The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels

by Mildred Benson

“Won’t Dad be waiting at the Star office?” Penny asked.

  “He suggested that I keep you girls entertained until around eleven-thirty if I could.”

  “That being the case, we’ll accept your invitation with alacrity,” laughed Penny. “How about the Golden Pheasant?”

  “Oh, no, you don’t! Phillip’s Bean Pot is nearer my speed.”

  A block farther down the street Jerry paid the driver and escorted the girls into a clean but low-priced restaurant.

  “No item on the menu over ten cents,” he chuckled. “Do your worst. I can take it.”

  Penny and Louise ordered sandwiches, while the reporter fortified himself with a plate of scrambled eggs, two doughnuts, and a cup of coffee. Returning to the front counter for a forgotten napkin, he nodded carelessly at an elderly man who sat alone, sipping a glass of orange juice.

  The man acknowledged the greeting in an embarrassed way, quickly lowering his head. Within a few minutes he left the café.

  “Jerry, who was he?” Penny inquired curiously. “I am sure I’ve seen him before, yet I can’t remember where.”

  “That was old man Judson. Matthew Judson.”

  “Not the former publisher of the Morning Press!”

  “Yes, the old man’s been going to pieces fast since he closed his newspaper plant. Looks seedy, doesn’t he?”

  “His clothes were a bit shiny. I thought he seemed rather embarrassed because you spoke to him.”

  “Old Judson feels his come-down I guess. In the flush days he wouldn’t be caught dead in a beanery.”

  “Is he really poor, Jerry?”

  “Probably down to his last hundred thousand,” the reporter grinned.

  “What you say is conflicting,” declared Penny impatiently. “First you imply that Mr. Judson is poor, and then that he’s rich. I wish you would make up your mind.”

  “Frankly, I don’t know. Judson owns a fine home on Drexell Boulevard which he’s allowed to run down. I’ve been told he sold the Morning Press building several months ago. Some say he has plenty of cash salted away, others that he’s broke.”

  “How did he lose so much of his money, Jerry?”

  “No one seems to know for certain. According to rumor he plays the stock market heavily.”

  “It’s strange he closed down the Morning Press,”Penny remarked thoughtfully. “I always thought it was a profitable paper.”

  “So did everyone else. The Press had a large circulation. But one bright Monday morning Judson posted a notice, closed the plant, and threw over a thousand employes out of work.”

  “That was nearly a year ago, wasn’t it, Jerry?”

  “Thirteen months to be exact. Why this sudden interest in Judson?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Penny replied vaguely. “His case seems rather pathetic. Then, too, he reminds me of someone I’ve seen recently. I wish I could recall—”

  Jerry glanced at the wall clock, swallowing his coffee with a gulp.

  “Time to move along,” he announced. “We mustn’t keep your father waiting, Penny.”

  They left the café and Jerry hailed a passing taxicab.

  “It’s only four blocks to the Star building,” protested Penny. “Aren’t you being too lavish with your money, Jerry?”

  “Oh, I’ll add this item to my expense account,” he laughed. “Jump in.”

  The taxi turned left at Adams street, rolling slowly through the downtown business section. Jerry peered from the car window at a large, four-story stone building which occupied a corner.

  “That place sure looks like a morgue these days,” he commented. “The Morning Press.”

  Penny and Louise likewise twisted sideways to stare at the dark, deserted building. Windows were plastered with disfiguring posters and the white stone blocks, once so beautiful, were streaked with city grime.

  “When the Press closed, machinery, furniture and everything else was left exactly as it stood,” remarked Jerry. “Too bad an enterprising newspaper man doesn’t take over the place before it’s a complete loss. The present owner doesn’t even employ a watchman to protect the property.”

  “It does seem a shame—” Penny began, only to break off. “Why, that’s funny!”

  “What is?” inquired Jerry.

  Penny had turned to glance back at the Morning Press plant.

  “The building isn’t deserted!” she exclaimed. “There’s a light in one of the upstairs rooms!”

  CHAPTER 4

  A PROSPECTIVE TENANT

  Jerry rolled down the window beside him and, thrusting his head through it, glanced back at the Morning Press building.

  “Where do you see a light?” he demanded.

  “It was on the third floor,” declared Penny. “I can’t see it myself now.”

  Jerry grinned as he settled back into his place between the two girls. “You certainly get a kick out of playing jokes,” he accused.

  “But it wasn’t a joke, Jerry. Honestly, I saw a light. Didn’t you, Louise?”

  “Sorry, but I didn’t. I’m afraid your imagination works overtime, Pet.”

  “I know what I saw,” insisted Penny.

  As Jerry and Louise smiled, she lapsed into injured silence. However, she was certain she had not been mistaken. Distinctly she had observed a light on the third floor, a moving light which had been extinguished before her companions had noticed it.

  The car presently drew up at the curb in front of the Star building. Anthony Parker, a newspaper tucked beneath his arm, stepped from the vestibule where he had been waiting. He was a tall, slender man, alert and courageous in following his convictions. Under his management the Riverview Star had grown to be one of the most influential papers in the state.

  “Hope we haven’t kept you waiting, Mr. Parker,”Jerry greeted him, swinging open the cab door.

  “Only a minute or two. Thanks, Jerry, for bringing the girls from the boat. May we offer you a ride home?”

  “No, thanks, Chief. I’ll walk from here. Good evening.”

  Jerry tipped his hat politely to Penny and Louise as the cab drove away. Mr. Parker asked the girls if they had enjoyed their trip aboard the Goodtime.

  “The boat wasn’t very well named, I’m afraid,” answered Penny. “The trip proved to be rather terrible but we met some interesting people.”

  During the drive to the Sidell home, she and Louise talked as fast as they could, telling Mr. Parker about Tillie Fellows, the mysterious young woman who had dropped a bundle of clothing into the water, and particularly the man with the strange octopus tattoo.

  “You’ll have to tell the rest of it, Penny,” laughed Louise as she bade her chum good-bye. “Thanks for bringing me home.”

  The cab rolled on, and Penny glanced questioningly at her father.

  “What do you think of the tattoo story?” she asked hopefully. “Won’t it make a dandy feature for the Star?”

  “I regret to say it sounds like first-grade fiction.”

  “Why, Dad! Louise and Jerry will confirm everything I’ve said.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt your word, Penny. I am sure everything occurred as you report. Nevertheless, were we to use the story our readers might question its veracity.”

  “Don’t crush me with such big words, Dad.”

  “Veracity means truth, Penny. Now your story is very interesting, but I think you may have placed your own interpretation upon certain facts.”

  “For instance?”

  “Well, according to John Munn’s statement, he fell from the bridge and was not pushed.”

  “But I saw it with my own two eyes, Dad.”

  “The night is foggy. You easily could have been mistaken. As for the octopus tattoo, what is so strange about it? Sailors compete in striving for startling decorative effects.”

  “Dad, you could rationalize the national debt,” accused Penny. “Very well, since you scorn my story I’ll give it to the High School paper!”

  “An excellent idea. That is, if your editor f
avors highly colored journalism.”

  Penny made a grimace, knowing that her father was deliberately teasing her. It was a constant source of irritation that a boy named Fred Clousky had been elected editor of the Riverview High School Chatter instead of Penny by the margin of one vote. She disapproved of Fred, his pimples, and particularly the way he blue-penciled the occasional stories which she submitted.

  “The Riverview High Chatter is just as silly as its name,” she announced. “If I had that sheet I’d make it into a real paper.”

  “Sour grapes?” inquired her father softly.

  “Maybe,” grinned Penny. “But Fred is such an egg, even more conservative than you.”

  The cab drew up before the Parker home. A light still burned in the living room where Mrs. Weems, the housekeeper, sat reading a magazine.

  “I am glad you have come, Penny,” she remarked, switching on another light. “I was beginning to worry.”

  Since the death of Mrs. Parker many years before Mrs. Weems had taken complete charge of the household, caring for Penny and loving her as her own daughter. There were occasions when she found the impulsive girl difficult to restrain, but certainly never dull or uninteresting.

  Mrs. Weems soon went to bed, leaving Penny and her father to explore the refrigerator. As they helped themselves to cold ham, potato salad, and celery, Penny spoke of the light which she had seen in the abandoned Morning Press building.

  “It may have been a watchman making his usual rounds,” commented her father.

  “Jerry tells me the building has no watchman.”

  “Could it have been a reflection from a car headlight?”

  “I don’t think so, Dad.”

  “Well, I shouldn’t lose sleep over it,” remarked Mr. Parker lightly. “Better run along to bed now.”

  Penny arose at six-thirty the next morning, and before breakfast had written a two-page story about John Munn for the Riverview High School Chatter. She read it twice and was very well pleased with her work.

  “Editor Fred is lucky to get this,” she thought. “He should make it the lead story.”

  Off to school at a quarter to nine, Penny deposited her literary treasure in a box provided for journalistic contributions. All that day she went from class to class, warmed by the knowledge that she had accomplished an excellent piece of writing. To Louise she confided that she thought the work might improve her grade in English Composition.

  “I’m glad you’ve decided to contribute to the paper again,” declared her chum. “It’s time you and Fred buried the hatchet.”

  “Oh, I don’t bear him any grudge,” returned Penny. “Of course, everyone knows he campaigned for the editorship with free candy and soda pop.”

  At three-thirty, a minute before the closing bell rang, Fred Clousky sauntered down the aisle. With a flourish he dropped two pages of copy on Penny’s desk, face upward. Across one of the pages in huge blue letters had been written: “Too imaginative for Chatter. Language too flowery. Spelling bad. Try us again sometime.”

  A red stain crept over Penny’s cheeks. Her blue eyes began to snap.

  “The poisonous little mushroom!” she muttered. “If he thinks he can do this to me—”

  The closing bell rang, and immediately a group of sympathetic friends gathered about Penny. They all tried to soothe her feelings.

  “Don’t let it bother you,” Louise advised her chum. “Of course, he did it just to make you peeved.”

  “‘Spelling bad,’” Penny read aloud. “Look at this word he underlined! Anyone could tell I merely struck a wrong letter on my typewriter!”

  Crumpling the page, she tossed it into the waste paper basket.

  “‘Too imaginative,’” she muttered. “‘Language too flowery’!”

  “Oh, forget it, Penny,” laughed Louise, leading her toward the locker room. “Fred always has been jealous of you because you’ve had stories published in the Star. Don’t let him know that you’re annoyed.”

  “I guess I am acting silly,” admitted Penny, relaxing. “What I must do is to give this problem a good, hard think. Editor Fred will hear from me yet!”

  Declining an invitation to play tennis, she went directly home. For an hour she lay on the davenport, staring at the ceiling.

  “Penny, are you ill?” inquired Mrs. Weems anxiously.

  “No, I’m in conference with myself,” answered Penny. “I am trying to arrive at a momentous decision.”

  Presently, she began to scribble figures on a sheet of paper. When her father came home at five o’clock he found her engaged in that occupation.

  “Well, Penny,” he remarked, hanging up his hat,“how did it go today? The editor of Chatter accepted your contribution I hope.”

  Penny grinned ruefully. “If you don’t mind, let’s discuss a less painful subject,” she replied. “Suppose you tell me what you know about Matthew Judson and the Morning Press.”

  “Why this sudden display of interest?”

  “Oh, I saw Mr. Judson last night at the Bean Pot. He looked rather depressed.”

  Mr. Parker sat down on the arm of the davenport. “It’s too bad about Judson,” he remarked. “I always admired him because he was a clever newspaper man.”

  “Clever? Didn’t he mis-manage the paper so that it had to close?”

  “Not that anyone ever learned. No, I never could figure out why Judson quit. The Press had a large circulation and plenty of advertisers.”

  “What became of the building?”

  “It’s still there.”

  “No, I mean who owns it,” Penny explained. “Not Mr. Judson?”

  “The building was taken over a few months ago by a man named George Veeley. Come to think of it, I once brought him home with me. You should remember him, Penny.”

  “I do. He was rather nice. I wonder what he plans to do with the Press building and its equipment.”

  “Hold it for speculation, I assume. In my opinion he’ll have it empty for a long while.”

  “I rather doubt it,” said Penny. “He has a prospective tenant now, only he doesn’t know it.”

  “Indeed? Who?”

  “You’re looking at her.”

  “You!” Mr. Parker smiled broadly.

  “I have it all planned,” announced Penny with quiet finality. “What this town needs is a good, live newspaper, and an imaginative editor to run it.”

  “Oh, I see.” With difficulty Mr. Parker kept his face composed. “And where do you propose to start your newspaper? In the old Press building?”

  “You took the words out of my mouth, Dad. Everything is there, awaiting the touch of my magic wand.”

  “There’s a little matter of rent. Several thousand a month.”

  “I have a solution for that problem.”

  “Your staff?”

  “I’ll gather it as I prosper.”

  “The necessary capital?”

  “A mere detail,” said Penny grandly. “I meet only one obstacle at a time. Tomorrow I shall accost Mr. Veeley with an attractive proposition. If he falls into my net, Riverview’s newest paper, The Weekly Times, makes its bow to the public.”

  CHAPTER 5

  COBWEBS AND RUST

  “My dear young lady, do I understand you correctly? You are asking for the use of the Morning Press building without the payment of rent.”

  Mr. Veeley, slightly bald and with a bulging waistline, regarded Penny across the polished mahogany desk. Upon arriving at his office that Saturday morning, he had found the girl awaiting him. For the past ten minutes she had stunned him with her remarkable figures and plans.

  “Yes, that’s about the size of it,” Penny acknowledged. “What Riverview needs is a newspaper unhampered by the conservatism of over-aged minds. Now you have a fine building and equipment which is standing idle, fast falling into decay—”

  “Decay?” Mr. Veeley inquired mildly.

  “Expensive machinery soon rusts and becomes practically worthless unless kept in use,” dec
lared Penny with authority. “If you’ll agree to my proposition, I’ll publish a weekly paper there, see that your property is kept in good condition, and turn the plant back to you whenever you can find a prosperous renter.”

  “Your father sent you here?”

  “Oh, goodness, no! Dad thinks it’s all a great joke. But it isn’t! I know I can make a success of the paper if only I have a chance to test my ideas.”

  Mr. Veeley could not fail to be impressed by Penny’s earnest, appealing manner. The novelty of her plan both amused and intrigued him.

  “I wish I could help you start your paper,” he said. “However, I doubt if you comprehend the cost of such a venture. Even should I permit the use of my building rent free, how would you meet such expenses as light, water and heat?”

  “Oh, I have a plan for everything,” insisted Penny grandly. “All I need is a building. I’ll have the windows washed for you and do a good job of house cleaning. With me in charge you’ll be able to dismiss your watchman.”

  “I haven’t one.”

  “No watchman?” Penny inquired innocently. “Last night when I drove past the building I saw a light on the third floor. Evidently someone is prowling about there, Mr. Veeley.”

  “You’re certain you saw a light?” the man inquired, disturbed by the information.

  “Oh, yes, indeed. Excuse me for advising you, Mr. Veeley, but you really should have someone to guard your property.”

  Mr. Veeley smiled broadly. “You are a very convincing young lady. While I realize it is a foolish thing to do, I am tempted to let you have the key.”

  “Oh, Mr. Veeley, that’s wonderful! You’ll never regret it!”

  “I’ll allow you the use of the building for a month,” resumed Mr. Veeley. “At the end of that time we’ll discuss the future.”

  Penny was thrown into such a frenzy of excitement that she scarcely could remain outwardly serene until she had left the office. Once on the street she ranthe entire distance to the Star building, dashing into her father’s suite with all the sound effects of a laboring steam engine.

  “Dad!” she cried dramatically. “I have it! The key to the Morning Press plant! Now I’m on my way to draw my savings from the bank.”

  “What’s that?” demanded Mr. Parker. “Don’t tell me Mr. Veeley listened to your crazy scheme!”