the meal was a much more simple affair. Celia served the first course, and then she and Miss Trask brought in platters of cold cuts and big bowls of salad. Everyone helped himself, and the dessert was usually fruit and crackers with several kinds of cheese. Grown-ups were served coffee in fragile little cups.
This Thursday night, Trixie made up her mind that she would have some coffee, too. Otherwise, she would never stay awake. And she had to stay awake. Someone, she was sure, would sneak into Honey's room after everyone else was asleep—someone who knew that there was a valuable diamond in the secret compartment of her jewelry box. That someone might turn out to be the new gardener, Nailor—or the new chauffeur, Dick.
When Celia brought in Miss Trask's coffee, Trixie pushed back her chair and jumped to her feet. She grabbed the nearest platter and said, "I'll help you clear the table, Celia. I always do it at home." She pushed through the swinging door into the butler's pantry. On the drainboard was a large cup of hot black coffee which Celia had obviously just poured for herself. Trixie slid the platter of cold cuts in between the pots and pans beside the sink and grabbed the cup.
After the first swallow, she almost screamed with pain. It was scalding hot and as strong as lye. Trixie had never tasted coffee before. It was horrible, but she forced herself to gulp down as much as her protesting throat would let her and hurried back into the dining room.
"Why, Trixie," Honey gasped. "You've been crying. What's the matter?"
Trixie dabbed at her watering eyes with her napkin. "Oh, dear," Miss Trask said worriedly. "Don't tell me you're a hay fever victim, Trixie. This is the ragweed season, you know."
Celia sniffed. "More likely, onions is the answer. Trixie loves onions, and I left some thick slices in the pantry. I forgot Mr. Wheeler wouldn't be here for supper. He loves 'em, too."
Jim laughed. "You'd better snitch a slice, too, Honey. Otherwise, Trixie's breath will drive you crazy all night."
"Radishes are worse," Honey said, nibbling one. "Anyway, the bologna was laced with garlic. We're all in the same boat, or breath, I guess."
Later, when the girls were upstairs in Honey's room getting ready for bed, she said, "You were crying, Trixie. That's why you hurried out to the butler's pantry. And I know why." She gave Trixie an impulsive hug. "Jim told me that Dick was rude to you. I'm perfectly furious. If Daddy were here, I'd see to it that he was fired tomorrow. He said something that hurt your feelings, didn't he?"
Trixie hesitated. She wanted to share her suspicions of the new chauffeur with her best friend. She longed to blurt out, "He found out from Bobby which windows on this floor are yours. So now he knows where your bedroom is. He may sneak in here tonight and try to get the diamond. I think he's one of the two men who left it in the cottage."
But suppose she were wrong in her suspicions? Bobby loved to give out information of any kind. It made him feel important. He might well, without any coaxing, have told his new friend where every single member of the Wheeler household slept.
Trixie quickly decided that there was no sense in worrying Honey until she could prove her suspicions.
And tonight she should be able to prove them. So she merely tossed her short, blond curls and said, "Pooh. That skinny little weasel couldn't hurt my feelings." She quickly changed the subject. "A fine hostess you are! Why don't you help me unpack my overnight kit?" Honey collapsed on the big bed, shaking with laughter. Trixie's overnight kit consisted of a toothbrush hastily wrapped in a clean handkerchief. She always borrowed pajamas from Honey when she spent the night at the Manor House.
Honey, still giggling, handed her a pair now. "There," she said. "Don't you dare say I'm not a good hostess. What else does your royal highness wish?"
"Soap, towel, and washcloth, please," Trixie said airily. "I'm going to take a cold
This Thursday night, Trixie made up her mind that she would have some coffee, too. Otherwise, she would never stay awake. And she had to stay awake. Someone, she was sure, would sneak into Honey's room after everyone else was asleep—someone who knew that there was a valuable diamond in the secret compartment of her jewelry box. That someone might turn out to be the new gardener, Nailor—or the new chauffeur, Dick.
When Celia brought in Miss Trask's coffee, Trixie pushed back her chair and jumped to her feet. She grabbed the nearest platter and said, "I'll help you clear the table, Celia. I always do it at home." She pushed through the swinging door into the butler's pantry. On the drainboard was a large cup of hot black coffee which Celia had obviously just poured for herself. Trixie slid the platter of cold cuts in between the pots and pans beside the sink and grabbed the cup.
After the first swallow, she almost screamed with pain. It was scalding hot and as strong as lye. Trixie had never tasted coffee before. It was horrible, but she forced herself to gulp down as much as her protesting throat would let her and hurried back into the dining room.
"Why, Trixie," Honey gasped. "You've been crying. What's the matter?"
Trixie dabbed at her watering eyes with her napkin. "Oh, dear," Miss Trask said worriedly. "Don't tell me you're a hay fever victim, Trixie. This is the ragweed season, you know."
Celia sniffed. "More likely, onions is the answer. Trixie loves onions, and I left some thick slices in the pantry. I forgot Mr. Wheeler wouldn't be here for supper. He loves 'em, too."
Jim laughed. "You'd better snitch a slice, too, Honey. Otherwise, Trixie's breath will drive you crazy all night."
"Radishes are worse," Honey said, nibbling one. "Anyway, the bologna was laced with garlic. We're all in the same boat, or breath, I guess."
Later, when the girls were upstairs in Honey's room getting ready for bed, she said, "You were crying, Trixie. That's why you hurried out to the butler's pantry. And I know why." She gave Trixie an impulsive hug. "Jim told me that Dick was rude to you. I'm perfectly furious. If Daddy were here, I'd see to it that he was fired tomorrow. He said something that hurt your feelings, didn't he?"
Trixie hesitated. She wanted to share her suspicions of the new chauffeur with her best friend. She longed to blurt out, "He found out from Bobby which windows on this floor are yours. So now he knows where your bedroom is. He may sneak in here tonight and try to get the diamond. I think he's one of the two men who left it in the cottage."
But suppose she were wrong in her suspicions? Bobby loved to give out information of any kind. It made him feel important. He might well, without any coaxing, have told his new friend where every single member of the Wheeler household slept.
Trixie quickly decided that there was no sense in worrying Honey until she could prove her suspicions.
And tonight she should be able to prove them. So she merely tossed her short, blond curls and said, "Pooh. That skinny little weasel couldn't hurt my feelings." She quickly changed the subject. "A fine hostess you are! Why don't you help me unpack my overnight kit?" Honey collapsed on the big bed, shaking with laughter. Trixie's overnight kit consisted of a toothbrush hastily wrapped in a clean handkerchief. She always borrowed pajamas from Honey when she spent the night at the Manor House.
Honey, still giggling, handed her a pair now. "There," she said. "Don't you dare say I'm not a good hostess. What else does your royal highness wish?"
"Soap, towel, and washcloth, please," Trixie said airily. "I'm going to take a cold
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