he confessed. "I seldom consent to having my picture taken, but this is a
very special occasion."
Completely at ease again, the real estate man began to converse with
Penny. In sudden inspiration, Salt seized a candid camera from a glass
case, and before Mr. Blake was aware of his act, snapped a picture.
"There, that's more like it," he said. "I caught you just right, Mr.
Blake."
The real estate man turned swiftly, his eyes blazing anger.
"You dared to take a picture without my permission?" he demanded. "I'll
not have it! Destroy the film at once or I shall protest to Mr. Parker!"
CHAPTER
8
_PUBLICITY BY PENNY_
The real estate man's outburst was so unexpected that Penny and Salt
could only stare at him in astonishment.
"It's a good full length picture," the photographer argued. "Much better
than those other shots I took."
"I can't allow it," Blake answered in a calmer tone. He touched his right
arm. "You see, I am sensitive about this deformity. Unreasonable of me,
perhaps, but I must insist that you destroy the film."
"Just as you say," Salt shrugged. "We'll use one of the other pictures."
"No, I've changed my mind," Blake said shortly. "I don't care for any
picture. Kindly destroy all the films--now, in my presence."
"Why, Mr. Blake!" Penny protested. "I thought you wanted a picture to
accompany the story I am to write."
"You may write the article, but I'll have no picture. The films must be
destroyed."
"Okay," responded Salt. Removing two plates from a holder he exposed them
to the light. He started to take the film from the candid camera, but did
not complete the operation. Mr. Blake, however, failed to notice.
"Thank you, young man," he said, bowing. "I am sorry to have taken so
much of your valuable time, and I appreciate your efforts."
Nodding in Penny's direction, Mr. Blake left the studio, closing the door
behind him.
"Queer duck," commented Salt. "His picture on the front page would be no
break for our readers!"
"I can't understand why Mr. Blake became so provoked," Penny said
thoughtfully. "That excuse about his arm seemed a flimsy one."
"Let's develop the film and see what it looks like," Salt suggested,
starting for the darkroom. "It was just an ordinary shot though."
Penny followed the young photographer into the developing room, watching
as he ran the film through the various trays. In exactly six minutes the
picture was ready, and he held it beneath the ruby light for her to see.
"Nothing unusual about it," he repeated. "Blake's right arm looks a bit
shorter than the left, but we could have blocked that off."
Salt tossed the damp picture into a wastepaper basket, only to have Penny
promptly rescue it.
"I wish you would save this," she requested. "Put it in an envelope and
file it away somewhere in the office."
"What's the big idea, Penny?"
"Oh, just a hunch, I guess. Someday the paper may want a picture of Blake
in a hurry, and this one would serve very nicely."
Aware that time was fast slipping away, Penny returned to her father's
office to report Mr. Blake's strange action. Mr. Parker, well versed in
the peculiarities of newspaper patrons, shrugged indifferently.
"Blake always was a queer fellow," he commented, fingering the cheque
which still lay on his desk. "I never trusted him, and I wish I hadn't
accepted this money."
"How could you have refused, Dad?"
"I couldn't very well. All the same, I have a feeling I'll regret it."
"Why do you say that?" Penny asked curiously.
"No reason perhaps. Only Blake isn't the man to give something for
nothing. He aims to profit by this affair, or I'm no judge of human
nature."
"He craves publicity, that's certain."
"Yes, but there's more to it than that," Mr. Parker declared. "Oh,
well"--he dismissed the subject, "I'll turn the cheque over to the camp
committee and let someone else do the worrying."
"I'll tell you why I dislike Mr. Blake," Penny said with feeling. "He
caused Seth McGuire to lose his job at the Hubell Tower."
"That so?" the editor asked in surprise. "I hadn't heard about it."
"Blake gave the position to a special friend of his. Can't you do
something about it, Dad?"
"I don't know any of the basic facts, Penny. Why should I interfere in a
matter which is none of my affair?"
"At least let's not give Mr. Blake a big build-up because of his
donation."
"The story must be written," Mr. Parker said with finality. "I always
keep a bargain, even a bad one."
"Then you might write the story," Penny proposed mischievously. "I can't
spell such a big word as hypocrite!"
"Never mind," Mr. Parker reproved. "Just get busy and see that you handle
the article in a way favorable to Blake."
With a deep sigh, Penny took herself to the adjoining newsroom. Selecting
a typewriter, she pecked listlessly at the keys. Presently Jerry
Livingston, one of the reporters, fired a paper ball at her.
"Your story must be a masterpiece," he teased. "It's taken you long
enough to write it."
Penny jerked the sheet of copy from the typewriter roller. "It's not
fair," she complained. "I have to dish out soft soap while you handle all
the interesting stories. There should be a law against it."
"Learn to take the bitter along with the whipped cream," chuckled Jerry.
"I've also just been handed an assignment that's not to my liking."
"Covering the Preston fire, I suppose."
"Nothing that spectacular. DeWitt's sending me out to the Riverview
Orphans' Home to dig up human interest material in connection with the
camp-fund campaign. Want to ride along as ballast?"
"Well, I don't know?" Penny debated. "I've had almost enough of publicity
stories for one day."
"Oh, come on," Jerry coaxed, taking her by the arm. "You can talk to the
orphans and maybe turn up a lot of interesting facts."
"For you to write," she added ruefully. "Just a Sister Friday--that's my
fate in this office."
Actually Penny welcomed an opportunity to accompany Jerry, for she liked
him better than any young man of her acquaintance. Spearing the story she
had just written on the copy desk spindle, she followed the reporter to
the parking lot. Jerry helped her into one of the press cars, and they
expertly drove through heavy downtown traffic.
"What's the latest on the Preston case?" Penny inquired, clutching her
hat to keep it from blowing out the window.
"No latest," Jerry answered briefly. "The Prestons won't talk, Mrs. Davis
won't talk, the sheriff won't talk. So far it totals up to one little
story about a fire."
"Dad said the sheriff had learned Clem Davis was a member of a secret
organization, probably known as the Black Hoods."
"Sheriff Daniels claims he has documentary proof," Jerry admitted. "He
won't produce it though, and I have a sneaking suspicion that he may be
bluffing."
"Then you think he wants to convict Clem Davis whether or not he's
guilty?"
"He wants to end the case just as quickly as he can, Penny. The November
elections aren't far away. If this night rider story gets a start, the
dear public might turn on him, demanding action or his job."
"Do you think there actually is such an organization as the Black Hoods,
Jerry?"
"I do," he returned soberly. "After talking with the Prestons and Mrs.
Davis, I'm convinced they could tell quite a bit about it if they were
willing to furnish evidence."
It pleased Penny that Jerry's opinion so nearly coincided with her own.
Eagerly she told him of her own talk with Mrs. Davis, mentioning that
someone had been hiding in the cornfield near the cabin.
"What time was that?" Jerry asked, stopping the car at a traffic light.
"Shortly after twelve o'clock."
"Then it couldn't have been Sheriff Daniels or his deputies," the
reporter declared. "I was at the county office talking to them about that
same time."
"It might have been Clem Davis," Penny suggested. "I'm sure his wife
knows where he is hiding."
As the car sped over the country road, she kept the discussion alive by
mentioning the watch charm which she had picked up at the Davis stable.
Jerry had not seen the picture of the little boy, but promised to inspect
it just as soon as he returned to the _Star_ offices.
"Clem Davis has no children," he assured Penny, "so it's unlikely the
charm ever belonged to him. You may have found an important clue."
"I only wish Dad would officially assign me to the story," she grumbled.
"He never will, though."
Presently the car approached the Riverview Orphans' Home, a large brick
building set back some distance from the road. Children in drab blue
uniforms could be seen playing in the front yard, supervised by a woman
official.
"Poor kids," Jerry said with honest feeling, "you can't help feeling
sorry for 'em. They deserve the best summer camp this town can provide."
"The project is certain to be possible now," Penny replied. "Mr. Blake's
cheque put the campaign over the top."
Jerry gave the steering wheel an expert flip, turning the car into the
private road.
"Don't tell me that old bird actually parted with any money!"
"Oh, he did, Jerry. He donated a cheque for a hundred and fifty dollars."
"And no strings attached?"
"Well, he hinted that he wanted a nice write-up about himself. I was
torturing myself with the story when you interrupted."
"It's mighty queer," the reporter muttered. "Leopards don't change their
spots. Blake must expect something more tangible than publicity out of
the deal."
His mind centering on what Penny had just told him, Jerry gave no thought
to his driving. Handling the steering wheel skillfully, but
automatically, he whirled the car into the play area of the institution,
drawing up with a loud screeching of brakes.
Uncertain that the reporter could stop, the children scattered in all
directions. One little girl remained squarely in front of the car.
Covering her face with her hands, she began to scream.
"Gosh all fish hooks!" Jerry exclaimed in dismay. "I didn't mean to
frighten the kid."
Jumping from the coupe, he and Penny ran to the child.
"You're all right," Jerry said, stooping beside the little girl. "The car
didn't come within a mile of you. I'm mighty sorry."
Nothing that either he nor Penny could say seemed to quiet the child. Her
screams did not subside until a matron appeared and took her by the hand.
"Come Adelle," she said gently. "We'll go into the house."
"I'm as sorry as I can be," Jerry apologized, doffing his hat. "I didn't
intend to drive into the yard so fast. It's all my fault."
The attendant smiled to set him at ease. "Don't mind," she said quietly.
"Adelle is very easily upset. I'll explain to you later."
CHAPTER
9
_JERRY'S PARTY_
Both Penny and Jerry regretted the incident, feeling that they had been
at fault because they had driven into the play area at such high speed.
"Maybe I can send the kid a box of candy or make it up to her in some
way," the reporter remarked.
Roving about the yard, he and Penny talked to many of the orphans. Nearly
all of the children answered questions self-consciously and had little to
say.
"We'll not get much of a story here," Jerry commented in an undertone.
"These youngsters are as much alike as if they had been cut from one
pattern."
"Adelle was different," Penny returned with a smile. "Almost too much
so."
In a short while, Miss Anderson, the young woman who had taken the child
away, returned to the play yard. Penny and Jerry immediately inquired
about the little girl.
"Oh, she is quite herself again," the young woman responded. "The upset
was only a temporary one."
"Is Adelle easily frightened?" Penny inquired curiously.
"Unfortunately, she is terrified of automobiles," responded Miss
Anderson. "I am afraid it is becoming a complex. You see, about a year
ago both of her parents were killed in a motor accident."
"How dreadful!" Penny gasped.
"Adelle was in the car but escaped with a broken leg," the young woman
resumed. "The incident made a very deep impression upon her."
"I should think so!" exclaimed Jerry. "How did the accident occur?"
"We don't know exactly, for Adelle was the only witness. According to her
story, the Hanover automobile was crowded off the road by another
motorist who drove at reckless speed, without lights. The car upset,
pinning the occupants beneath it."
"It seems to me I remember that story," Jerry said thoughtfully. "The
hit-run driver never was caught."
"No, according to Adelle he stopped, only to drive on again when he saw
that her parents were beyond help."
"The man must have been heartless!" Penny declared indignantly. "How
could he run away?"
"Because he feared the consequences," Miss Anderson answered. "Had he
been apprehended he would have faced charges for manslaughter, and
undoubtedly would have been assessed heavy damages."
"I take it the child has no property or she wouldn't be at this
institution," Jerry said soberly.
"Adelle is penniless. Her parents were her only relatives, so she was
brought to us."
"It's a shame!" Penny declared feelingly. "Wasn't there any clue as to
the identity of the man who caused the fatal accident?"
"No worthwhile ones. Adelle insists that she saw the driver's face
plainly and could recognize him again. However, she never was able to
give a very good description, nor to make an identification."
Having heard the story, Jerry was more than ever annoyed at himself
because he had caused the child needless suffering.
"Miss Anderson, isn't there something I can do to make amends?" he asked
earnestly. "What would the little girl like? Candy, toys?"
"It isn't necessary that you give her anything."
"I want to do it," Jerry insisted.
"In that case, why not make some small bequest to the institution, or
send something which may be enjoyed by all the children."
"Jerry, I have an idea!" cried Penny impulsively. "Why not give a party?
Would that be permissible, Miss Anderson?"
"Indeed, yes. The children love them, and outings away from the
institution are their special delight."
"Let's give a watermelon party!" Penny proposed, immediately considering
herself Jerry's partner in the affair. "We could take the children to a
nearby farm and let them gorge themselves!"
"The children would enjoy it, I'm sure," Miss Anderson smiled. "Can
transportation be arranged? We have sixty boys and girls."
"I'll take care of everything," Jerry promised. "Suppose we set tomorrow
afternoon as the date."
"Oh, can't we have the party at night?" Penny pleaded. "There will be a
full moon. A watermelon feast wouldn't be much fun by daylight."
Miss Anderson replied that she thought the children might be allowed to
attend such a party, providing it were held early in the evening. Penny
and Jerry talked with her about various details of the plan, and then
drove away from the institution.
"Well, you certainly got me into something," Jerry chuckled as the car
turned into the main road. "Where are we going to throw this party?"
"Oh, any melon farmer will be glad to let the children invade his patch,
providing we pay for the privilege," Penny answered carelessly. "You
might turn in at the next farm."
Her confidence proved to be ill-founded, for Mr. Kahler, the farmer whom
they accosted, would not consider the proposition.
"The children will trample the vines, and do a lot of damage," he
declined. "Why don't you try the Wentover place?"
At the Wentover farm, Jerry and Penny likewise were turned down.
"No one wants sixty orphans running rampant over his place," the reporter
observed in discouragement. "We may as well give up the idea."
"It's possible Mrs. Davis would allow us to hold a muskmelon party at her
farm," Penny replied thoughtfully. "Now that her husband has skipped, she
must be in need of money."
The chance of success seemed unlikely. However, to please Penny, Jerry
drove to the Davis property. To their surprise they found the place
humming with activity. Professional melon pickers were at work in the
patch, and Mrs. Davis, dressed in overalls, was personally supervising
the laborers.
"I have no time to answer questions!" she announced to Jerry before he
could speak. "Please go away and leave me alone!"
"Oh, I'm not here in an official capacity this time," the reporter
grinned. "We want to make you a business proposition."
He then explained what he had in mind. Mrs. Davis listened attentively
but with suspicion.
"It's likely some trick!" she declared. "I'll have nothing to do with
it!"
"Mrs. Davis, we're not trying to deceive you," Penny interposed
earnestly. "We've tried several other farms before we came here. No one
is willing to let the children trample the vines."
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt mine," the woman admitted. "By tomorrow night
we'll have all the best melons picked and sorted. I reckon the youngsters
can have what's left in the patch."
"We'll pay you well for the privilege," Jerry promised, taking out his
wallet.
"I don't want your money," the woman answered shortly. "Just see to it
that the youngsters don't tear up the place."
Neither Penny nor Jerry wished to accept such a favor, but Mrs. Davis
firmly refused to take pay.
"You know, I think the old girl has a tender heart beneath a hard
exterior," the reporter remarked after the woman had gone back to the
patch. "Down under she's a pretty decent sort."
For a time Penny and Jerry watched the laborers at their work. Heaping
baskets of melons were brought from the patch to the barn. There they
were sorted, stamped, and packed into crates which were loaded into a
truck.
"Nice looking melons," the reporter remarked. "Mrs. Davis should make a
pretty fair profit."
An elderly workman, who was sorting melons, glanced sideways at Jerry,
grinning in a knowing way.
"Maybe," he said.
"What do you mean by that?" Jerry questioned him.
"Sellin' melons is a speculative business," the old fellow shrugged. "You
ain't sure o' anything until your harvest is sold and you get the money
in your fist."
Penny and Jerry watched the sorting work for a few minutes longer and
then returned to the car.
"You know, for a minute I thought that old duffer was hinting at
something," the reporter remarked. "He acted as if it would give him real
pleasure to see something happen to Mrs. Davis' melons."
"Oh, I didn't take it that way," Penny responded. "He was only waxing
philosophical."
The hour was late. Knowing that he might be wanted at the _Star_ office,
Jerry drove rather fast over the bumpy road.
As the press car sped around a bend, a man who stood leaning against a
fence post, quickly retreated into the woods. His act, however, had drawn
Penny's attention.
"Stop the car, Jerry!" she cried. "There he is again!"
"Who?" demanded the reporter, slamming on brakes.
"I think it's the same man who hid in the cornfield!" Penny exclaimed
excitedly. "It must be Clem Davis!"
CHAPTER
10
_IN THE MELON PATCH_
"Which way did the fellow go?" Jerry demanded, bringing the car to a
standstill.
"Into the woods," Penny answered tersely.
Leaping from the automobile, they climbed a fence, and reached the edge
of the woods. Pausing there, they listened intently. No sound could be
heard, not even the crackling of a stick.
"This timber land extends for miles," said Jerry. "We'd only waste time
playing hide and seek in there. Our best bet is to notify Sheriff Daniels
and let him throw a net around the entire section."
"I guess you're right," Penny acknowledged regretfully.
Making all haste to Riverview, they stopped briefly at the sheriff's
office to make their report. Penny then said goodbye to Jerry and went to
the newspaper building where she had parked Leaping Lena. The car would
not start. Experienced in such matters, Penny raised the hood and posed
beside it, a picture of a young lady in deep distress. Soon a taxi-cab
cruised along.
"Having trouble, sister?" the driver asked.
Penny slammed down the hood, and scrambled into Leaping Lena.
"Just give me a little push," she instructed briskly.
Obligingly, the taxi driver backed into position behind Leaping Lena.
After the two cars had gathered speed, Penny shifted gears. Lena
responded with an ailing cough and then a steady chug.
"Thanks!" Penny shouted, waving farewell to her benefactor. "I'll return
the favor someday."
"Not with that mess of junk!" the taxi man laughed.
By keeping the motor running at high speed, Penny reached home without
mishap. Her father had arrived ahead of her, she noted, for the maroon
car had been put away for the night.
Locking the garage doors, Penny entered the house by way of the kitchen.
"Where's Dad?" she asked the housekeeper, absently helping herself to a
freshly baked cookie.
"Listen, and I think you can tell," Mrs. Weems answered.
A loud hammering noise came from the basement. Inspired by an
advertisement of Waldon's Oak Paneling, Mr. Parker had decided to wall up
the recreation room without the services of a carpenter. Much of his
spare time was spent carrying on a personal feud with boards which
refused to fit into the right places.
"Poor Dad," Penny grinned as she heard a particularly loud exclamation of
wrath. "I'll go down and drip a few consoling words."
Descending the stairs, she stood watching her father from the doorway of
the recreation room.
"Hello, Penny," he said, looking over his shoulder. "You may as well make
yourself useful. Hold this board while I nail it in place."
"All right, but be careful where you pound. Remember, I have only two
hands and I prize them both."
With Penny holding the board, Mr. Parker nailed it to the underpinning.
"Well, what do you think of the job?" he asked, standing back to admire
his work.
"As a carpenter you're a very good editor," Penny answered with
exaggerated politeness. "Aren't walls supposed to come together at the
corners?"
"I made a little mistake in my calculations. Later on I may build a
corner cupboard to cover up the slight gap."
"Slight!" Penny chuckled. "Dad, if I were you I wouldn't get tangled up
in any more carpenter jobs. It's too hard on your disposition."
"I never was in a better mood in my life," Mr. Parker insisted. "Good
reason, too. At last I've got the best of Mr. Ben Bowman!"
"Bowman?" Penny inquired in a puzzled tone.
"That crank who keeps sending me collect messages."
"Oh, to be sure! I'd forgotten about him."
"He sent another telegram today," Mr. Parker declared, smiling grimly. "I
suspected it came from him and refused to pay for it."
"Bravo," Penny approved. "I knew you could get the best of that fellow if
you just put your mind to it."
On the floor above a telephone rang, but neither of them paid any heed,
knowing that Mrs. Weems would answer. In a moment the housekeeper called
down the stairway, telling Mr. Parker he was wanted on the 'phone.
"It's Mr. DeWitt from the office," she informed him.
Putting aside his hammer, Mr. Parker went upstairs. Soon he returned to
the basement, his manner noticeably subdued.
"What's the matter, Dad?" Penny inquired curiously. "You look as if you
had just received a stunning blow."
"DeWitt telephoned to tell me the _Star_ lost an important story today."
"How did that happen, Dad?"
"Well, a correspondent wired in the news, but by accident the message
never reached DeWitt's desk."
Penny regarded her father shrewdly. "Ben Bowman's telegram?"
"I'm afraid it was," Mr. Parker admitted. "The message came to two
dollars. I didn't know DeWitt had hired a correspondent at the town of
Altona. Naturally I jumped to conclusions."
"So you lost a news story because you refused a bona fide telegram,"
Penny said, shaking her head. "Ben Bowman scores again."
"You see what I'm up against," the editor growled. "I'd give a hundred
dollars to be rid of that pest."
"You really mean it?" Penny demanded with interest.
"My peace of mind would be well worth the price."
"In that case, I may apply my own brain to the task. I could use a
hundred dollars."
The discussion was interrupted by Mrs. Weems who called that dinner was
ready. As Mr. Parker went to his usual place at the dining room table, he
saw a yellow envelope lying on his plate.
"What's this?" he demanded sharply.
"A telegram," explained Mrs. Weems. "It came only a moment ago. I paid
the boy."
"How much was the message?" the editor asked, his face grim.
"A dollar and a half." Mrs. Weems regarded her employer anxiously. "Did I
do anything I shouldn't have? I supposed of course you would want me to
accept the message."