Quotes from Franklin W. Dixon

The farm woman bristled. "Young man, we don't tolerate no folks like that in this peace-abiding neighborhood!" Frank could have pointed out the error in her contention, but he said nothing. Thanking her for her hospitality, he departed. He walked down the dirt road to Black Horse Pike, where he sat down and waited to be picked up.

Not until after supper were the Hardys able to drive out to the Batter estate. The high, gabled mansion loomed starkly against the sky, silvered by moonlight. A broken porch rail and dark, blank windows gave it a sinister look. "Spooky-looking layout," Joe muttered. "It's a cinch no one's taking care of the place.

When they reached home, Frank and Joe found that Aunt Gertrude had retired early. "Guess we'll have to rustle up our own snack," Frank said. He heated cups of cocoa while Joe made man-sized ham sandwiches.

Frank glanced at his wristwatch. "Sufferin' snakes! We're almost late for class!" With a roar of exhaust, the convertible headed for Bayport High School. Not until they returned home that afternoon were the Hardys able to resume work on the code message.

astern of them. They could see the big ships in their piers, and over on the right, the wide mouth of Willow River, with the bridge crossing it.

Aunt Gertrude paused in the midst of trimming a pie crust as they rushed out through the kitchen door. "Land sakes! Where are you boys off to now?" she scolded. "Don't you realize you'll ruin your digestions?" "On your cooking? Why, Aunty!" Joe grinned and ducked out before she could retort.

Biff Hooper, a high school chum, had recently taken a weekend job as watchman at an electronics company. Its factory was located near Willow River outside Bayport.

Frank and Joe were taken aback. But they were even more nonplused when their caller suddenly burst into tears!

dark eyes. His brow was furrowed in a deep scowl, but in a flash he assumed

When he reached the selected cruising altitude, Jerry set the plane on course. Hour after hour passed as it bore through the sky. Lulled by the drone of the engines, the boys caught up on some sleep. When they awoke, the first light of dawn was breaking in the east. Gradually the light grew brighter, revealing a fascinating mosaic of deep blue and jade green on the surface of the ocean below.

There is no such thing as a clever crook. If he was really that clever he wouldn't be a crook at all.

After explaining that they would try to find a glove of similar manufacture, Frank and Joe left.

Just then a car pulled up in front of the house with a squeal of tires and a series of loud backfires. "Don't tell me—let me guess. It's Chet Morton," said Frank.

The two motorcycles whipped along the narrow road that skirted the bay and led to Willowville, the brothers' destination. The boys took the next curve neatly and started up a long, steep slope. Here the road was a mere ribbon and badly in need of repair.

He paused to sniff the aroma wafting from the kitchen. "Mmm! Do I smell chicken?" "Fried chicken." Mrs. Hardy had paused at the door and smiled as she glanced in. "And there'll be honey to go with Aunt Gertrude's hot biscuits. Would you like to have dinner with us, Chet?" "Would I? Boy, and how! But I'd better call Mom and let her know.

The boys hurried to the Hardys' convertible. A red glow of sunset suffused

By now the speedy craft was far out on the broad bay. The water had grown choppy and was turning from green to steely gray. In the distance the boys watched a cluster of white sails skimming before the breeze.

Nice lines," commented Joe. "Pass close to her, will you, Frank?" Quietly, with her engine throttled down, the motorboat drew abreast of the larger vessel. It was now dusk and a light shone in her cabin from which came the sound of activity. Frank gazed in admiration at the tall masts and shipshape rigging.

the western sky as they drove out of Bayport's residential district and into the wooded outskirts of town. Soon they pulled up on the dirt lane directly in front of the Perth mansion.

The Hardys and Chet hastened out into the chilly air. The lighted windows of the house became eerie rectangles of hazy yellow in the drifting mist as the trio skirted the dense bushes edging the lawn.

FRANK and Joe Hardy clutched the grips of their motorcycles and stared in horror at the oncoming car.

After stopping in the house for lemonade with the girls and to pick up Chet's wallet, the three boys piled into the convertible and drove off. A few minutes later they pulled up in front of the novelty shop on King Street. A bell tinkled as they walked in and Mr. Bivven, the squat, baldheaded proprietor, came out of the back room to greet them. He beamed at the trio across the counter. "Something you'd like, boys?

Being a detective can be dangerous! Thanks for the assist.

Joe volunteered to stay awake since he was not particularly tired at the moment. While the others turned in, he stationed himself in a chair near the window. Turning over the pages of a magazine, he listened to the sounds of the hotel coming to life. The buzz of cars in the parking lot indicated that the day shift was replacing the night shift. The elevator clanged as guests arrived and departed. A low hum of voices from the street reached the room.