“Like our stranger, you mean?” Brian asked his sister. “I don’t think most people start out that way. Sometimes, though, if a person gets hurt by another person, that one tragic experience is enough to make him or her decide that people mean pain.”

  “People must miss out on an awful lot when they decide to keep everyone else from getting involved with them,” Trixie said.

  “They avoid both pain and pleasure that way,” Helen Belden observed.

  “They avoid stern lectures from people who care about them, too,” Mart said pointedly.

  “I get the message,” Trixie said. “In fact, I sent myself that same message while we were still in the car.” She stood up and began to clear the table. “I think that made me the clear winner today, no matter who’s ahead in the contest.” She nodded archly at Mart and stalked into the kitchen.

  Just as the last of the dishes were dried and put away, the Bob-White station wagon pulled into the driveway. “Gotta go, Moms,” Trixie said, drying her hands and tucking the dish towel onto the rack.

  She ran out the back door and hopped into the car.

  “You’re full of energy after a long day,” Jim observed as he backed out of the drive.

  “I’m just eager to see what Mrs. Manning finally decided she could part with,” Trixie said.

  “I hope she doesn’t let you down,” Jim said.

  “I don’t think she will,” Trixie replied. “She seemed like such a nice lady. Oh, speaking of nice ladies, there’s one house I don’t dare set foot in tonight. If I do, we won’t get home until midnight.” Briefly, Trixie told Jim about the woman who wanted to know all about the “real” Lucy Radcliffe.

  Jim laughed at Trixie’s imitation of the woman’s breathless eagerness. “I agree. You’d better wait in the car while I go inside. Believe me, I won’t even hint that I was in the Catskills with you when you met ‘Lucy.’ ”

  The two Bob-Whites rode the rest of the way in silence, and Trixie found her thoughts turning to the woman who Trixie was sure was connected somehow with the hit-and-run victim. When Jim turned the station wagon onto the first block Trixie and Honey had covered that afternoon, it was that house, not Mrs. Manning’s, that Trixie strained to see.

  “Where do we start?” Jim asked as he drove slowly down the block.

  “What?” Trixie pulled her attention back to the car. “Oh, Jim, I’m sorry. Mrs. Manning lives back on the corner. You can turn around in this driveway.”

  “And this driveway belongs to the house you’d really like to visit,” Jim guessed.

  Trixie flushed guiltily.

  “You don’t have to explain anything,” Jim added hastily. “I told you that this afternoon, and I meant it.” He paused for a moment in the driveway, staring at the house. “Just looking at it, I’d say nobody lived there at all. The drapes are all shut tight. There are no lights showing anywhere. There are no trikes or bikes or balls or bats lying out on the lawn.”

  “That’s just what I was thinking, Jim,” Trixie told him. “I was also remembering that those drapes were closed this afternoon, too. Think how gloomy it must be inside! That poor little girl!”

  Jim looked at Trixie curiously, but, true to his word, he didn’t ask any questions. Putting the car in reverse, he backed out of the driveway. “We want the house on the corner, you said?”

  Mrs. Manning had the door open before the Bob-Whites were out of the car. “You’re going to be so proud of me!” she called as they came up the walk. “I was very firm with myself. ‘Out it goes!’ I said whenever I felt myself wanting to hold on to something.”

  She led them to the basement and pointed at a huge pile in one corner. “Out it goes!” she repeated, flinging one arm out in a gesture of banishment.

  “Okay—out it goes,” Jim agreed as he walked toward the pile. He picked up a box from which a piece of weathered wood protruded.

  “Now, that’s a doubletree,” Mrs. Manning said, reaching out and putting a hand on the piece of wood. “It was originally used to yoke a pair of horses together, but I thought it would be lovely for hanging a hooked rug or an old quilt on the wall. I do wish I had a wall big enough.” She let go of the doubletree reluctantly, and Jim carried the box out of the basement.

  Trixie picked up an open box filled with picture frames.

  “Those were a real bargain,” Mrs. Manning told her. “The whole box went at auction for just two dollars. Some of them are really lovely, and the cost of frames these days is truly out of sight! Of course, you have to have just the right pictures to go in them, and since they’re so old, some of the sizes are rather odd.”

  “I’m sure someone will be delighted to find them,” Trixie said politely.

  Trixie and Jim made several trips up the stairs, each time carrying something that Mrs. Manning had almost, but not quite, found the perfect use for.

  When the corner of the basement was empty, the station wagon was almost full.

  “I hope you don’t have too much more to collect yet tonight,” Mrs. Manning said.

  “As a matter of fact, we do,” Jim said. “We may have to make a trip home to drop things off. This is a bigger job than I’d figured, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, we can at least get that box of books in,” Trixie said.

  “Oh, is Glenda Maurer giving you the books her children sorted out over vacation?” Mrs. Manning asked.

  “Why, yes—that is, I guess it’s Mrs. Maurer. She lives in the third house down,” Trixie said.

  Mrs. Manning nodded smugly. “That’s Glenda. She’d mentioned just last week that she had to get around to calling someone about those books. Your timing was perfect there, too.”

  “This must be quite a close-knit neighborhood,” Jim said.

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Manning told him. “Most of us have lived here for years and years. We all have children about the same ages, and our children played together while they were growing up. We took turns baby-sitting, chairing the PTA—that sort of thing.”

  “There’s one house that doesn’t seem to fit that pattern,” Jim said.

  “There are two I can think of that don’t, actually,” Mrs. Manning corrected him. “There are the Greens. They’re a young couple who just moved in next to the Maurers. They’re newlyweds, so they don’t have much in common with us old folks. Still, they’re very nice young people.

  “And then there are the Greens’ neighbors.” Mrs. Manning’s tone changed to one of disapproval. “Of course, they may be nice, too, for all I know. But they certainly do keep to themselves. The drapes are pulled day and night. I never see anyone coming or going. In fact, I don’t even know exactly how many people live there. It’s all very mysterious, I must say.”

  “Well, I guess there’s one family like that in every neighborhood,” Jim said casually. “Thank you very much for your donation, Mrs. Manning,” he added as he and Trixie got in the car. “I hope we’ll see you at the sale.”

  “I’d love to come, but I’m not sure I dare. I might buy more than I got rid of!” Laughing at her own foolishness, Mrs. Manning waved good-bye and went back into the house.

  “Well, the next stop is Mrs. Maurer’s house, I guess,” Jim said as he turned the key in the ignition.

  Trixie looked at him appreciatively. Jim had made a point of getting more information about the house Trixie was curious about. But, still true to his word, he wasn’t going to force Trixie to confide her theory.

  That was comforting. So was the fact that Mrs. Manning’s thoughts about the Greens’ neighbors confirmed Trixie’s own. “It’s all very mysterious, I must say,” Mrs. Manning had said.

  I must say so, too, Trixie thought.

  A Visit With the Victim • 7

  FOR THE NEXT THREE HOURS, however, Trixie was too hard-worked to think of the mystery. She and Jim carried load after load from people’s houses to the station wagon. They made three trips back to the clubhouse to deposit the donations they’d collected.

  By ten o’clock, when the last stop was made, they were red-faced and exhausted. Jim was concerned. “This is getting out of hand,“” he said. “Our original plan for the rummage sale was just to put up some posters and wait for people to call us. Now we’re going door to door, and that means a lot more donations and a lot more pickups. I don’t know if we’re going to be able to handle it.”

  “But we can’t just abandon the rummage sale,” Trixie wailed.

  “I’m not suggesting that,” Jim told her. “I’m saying that we have to make some changes in our way of handling the rummage sale.”

  “What kind of changes?” Trixie asked.

  “For one thing, when we go door to door from now on, let’s at least ask people whether they’d be willing to drop their donations off. If they seem at all reluctant, we can volunteer to pick things up. We don’t want to discourage donations, after all. I think a lot of people would be willing to help out, though.”

  “That would save a lot of work, all right,” Trixie admitted. “Oh, but Jim, we can’t tell all those people where our clubhouse is! It’s supposed to be a secret!”

  Jim nodded. “I thought of that, too,” he said. “Actually, what I thought of is the fact that the clubhouse won’t begin to hold all the things we’re collecting. What about Mart’s entire houseful of furniture? The clubhouse won’t even hold a spare couch now, let alone all the things Di was listing this afternoon.”

  “Gleeps, I forgot about that, too. What are we going to do, Jim?” Trixie asked despairingly.

  “Tomorrow, we’ll start looking for another place to keep the donations,” Jim replied. “It should be someplace that’s conveniently located, big enough to store all the items we collect, and open enough hours so that donors can drop things off more or less at their convenience. Spread the word to Brian and Mart when you get home. Tell your parents, too. The more people we have trying to think of a place, the better our chances are of coming up with something. We need a good idea, but fast!”

  “I’ll alert my family,” Trixie promised, stifling a yawn. “Anyway, we only have one more load to unload tonight.”

  “Correction,” Jim said firmly. “We have no more loads to unload tonight. I’m about to drop, and you look as though you are, too. It won’t hurt these things to stay locked in the car overnight. Besides, if we’re going to find a new place to store our donations tomorrow, it would be silly to move them into the clubhouse tonight.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Trixie told him gratefully. “Even if it weren’t a perfectly perfect idea, as Honey would say, I’m much too tired to argue.”

  When Jim pulled into the driveway of Crabapple Farm, Trixie barely had the strength to open the car door, wave goodnight to Jim, and stagger directly to bed.

  At eight o’clock the next morning, Mrs. Belden knocked on the door to Trixie’s room and called, “Better get up. You’re due at the hospital in less than an hour.”

  Trixie sat up in bed and raised her arms over her head, then halted in midstretch as her stiff muscles complained. She groaned and dropped back against the pillows, remembering the umpteen trips from people’s basements to the Bob-White wagon she’d made the night before.

  “At least, there’s no chance of forgetting to tell my family that we need a new plan for collecting donations,” Trixie told herself. “Every movement I make all day will remind me of it.”

  She pulled herself out of bed, dressed slowly, and went downstairs to breakfast.

  “Good morning, Trixie,” Brian said, looking up from his bacon and eggs as his sister slid into her place at the table. “How did everything go last night?”

  Trixie related the events of the previous evening and told her family about Jim’s directive regarding the collection plan.

  “Do you think people could take their things directly to the school gymnasium, since that’s where the sale will be held?” Brian asked.

  Mr. Belden shook his head. “I doubt it, Brian. A custodian would have to be on duty every day at the school. Paying for his time would eat up most of the proceeds from your sale. There’s bound to be some other place in town that meets the requirements. We’ll all give it some thought and see what we can come up with.”

  “I don’t think I’ll think of anything,” Trixie said foggily. “I think I’m too tired to think.”

  “A circumstance that is not as inconceivable as you would have us suppose,” Mart teased.

  Trixie was too weary even to rise to the bait her brother offered. “I hope I’m assigned some easy duties today at the hospital. I might be able to read a storybook to a youngster—if the pages aren’t too heavy to turn.”

  “Don’t forget to find out whatever you can about the hit-and-run victim,” Brian told her.

  “I’m not too tired to remember that,” Trixie assured him. “I’ll make a full report when I get home this afternoon.”

  “In return for that, and for your hard work last night, I’m prepared to offer you a ride to the hospital in the vehicle of your choice,” Brian said. “Would you prefer the Model A or my jalopy?”

  Trixie giggled. “Some choice,” she teased. “I’ll take whichever one is most unlikely to break down on the way!”

  “Let’s make it the jalopy, then,” Brian said with a grin. “It isn’t really less likely to break down, but I’m more likely to know what to do when it does. Are you ready, Trix?”

  His sister drained the last of her orange juice and pushed back her chair. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” she said.

  At the hospital, Trixie reported to the director of volunteers, Ms. Lee, who looked at the young Volunteen critically. “We have patients who look healthier than you do, Trixie,” she said. “Are you feeling all right?”

  Trixie shook her head ruefully and told Ms. Lee about her hard work the night before.

  “The hospital wants volunteers, not more patients,” Ms. Lee chided gently when Trixie had finished. “I think you’d better take it easy today.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” Trixie said gratefully.

  “Why don’t you go to the children’s ward and read stories for a while?” Ms. Lee said. “Or is there something else you’d rather do?”

  “There is one thing,” Trixie said. She told Ms. Lee about her involvement with the hit-and-run victim who had been brought in two nights before. “I’d like to find out whatever I can about his condition,” she concluded.

  “Of course,” Ms. Lee said. “In fact, I think it might be very helpful to us if you visit him. He’s been conscious since early this morning, but he’s refused to say a word to anyone. We still don’t know his name or anything about him. Maybe he’ll talk to you, since you helped to save his life the other night. You might be able to cheer him up, too, and that would undoubtedly aid in his recovery.”

  Trixie smiled at Ms. Lee. “It would aid in mine, too. Thanks!”

  Trixie went to the stranger’s room and knocked on the open door before she entered. When she walked into the room, she found him lying in bed, his head swathed in bandages.

  The man stared at her hostilely. “What do you want?” he growled.

  “I’m Trixie Belden,” she told him. “My friends and I are wondering how you’re doing.”

  “What friends?” the man demanded. “How do you know me? How did you know I was here?“

  “Don’t you remember?” Trixie asked. “The night of your accident—”

  “If I remembered, I wouldn’t have asked,” the man said gruffly.

  “Oh,” Trixie said, looking at the white bandages wrapped around the stranger’s head. She remembered Juliana Maasden, who had also been a hit-and-run victim. After the accident, Juliana had been unable to remember anything, even her own name. That sometimes happened with head injuries, the doctor had told the Bob-Whites.

  “Right before your accident, you stopped to help

  us with a stalled car—a Model A. Then you—We—” Trixie searched for the right word. “We were there when it—”

  “You saw me get run over, you mean?” the man asked.

  Trixie nodded dumbly.

  “They told me about you young people,” the man said. “Apparently you saved my life by keeping me warm with your jackets and calling an ambulance and waiting till it came.”

  “Well, we’ve been sort of feeling as though we’d endangered your life,” Trixie confessed. “I mean, if you hadn’t stopped to help us....”

  “That was my decision, not yours,” the man said coldly. “It was a Model A, you said?”

  Trixie nodded. “There was something wrong with the carburetor. You fixed it right away.”

  The man leaned back against his pillows and stared at the ceiling. “I had a Model A once,” he said. “I bought it for fifty dollars back when they were used cars, not antiques. I held it together with chewing gum and baling wire for a year. I got to know that car inside and out. It’s what got me started with—” The man broke off abruptly and darted a nervous look at Trixie. “Anyway, it’s not surprising that I still remembered how to get one started.”

  “It’s a good thing you did,” Trixie told him. “We all feel as though we might still be sitting there in a stalled car if it hadn’t been for you.”

  “How did you kids get your hands on a Model A, anyway?” the man asked. “They’re pretty rare these days.”

  “It really isn’t our Model A,” Trixie explained. “It’s a donation for the rummage sale we’re sponsoring to benefit the hospital. Mr. Burnside, who owns the lumberyard here in Sleepyside, donated it. He thought we could attract more attention to the sale if we drove the car around town for a few days ahead of time.”

  “It ought to do that, all right,” the stranger agreed. “It ought to fetch a lot of money for the hospital, too.”

  “Isn’t it wonderful? We couldn’t believe our luck when Mr. Burnside decided to donate the Model A,” Trixie exulted. “I still don’t understand how he can part with it, but he bought an old Stanley Steamer, and he likes that even better, I guess.”

 

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