The Pet Show Mystery

chores, so the time they spent on club projects was limited. “Then we can meet back here tomorrow after dinner.” Trixie rose and reached for her jacket. “I have to get home for dinner now. I’ll see you on the bus tomorrow. Maybe by then I’ll have an idea.”
    “Maybe I will, too,” Honey said. “Oh, Trixie, the weather seems better already.”
    At dinner that night, Trixie told her family about the need to save the game birds. “Norma says they’re dying by the thousands. We have to do something.”
    “Thousands is a lot,” Trixie’s six-year-old brother Bobby said solemnly. “Can I help you save the birds, Trixie?”
    “Of course you can,” she promised. “We can all help. We just don’t know how yet.”
    “Why don’t you ask Norma Nelson if she has any ideas?” Brian asked. “After all, she’s had the subject on her mind longer than we have. Maybe she’s thought of some new approaches, but she’s been too shy to ask anyone for help.”
    “That’s a wonderful idea, Brian!” Trixie exclaimed. “I’ll do it. The next time I see Norma at school, I’ll talk to her about it.”

    When she saw Norma between classes the next morning, Trixie greeted her excitedly. “Hi, Norma,” she said, stopping in the middle of the crowded hallway. “How did the rest of your route go yesterday?”
    Norma looked at Trixie blankly. “Fine,” she replied. Then, to Trixie’s amazement, she walked right on down the hall. Even indoors, Norma walked as though she were bundled up in heavy clothing. As dozens of laughing, talking students pushed past her, she trudged along, head down, as though she were alone on Glen Road.
    Trixie told the other Bob-Whites about the incident when they were gathered that night in the Wheelers’ den. A fragrant bowl of hot cider, spiced with cinnamon and cloves, sat on the coffee table. Next to it was a platter heaped with oatmeal raisin cookies.
    “Can you believe it?” Trixie said. “She had to know I was about to say something else. But she just left me standing there. That’s rude!”
    “In a way, you’re lucky,” Mart said. “I’ve reached the conclusion that it’s better to be ignored by an expert than hovered over by one.”
    “I have a feeling we aren’t talking about Norma Nelson anymore,” Brian said.
    Mart shook his head. “Gordon Halvorson, from my computer class. His father is a computer programmer, and they’ve owned a computer since practically the first day there was such a thing. Since he knows so much, I thought he’d be a good person to help me learn. I asked him a couple of questions, and presto! He’s my personal instructor, at my side every minute.”
    “Isn’t that good?” Di Lynch asked. “I’m sure I’d need lots of help in a class like that.”
    “But he isn’t helpful,” Mart said. “He’s just bossy. He practically tells me every key to push before I have time to figure it out for myself. That’s no way to learn anything.”
    “Anyway,” Trixie said, “Mart can’t rely on Gordon for help, and we can’t rely on Norma. We’ll have to come up with something by ourselves.”
    “Well, okay,” Jim said, straightening up in a businesslike way. “Let’s start by figuring out who our natural allies are in a plan to save the birds. Have any ideas?”
    “Anyone who loves animals,” Di suggested. “We need to be a little more specific,” Jim said. “Anyone who loves birds... anyone who loves game birds. How about hunters’ associations?”
    “You mean ask hunters to save the birds this winter, so they can kill them next fall?” Trixie asked indignantly.
    “Don’t be so narrow-minded, Trix,” Brian said. “Responsible hunters don’t do any harm to the bird population. And they’d be willing to help save many more birds than they could ever shoot.”
    “Well, okay,” Trixie said. “How do we reach the hunters?”
    “Through their hunting dogs,” Dan said.
    “Jim’s springer spaniel, Patch, is a hunting dog. So is the Beldens’ setter, Reddy. I know the people who train those dogs are well organized. They’d be listed in the phone book.”
    “An excellent idea, in general,” Mart said. “I feel compelled to make one minor correction, however. Reddy may have the genetic heritage of a hunting dog, but his total lack of training makes him useless for hunting as well as everything else.”
    There was a round of laughter from the Bob-Whites. Everyone had to agree with Mart’s assessment. The Irish