Free The Mystery of the Memorial Day Fire by Julie Campbell

baby-sit,” Honey added. “I promised we’d give her a full report tomorrow.”
    “Let’s go inside,” Jim said, opening the door and leading the way. “I want to hear about Nick Roberts and his father.”
    The Bob-Whites trooped into the clubhouse, took cans of soda from the small cooler Mart had carried along, and settled themselves down to discuss the situation.
    “I’m not as concerned about Mr. Roberts’s legal problems as I was this morning—Pat Murphy will take care of those,” Trixie said. “What concerns me is his morale. He just doesn’t seem to have the energy to start over.”
    “It is unfortunate that science has not yet devised a technique that would allow us to reapportion some of our sibling’s vim, vigor, and élan,” Mart observed, looking at Trixie’s shining, ear-nest-looking face.
    “That’s true,” Jim agreed. “Trixie has enough energy to power a locomotive, if there were only some way to harness it.”
    “We all have energy to spare,” Honey said gloomily. “It’s just that there’s no way to pass it along to Mr. Roberts.”
    Trixie had been looking increasingly thoughtful ever since Mart’s first long-winded observation. Now, after a moment of silence, she suddenly bounded to her feet and said, “That’s it! There is!”
    Trixie clenched her hands and jumped up and down. She was afraid that speaking the first word might be like pulling a plug, letting the words pour out in a torrent she couldn’t control. Finally, she took a deep breath and began to speak. “Think about it. Money isn’t Mr. Roberts’s problem — or at least it won’t be, if he can stay in business until the real arsonist is caught and the insurance claim is paid. What he needs is the strength to keep going. We Bob-Whites don’t have any trouble keeping going, but we do have money problems.”
    “So?” Brian asked, still not seeing the connection.
    “S-o-o-o,” Trixie said slowly, “there’s no reason why we can’t work our problems out together. We can sell T-shirts and caps to every softball and baseball team in Sleepyside. Mr. Roberts will stay in business. And the Bob-Whites will be in business as far as our summer repairs are concerned, because we’ll get a commission on all our sales.”
    “The Bob-Whites are supposed to devote their time to having fun and helping others,” Honey said enthusiastically. “This project sounds like a way to do both. Should we put it to a vote and make it official?”
    “Hold on a minute, Sis,” Jim said. “We can’t just elect ourselves into the job. Mr. Roberts has something to say about it. From what Trixie said, he may very well say ‘no.’ I think he’d better be consulted before we vote, anyway.”
    “Oh, woe,” Trixie said, suddenly collapsing into a chair. “I hate it when real life gets in the way of my perfect dreams. You’re right, Jim. Mr. Roberts has the final say over whether or not we go to work for him. He’s going to be the hardest sell of all.”
    “Now, don’t go overboard in the other direction, Trixie. Jim wasn’t trying to tell you the plan won’t work. He just wants you to take things in their proper order. Tomorrow we’ll call Nick and tell him our idea. If he goes for it, we’ll talk to his father. If he goes for it, we’ll have a vote, just to make it official. Okay?” Brian asked.
    “Nope,” Trixie said firmly. “I can’t wait until tomorrow to see whether or not I actually can help Nick Roberts. I’m going back home right this minute to call Nick and tell him our plan. You all wait right here.”
    Before anyone had a chance to object, Trixie was racing out of the clubhouse. Her friends stared at one another in shocked silence as they listened to her feet pounding up the path.
    It was Honey who broke the silence by starting to giggle. As soon as she began to laugh, the three boys did too.
    “Ben Franklin said, ‘A stitch in time saves nine,’” Jim observed. “At the rate she’s going, Trixie will