ray could be taken. El managed a weak grin and a little wave of his hand as he was driven away. The doctor followed in a car that Brian estimated to be at least fifteen years old, and, as he roared out of the driveway, unmindful of the huge puddles, Brian shook his head and remarked, “How can he ever get that much steam out of such an old crate? He’s sure got it trained!”
    After a late lunch, the Bob-Whites gathered in the library again and spent the afternoon playing every kind of card game they could think of. They even tried throwing cards into an upturned hat; they declared Jim the world’s champion when he succeeded in getting in all but two cards.
    Then Mart took the cards and, with much elaborate nonsense, told everyone’s fortune. “Aha! I see by these two black queens that two of us are destined to become famous detectives.” He turned another few cards and added, “Yes, and they are both blonds.”
    “What’s in the cards for me ?” Jim asked.
    “Very odd, very odd,” said Mart, wrinkling his brows and studying the cards in front of him. “This shows a highly unorthodox situation. I see you are destined to be the head of a school for orphaned children, but I think it’s going to be much more like a camp than a school.”
    “You’re a marvelous fortune-teller!” Trixie giggled as she stretched out in front of the fire. “What a day this has been! I wonder how much longer the storm is going to keep up.”
    “All night, by the looks of things,” said Di, peering out the window. “It doesn’t show any signs of letting up. The water is almost over the bulkhead across the road, and the wind seems to be blowing harder than ever.”
    “Great start for a seashore vacation,” said Honey despondently, for, as hostess, she somehow felt personally responsible for the weather. “Can’t you think of something to do, Trixie, or shall we go to bed and bury our heads in our pillows for three days?”
    “And not eat?” cried Mart. “Never! For goodness’ sake, think of something, somebody, and quick!” Looking around the room with a mock air of desperation, he noticed a television set in one corner. “Even this is better than nothing,” he wailed dramatically as he went over and turned the dial. Nothing happened; the screen remained dark, and there was dead silence. “The antenna has probably blown down,” he said. “Anyone else have any brilliant suggestions for whiling