Read Online The Mystery of the Ghostly Galeon by Julie Campbell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Julie Campbell
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cheeks burning hotly.
“It means,” Mart said, in his most infuriating tone of voice, “that people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”
Trixie’s fingers curled around the stem of her water glass as she glared across the table at her brother.
“On the other hand,” Miss Trask said suddenly, “a rolling stone gathers no moss, a stitch in time saves nine—”
“And every cloud has a silver lining,” Frank Trask boomed. “By gum, Marge, I’d quite forgotten that old game we used to play.”
“What old game?” Jim asked, bewildered. “When I was just a sprout, like yourselves,” Mr. Trask replied, “my sisters and I used to squabble among ourselves, as youngsters sometimes do.” He didn’t look at Trixie and Mart. “When that happened, we often said more than we meant to. And often tempers got hot. So to cool ’em down, we used to quote old proverbs— old sayings—at each other until someone laughed, and then the quarrel was forgotten. It was our way of counting to ten, y’see.” He leaned toward his sister. “We should have remembered our game the last time you were here, Marge.”
Miss Trask nodded. “Yes, Frank, perhaps we should have done just that.” Trixie noticed that her cheeks were suddenly flushed.
“In that case,” Mart announced loudly, “I hereby affirm that it is understandable that homo sapiens commit erroneous actions, while deity confers absolution.”
Trixie looked at him and frowned. “Does that mean we shouldn’t count our blessings before they hatch?”
She was startled when everyone laughed, until she noticed that Mart was laughing, too.
“You’ve won the game, Trix,” Brian told her, grinning, “and it took you exactly one second to do it. Mart was saying that to err is human, to forgive divine.”
“But it’s chickens that shouldn’t be counted,” Jim explained.
Trixie, glad that Mart was no longer angry, joined in the laughter. “I’d sooner count blessings than chickens any day,” she told her friends happily.
Mr. Trask leaned back in his chair. “And on that cheerful note, we get at last to the surprise I promised my sister. In fact, there are two surprises. Before I tell you what they are, I should explain that there was a time when my sisters and I thought we would have to sell this place. Naturally, we didn’t want to. Ever since anyone can remember, a Trask has been at Pirate’s Inn. It all seemed hopeless, until I had an idea.”
“One of many,” Miss Trask murmured.
“I borrowed some money from a good friend of mine named Nicholas Morgan,” her brother said, “and with the loan, plus a touch of imagination”—he nodded toward his surroundings— “I can honestly say that the inn is a success.”
“Is it really, Frank?” Miss Trask asked.
“It really is,” her brother assured her. “By this time tomorrow, I will have paid off the loan, and this place will be ours again, free and clear. But there! I see we are about to be interrupted. To celebrate your presence here tonight, our chef has baked us a three-tiered cake, which”—he looked toward the kitchen—“is even now on its way to our table.”
Everyone turned and watched as Weasel Willis began walking toward them, bearing their dessert on a tray.
What a cake it was! Even from a distance, the Bob-Whites could see that it was cunningly decorated with tiny anchors, minute seashells, and impudent sea gulls that rode waves of creamy frosting. Trixie nudged Honey when she saw a miniature galleon adorning the top layer.
“Do you think it’s supposed to be Captain Trask’s Sea Fox?” Trixie whispered.
Honey had no time to answer.
“Cookie—our chef—has spent hours on this, his pièce de résistance ,” Mr. Trask announced, enjoying their awed expressions. “But that isn’t all! I have an announcement to make, and it’s the first surprise.” He paused. “I know how the old captain disappeared /”
Trixie’s eyes were round as she stared
“It means,” Mart said, in his most infuriating tone of voice, “that people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”
Trixie’s fingers curled around the stem of her water glass as she glared across the table at her brother.
“On the other hand,” Miss Trask said suddenly, “a rolling stone gathers no moss, a stitch in time saves nine—”
“And every cloud has a silver lining,” Frank Trask boomed. “By gum, Marge, I’d quite forgotten that old game we used to play.”
“What old game?” Jim asked, bewildered. “When I was just a sprout, like yourselves,” Mr. Trask replied, “my sisters and I used to squabble among ourselves, as youngsters sometimes do.” He didn’t look at Trixie and Mart. “When that happened, we often said more than we meant to. And often tempers got hot. So to cool ’em down, we used to quote old proverbs— old sayings—at each other until someone laughed, and then the quarrel was forgotten. It was our way of counting to ten, y’see.” He leaned toward his sister. “We should have remembered our game the last time you were here, Marge.”
Miss Trask nodded. “Yes, Frank, perhaps we should have done just that.” Trixie noticed that her cheeks were suddenly flushed.
“In that case,” Mart announced loudly, “I hereby affirm that it is understandable that homo sapiens commit erroneous actions, while deity confers absolution.”
Trixie looked at him and frowned. “Does that mean we shouldn’t count our blessings before they hatch?”
She was startled when everyone laughed, until she noticed that Mart was laughing, too.
“You’ve won the game, Trix,” Brian told her, grinning, “and it took you exactly one second to do it. Mart was saying that to err is human, to forgive divine.”
“But it’s chickens that shouldn’t be counted,” Jim explained.
Trixie, glad that Mart was no longer angry, joined in the laughter. “I’d sooner count blessings than chickens any day,” she told her friends happily.
Mr. Trask leaned back in his chair. “And on that cheerful note, we get at last to the surprise I promised my sister. In fact, there are two surprises. Before I tell you what they are, I should explain that there was a time when my sisters and I thought we would have to sell this place. Naturally, we didn’t want to. Ever since anyone can remember, a Trask has been at Pirate’s Inn. It all seemed hopeless, until I had an idea.”
“One of many,” Miss Trask murmured.
“I borrowed some money from a good friend of mine named Nicholas Morgan,” her brother said, “and with the loan, plus a touch of imagination”—he nodded toward his surroundings— “I can honestly say that the inn is a success.”
“Is it really, Frank?” Miss Trask asked.
“It really is,” her brother assured her. “By this time tomorrow, I will have paid off the loan, and this place will be ours again, free and clear. But there! I see we are about to be interrupted. To celebrate your presence here tonight, our chef has baked us a three-tiered cake, which”—he looked toward the kitchen—“is even now on its way to our table.”
Everyone turned and watched as Weasel Willis began walking toward them, bearing their dessert on a tray.
What a cake it was! Even from a distance, the Bob-Whites could see that it was cunningly decorated with tiny anchors, minute seashells, and impudent sea gulls that rode waves of creamy frosting. Trixie nudged Honey when she saw a miniature galleon adorning the top layer.
“Do you think it’s supposed to be Captain Trask’s Sea Fox?” Trixie whispered.
Honey had no time to answer.
“Cookie—our chef—has spent hours on this, his pièce de résistance ,” Mr. Trask announced, enjoying their awed expressions. “But that isn’t all! I have an announcement to make, and it’s the first surprise.” He paused. “I know how the old captain disappeared /”
Trixie’s eyes were round as she stared
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