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Authors: Julie Campbell
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believe me.
“I hear the shops in London are really super,” Honey said, “but I kind of wish we could have gone on the cruise, too.”
“We can trade notes with the boys later,” Trixie said.
The girls got off the bus in Mayfair, the fashionable shopping district Miss Trask had recommended. After they picked out a red leather handbag for Honey, they went window-shopping. Here and there,
between the large department stores, were small, hole-in-the-wall stationery stores, which sold magazines, sweets, and souvenirs. Honey lent Trixie some money, and Trixie treated herself to a bag of sweets.
“This has got to be the best candy in the world,” she sighed, selecting several luscious chocolate bars with gooey raspberry or orange fillings, some pieces of real English toffee in all different flavors, and a few bright-colored gumdrops that tasted much better than American gumdrops.
“It probably has the most calories, too,” said Honey, not that she ever had to worry about her weight.
Trixie didn’t worry either, even though people were always calling her things like “sturdy.” Then she remembered that Mart sometimes called her worse things than that, and she turned away from the candy section.
“Ohhh, look!” Trixie cried. “I just have to get that for Bobby.”
On a crowded shelf stood a miniature London policeman, leading a police dog on a red leash. About three inches high, he wore a dark blue uniform and a round black felt hat with a strap under his chin.
“Oh, Trix, he’s darling,” Honey agreed. “Look, he even has a tiny necktie.”
“Bobby will flip,” Trixie said. “I can’t wait to tell him that English cops are called bobbies.”
“Now we have to find something for Di and Brian and Dan,” Honey reminded her.
Before they found just what they wanted, Trixie noticed that it was past twelve. “Do you think we could eat at Tiddy Dol’s?” she begged.
“What’s this thing you have about Tiddy Dol’s?” Honey asked.
“I don’t know,” Trixie said. “I just like the name!”
It turned out that Tiddy Dol had been an eighteenth-century gingerbread peddler, and that the specialty of Tiddy Dol’s Eating House was still gingerbread. The girls ate it warm, with butter, honey, and cream, and they had so many helpings that they had to rush in order to get back to the hotel in time.
“We can go shopping again in Stratford,’ Trixie said as they scurried through the front door of the hotel, right on the dot of two o’clock.
Jim and Mart arrived just as they did, out of breath from running.
“Where’s Miss Trask?” Honey asked. There was no sign of either her or McDuff.
“Jeepers, where could she be?” Trixie asked anxiously. “She told us to be here for sure—and now she's gone.”
“Let’s ask someone around the hotel,” Jim suggested, leading the way out a side door.
Mrs. Johnson, the proprietor of the little hotel, was in the garden, picking roses. “You’ve no call to worry,” she reassured the Bob-Whites. “The gentleman as was here yesterday came by in a car and
picked her up. That was about noon, I should say.”
“She went off without us?” Honey’s big hazel eyes were puzzled. “Didn’t she leave any message?”
“No, luv, not with me she didn’t.”
“O Miss Trask, Miss Trask, wherefore art thou, Miss Trask,” Mart said lightly, but he, too, looked concerned.
“I told you he was a crook,” Trixie wailed. “He’s probably kidnapped her and is holding her for a huge ransom.”
Jim and Mart burst out laughing. “Oh, come on, Trix,” Jim said. “You’ve really gone out on a limb this time.”
“They probably went somewhere for lunch,” Honey said doubtfully, “and just got caught in a traffic jam or something.”
“But it’s almost three o’clock,” Trixie said indignantly, after they had waited a while longer. “I’m going to call Scotland Yard.”
Before Trixie could move from where she was sitting on the hotel steps, a
“I hear the shops in London are really super,” Honey said, “but I kind of wish we could have gone on the cruise, too.”
“We can trade notes with the boys later,” Trixie said.
The girls got off the bus in Mayfair, the fashionable shopping district Miss Trask had recommended. After they picked out a red leather handbag for Honey, they went window-shopping. Here and there,
between the large department stores, were small, hole-in-the-wall stationery stores, which sold magazines, sweets, and souvenirs. Honey lent Trixie some money, and Trixie treated herself to a bag of sweets.
“This has got to be the best candy in the world,” she sighed, selecting several luscious chocolate bars with gooey raspberry or orange fillings, some pieces of real English toffee in all different flavors, and a few bright-colored gumdrops that tasted much better than American gumdrops.
“It probably has the most calories, too,” said Honey, not that she ever had to worry about her weight.
Trixie didn’t worry either, even though people were always calling her things like “sturdy.” Then she remembered that Mart sometimes called her worse things than that, and she turned away from the candy section.
“Ohhh, look!” Trixie cried. “I just have to get that for Bobby.”
On a crowded shelf stood a miniature London policeman, leading a police dog on a red leash. About three inches high, he wore a dark blue uniform and a round black felt hat with a strap under his chin.
“Oh, Trix, he’s darling,” Honey agreed. “Look, he even has a tiny necktie.”
“Bobby will flip,” Trixie said. “I can’t wait to tell him that English cops are called bobbies.”
“Now we have to find something for Di and Brian and Dan,” Honey reminded her.
Before they found just what they wanted, Trixie noticed that it was past twelve. “Do you think we could eat at Tiddy Dol’s?” she begged.
“What’s this thing you have about Tiddy Dol’s?” Honey asked.
“I don’t know,” Trixie said. “I just like the name!”
It turned out that Tiddy Dol had been an eighteenth-century gingerbread peddler, and that the specialty of Tiddy Dol’s Eating House was still gingerbread. The girls ate it warm, with butter, honey, and cream, and they had so many helpings that they had to rush in order to get back to the hotel in time.
“We can go shopping again in Stratford,’ Trixie said as they scurried through the front door of the hotel, right on the dot of two o’clock.
Jim and Mart arrived just as they did, out of breath from running.
“Where’s Miss Trask?” Honey asked. There was no sign of either her or McDuff.
“Jeepers, where could she be?” Trixie asked anxiously. “She told us to be here for sure—and now she's gone.”
“Let’s ask someone around the hotel,” Jim suggested, leading the way out a side door.
Mrs. Johnson, the proprietor of the little hotel, was in the garden, picking roses. “You’ve no call to worry,” she reassured the Bob-Whites. “The gentleman as was here yesterday came by in a car and
picked her up. That was about noon, I should say.”
“She went off without us?” Honey’s big hazel eyes were puzzled. “Didn’t she leave any message?”
“No, luv, not with me she didn’t.”
“O Miss Trask, Miss Trask, wherefore art thou, Miss Trask,” Mart said lightly, but he, too, looked concerned.
“I told you he was a crook,” Trixie wailed. “He’s probably kidnapped her and is holding her for a huge ransom.”
Jim and Mart burst out laughing. “Oh, come on, Trix,” Jim said. “You’ve really gone out on a limb this time.”
“They probably went somewhere for lunch,” Honey said doubtfully, “and just got caught in a traffic jam or something.”
“But it’s almost three o’clock,” Trixie said indignantly, after they had waited a while longer. “I’m going to call Scotland Yard.”
Before Trixie could move from where she was sitting on the hotel steps, a
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