The Mystery of the Emeralds by Julie Campbell Page A

of years I’ve become very interested in historic restorations,” Mr. Lynch replied. “I’ve seen what the Rockefellers have done to restore Washington Irving’s home and the old Van Cortlandt Manor House right here in Westchester. So I joined the County Historical Society. They’re meeting with several similar organizations to swap notes on what’s being done in various parts of the East. It should be an interesting get-together.”
    “Our class visited Sunnyside last year,” Trixie said. “I could just imagine Washington Irving in his cozy study, writing about Ichabod Crane and the headless horseman. I think it’s wonderful to save places like that!”
    “It surely is,” Mr. Lynch agreed. “More and more individuals and societies are coming to recognize the need to keep historical landmarks from being torn down in the name of what some people call progress.” The hours seemed to speed by as Mr. Lynch talked and answered their questions, and it was soon lunchtime. By now they were on the turnpike from New York to Washington and were making very good time. They stopped at a restaurant along the way and looked to see if, by any chance, Mrs. Lynch had chosen the same place, but there was no sign of her car in the parking lot.
    “I told her not to try to follow us but just to plan to meet us at the motel tonight,” Mr. Lynch remarked as they went in and were ushered to a large table near a window.
    Mart, realizing that he was Mr. Lynch’s guest, followed Trixie’s lead and ordered a single hamburger and a glass of milk.
    “Come now, you two,” Mr. Lynch chuckled. “I know you can eat more than that, Mart. You have something of a reputation to maintain. Order up, now, whatever you want, and hang the expense!” Mr. Lynch is just as gay and jolly as he was before he got rich and moved into the big house with servants and everything, Trixie thought to herself. I’ll bet he likes getting away from all that formality for a few days.
    Mart waited until Trixie had changed her order to a double hamburger and a chocolate malt, then said, “I’ll have the same—and an order of french fries, please.”
    “That’s more like it,” Mr. Lynch said with a smile. “Now, how about you, Brian?”
    Brian, who was beginning to feel that hamburgers and hot dogs might be a little unsophisticated, ordered barbecued beef on a soft bun, with coleslaw.
    “Why, Brian!” Trixie exclaimed. “Are you breaking the family tradition?”
    “Not exactly. I just decided to be a little experimental on this trip,” Brian answered suavely. “Who knows? I might discover a new taste sensation.”
    “If you find anything to top a hamburger, I’ll eat my T-shirt with relish!” Mart said.
    “If not with relish, maybe with catsup!” Trixie quipped.
    While they were waiting for their food, Trixie looked out of the window to the service area of the restaurant. She was thinking what a dull job it must be to pump gas all day, when she noticed a rather dilapidated horse van drive up. A boy carrying a bucket jumped out of the right-hand side of the truck. As he walked to the nearby garage to use the water spigot, Trixie felt there was something familiar about him. When he took off his cap to wipe his forehead, she knew immediately whom he reminded her of. Neil! But how could that be? She started to say something about it to the others but realized she was the only one who had seen Neil that day at Miss Julie’s. Anyway, it was probably only a resemblance. She reminded herself that Neil had said he was going to stay in Croton all summer. Still, he did have that craze for horses.
    Trixie kept her eyes glued to the scene outside. The boy took the bucket of water to the van and held it while the horse inside drank his fill. The driver, a thin-faced, rather sour-looking individual, leaned out of the cab and motioned impatiently for him to hurry. He was answered by a brusque shake of the head as the boy patted the horse and let him finish