The Mystery of the Ghostly Galeon Read Online Free PDF

softly, “no, he didn’t. But don’t tell anyone. The old painting we had of the real captain was the same size as that one. But in real life, the old captain didn’t look nearly fierce enough. In fact, he looked like a real softy. So I had a new portrait painted to me own specifications, you see.” He sighed and shook his head sadly. “I know that Marge won’t like it, though. No, she won’t like it at all. She doesn’t go much for the changes I’ve made around here. But in my opinion, the new painting gives the place—“
    “Atmosphere?” Trixie suggested, smiling. “Exactly!” Mr. Trask exclaimed. “But there! Enough of this jibber-jabber, girl. Go.and join your friends. The captain’s table is occupied right now, but you’ll sit at it tonight, I promise. This afternoon, though, I’ve assigned one of my best waiters to take your order, so go ahead and enjoy yourselves.”
    He hurried away, and Trixie moved slowly to a long table in the big bay window. There the rest of the Bob-Whites were waiting for her. They smiled as they saw that her eyes were fixed on what was obviously the captain’s table. It was large and round and obviously very old. It stood in the exact center of the room. The glow from the room’s subdued lighting reflected softly in its polished surface.
    Seated at it were three adults and four teen-aged boys. The boys appeared to be spending more time under the table than they did in their chairs. Trixie could see them busily tapping different areas of the bare, polished wood floor. She could tell they were looking for a trapdoor of some kind. She found herself hoping passionately that they wouldn’t find anything.
    “All right, folks, what’ll it be?” a gloomy voice asked over her head.
    Trixie looked up quickly and gasped. Standing by her side was one of the most villainous-looking men she had ever seen in her life. Dressed as a pirate, he was more frightening by far than the painting of Captain Trask.
    He was tall and skinny. He wore a black patch over one eye and a red scarf around his head. A gray stubble of beard covered his chin.
    Someone should tell him to smarten up, Trixie thought.
    As if he could read her mind, he said wearily, “Dumb outfit, ain’t it?” He pointed with the end of his pencil to his red and white striped T-shirt. “But I gotta wear it. Rule of the house. I’m also supposed to tell you that I’m Weasel Willis, and I’m your waiter for this afternoon. Of course, the name’s not really Weasel, but that’s another dumb rule. We all gotta have nicknames. So what’ll it be?”
    Honey frowned. “What do you suggest?”
    “Since you ask me,” Weasel said, “I don’t suggest anything. You probably won’t like the food here, anyway. This afternoon, everyone seems to want the Cannonball Pie. At least, that’s what they’ve been ordering. But it’s probably no good.”
    “If everyone’s been ordering it,” Di said firmly, “then I’m sure it’s excellent. Er—what is it?”
    “It’s just a fancy name for a cherry tart,” Weasel answered. “It’s supposed to be a specialty of the house. At least, that’s what Cookie likes to believe.”
    Mart stared, fascinated.“Cookie?”
    “The chef,” Weasel said briefly, then stood with his pencil poised in resignation over his order pad. He seemed to know that he was about to receive seven orders for Cannonball Pie.
    He was right.
    When he had gone to fetch the food, Trixie leaned across the table and said, “If that’s supposed to be one of Mr. Trask’s best waiters, I wonder what his worst ones are like?”
    “Maybe we ought to tell Mr. Trask what that waiter is really like,” Dan said.
    “On the other hand,” Honey replied, “perhaps we should have taken Weasel’s advice and ordered something else.”
    But a short while later, when seven plates had been hastily scraped clean, the verdict was unanimous. The tart, in spite of its peculiar name, was the most delicious they had ever