The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels

by Mildred Benson

  “Driving into Riverview?” Mr. Franklin inquired. “My car is in the garage, and I’ll appreciate a lift to town.”

  “We’ll be glad to take you, Mr. Franklin,” Penny responded, but without enthusiasm.

  Enroute to Riverview he endeavored to make himself an agreeable conversationalist.

  “So the Breens are friends of yours?” he remarked casually.

  “Well, not exactly,” Penny corrected. “I met Rhoda at school and visited her for the first time today. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the family.”

  “They’re a no-good lot. The old man never works, and the boy either can’t or won’t get a job.”

  “Do you have many such families, Mr. Franklin?”

  “Oh, now and then. But I weed them out as fast as I can. One can’t be soft and manage a tourist camp, you know.”

  Penny smiled, thinking that no person ever would accuse Mr. Franklin of being “soft.” He had the reputation of ruthless devotion to his own interests. Changing the subject, she remarked that Mrs. Marborough had returned to the city to take up residence at Rose Acres.

  “Is that so?” Mr. Franklin inquired, showing interest in the information. “Will she recondition the house?”

  Penny replied that she had no knowledge of the widow’s future plans.

  “No doubt Mrs. Marborough has returned to sell the property,” Mr. Franklin said musingly. “I should like to buy that place if it goes for a fair price. I could make money by remodeling it into a tourist home.”

  “It would be a pity to turn such a lovely place into a roadside hotel,” Louise remarked disapprovingly. “Penny and I hope that someday it will be restored as it was in the old days.”

  “There would be no profit in it as a residence,”Mr. Franklin returned. “The house is located on a main road though, and as a tourist hotel, should pay.”

  Conversation languished, and a few minutes later, Penny dropped the man at his own home. Although she refrained from speaking of it to Louise, she neither liked nor trusted Jay Franklin. While it had been his right to eject the Breens from the tourist camp for non-payment of rent, she felt that he could have afforded to be more generous. She did not regret the impulse which had caused her to settle the debt even though it meant that she must deprive herself of a few luxuries.

  After leaving Louise at the Sidell house, Penny drove on home. Entering the living room, she greeted her father who had arrived from the newspaper office only a moment before. A late edition of the Star lay on the table, and she glanced carelessly at it, inquiring:“What’s new, Dad?”

  “Nothing worthy of mention,” Mr. Parker returned.

  Sinking down on the davenport, Penny scanned the front page. Immediately her attention was drawn to a brief item which appeared in an inconspicuous bottom corner.

  “Here’s something!” she exclaimed. “Why, how strange!”

  “What is, Penny?”

  “It says in this story that a big rock has been found on the farm of Carl Gleason! The stone bears writing thought to be of Elizabethan origin!”

  “Let me see that paper,” Mr. Parker said, striding across the room. “I didn’t know any such story was used.”

  With obvious displeasure, the editor read the brief item which Penny indicated. Only twenty lines in length, it stated that a stone bearing both Elizabethan and Indian carving had been found on the nearby farm.

  “I don’t know how this item got past City Editor DeWitt,” Mr. Parker declared. “It has all the earmarks of a hoax! You didn’t by chance write it, Penny?”

  “I certainly did not.”

  “It reads a little like a Jerry Livingston story,” Mr. Parker said, glancing at the item a second time.

  Going to a telephone he called first the Star office and then the home of the reporter, Jerry Livingston. After talking with the young man several minutes, he finally hung up the receiver.

  “What did he say?” Penny asked curiously.

  “Jerry wrote the story, and says it came from a reliable source. He’s coming over here to talk to me about it.”

  Within ten minutes the reporter arrived at the Parker home. Penny loitered in the living room to hear the conversation. Jerry long had been a particular friend of hers and she hoped that her father would not reprimand him for any mistake he might have made.

  “Have a chair,” Mr. Parker greeted the young man cordially. “Now tell me where you got hold of that story.”

  “Straight from the farmer, Carl Gleason,” Jerry responded. “The stone was dug up on his farm early this morning.”

  “Did you see it yourself?”

  “Not yet. It was hauled to the Museum of Natural Science. Thought I’d drop around there on my way home and look it over.”

  “I wish you would,” requested the editor. “While the stone may be an authentic one, I have a deep suspicion someone is trying to pull a fast trick.”

  “I’m sorry if I’ve made a boner, Chief.”

  “Oh, I’m not blaming you,” Mr. Parker assured him. “If the story is a fake, it was up to DeWitt to question it at the desk. Better look at the rock though, before you write any more about it.”

  As Jerry arose to leave, Penny jumped up from her own chair.

  “I’d like to see that stone too!” she declared. “Jerry, do you mind if I go along with you?”

  “Glad to have you,” he said heartily.

  Before Penny could get her hat and coat, Mrs. Maud Weems, the Parker housekeeper, appeared in the doorway to announce dinner. She was a stout, pleasant woman of middle-age and had looked after Penny since Mrs. Parker’s death many years before.

  “Penny, where are you going now?” she asked, her voice disclosing mild disapproval.

  “Only over to the museum.”

  “You’ve not had your dinner.”

  “Oh, yes, I have,” Penny laughed. “I dined on chicken at the Dorset Tourist Camp. I’ll be home in an hour or so.”

  Jerking coat and hat from the hall closet, she fled from the house before Mrs. Weems could offer further objections. Jerry made a more ceremonious departure, joining Penny on the front porch.

  At the curb stood the reporter’s mud-splattered coupe. The interior was only slightly less dirty, and before getting in, Penny industriously brushed off the seat.

  “Tell me all about this interesting stone which was found at the Gleason farm,” she commanded, as the car started down the street.

  “Nothing to tell except what was in the paper,”Jerry shrugged. “The rock has some writing on it, supposedly similar to early Elizabethan script. And there are a few Indian characters.”

  “How could such a stone turn up at Riverview?”

  “Carl Gleason found it while he was plowing a field. Apparently, it had been in the ground for many years.”

  “I should think so if it bears Elizabethan writing!”Penny laughed. “Why, that would date it practically in Shakespeare’s time!”

  “It’s written in the style used by the earliest settlers of this country,” Jerry said defensively. “You know, before we had radios and automobiles and things, this land of ours was occupied by Indians.”

  “Do tell!” Penny teased.

  “The natives camped all along the river, and there may have been an early English settlement here. So it’s perfectly possible that such a stone could be found.”

  “Anyway, I am curious to see it,” Penny replied.

  The car drew up before a large stone building with Doric columns. Climbing a long series of steps to the front door, Penny and Jerry entered the museum through a turnstile.

  “I want to see the curator, Mr. Kaleman,” the reporter remarked, turning toward a private office near the entrance. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  While waiting, Penny wandered slowly about, inspecting the various display cases. She was admiring the huge skeleton of a dinosaur when Jerry returned, followed by an elderly man who wore spectacles. The reporter introduced the curator, who began to talk enthusiastically
of the ancient stone which had been delivered to the museum that afternoon.

  “I shall be very glad to show it to you,” he said, leading the way down a long corridor. “For the present, pending investigation, we have it stored in the basement.”

  “What’s the verdict?” Jerry inquired. “Do museum authorities consider the writing authentic?”

  “I should not wish to be quoted,” Mr. Kaleman prefaced his little speech. “However, an initial inspection has led us to believe that the stone bears ancient writings. You understand that it will take exhaustive study before the museum would venture to state this as a fact.”

  “The stone couldn’t have been faked?” Penny asked thoughtfully.

  “Always that is a possibility,” Mr. Kaleman acknowledged as he unlocked the door of a basement room. “However, the stone has weathered evenly, it appears to have been buried many years, and there are other signs which point to the authenticity of the writing.”

  The curator switched on an electric light which disclosed a room cluttered with miscellaneous objects. There were empty mummy cases, boxes of excelsior, and various stuffed animals. At the rear of the room was a large rust colored stone which might have weighed a quarter of a ton.

  “Here it is,” Mr. Kaleman declared, giving the rock an affectionate pat. “Notice the uniform coloring throughout. And note the lettering chiseled on the surface. You will see that the grooves do not differ appreciably from the remainder of the stone as would be the case if the lettering were of recent date. It is my belief—don’t quote me, of course—that this writing may open a new and fascinating page of history.”

  Penny bent to inspect the crude writing. “‘Here laeth Ananias’” she read slowly aloud. “Why, that might be a joke! Wasn’t Ananias a dreadful prevaricator?”

  “Ananias was a common name in the early days,”Mr. Kaleman said, displeased by the remark. “Now on the underside of this stone which you cannot see, there appears part of a quaint message which begins:‘Soon after you goe for Englande we came hither.’”

  “What does it mean?” questioned Jerry.

  “This is only my theory, you understand. I believe the message may have been written by an early settler and left for someone who had gone to England but expected to return. The writing breaks off, suggesting that it may have been continued on another stone.”

  “In that case, similar rocks may be found near here,”Jerry said thoughtfully.

  “It is an interesting possibility. On the underside, this stone also contains a number of Indian characters, no doubt added at a later date. So far we have not been able to decipher them.”

  “Just why does the stone have historical value?”Penny interposed.

  “Because there never was any proof that English colonists settled in this part of the state,” Mr. Kaleman explained. “If we could prove such were the case, our contribution to history would be a vital one.”

  Penny and Jerry asked many other questions, and finally left the museum. Both had been impressed not only with the huge stone but by the curator’s sincere manner.

  “Mr. Kaleman certainly believes the writing is genuine,”Penny declared thoughtfully. “All the same, anyone knows a carved rock can be made to look very ancient. And that name Ananias makes me wonder.”

  “The Chief may be right about it being a fake,”Jerry returned. “But if it is, who planted the stone on Gleason’s farm? And who would go to so much unnecessary work just to play a joke?”

  Frowning, the reporter started to cross the street just as an automobile bearing Texas license plates went past, close to the curb. As Jerry leaped backwards to safety, the automobile halted. Two men occupied the front seat, and the driver, a well-dressed man of fifty, leaned from the window.

  “Excuse me, sir,” he said, addressing Jerry, “we’re trying to locate a boy named Ted Wiegand. He and his sister may be living with a family by the name of Breen. Could you tell me how to find them?”

  “Sorry, but I can’t,” Jerry answered. “I never heard either of the names.”

  “Why, I know both Ted and Rhoda Wiegand,”Penny interposed quickly. “They’re living at the Dorset Tourist Camp.”

  “How do we get there?” the driver of the Texas car inquired.

  Jerry provided the requested information. Thanking him, the stranger and his companion drove on down the street.

  “I wonder who they can be?” Penny speculated, staring after the car. “And why did they come all the way from Texas to see Rhoda and Ted?”

  “Friends of yours?” Jerry asked carelessly.

  “I like Rhoda very much. Ted seems to be a rather questionable character. I wonder—”

  “You wonder what?” the reporter prompted, helping Penny into the parked automobile.

  “It just came to me, Jerry!” she answered gravely. “Those men may be officers from Texas sent here to arrest Ted for something he’s done! I never meant to set them on his trail, but I may be responsible for his arrest!”

  CHAPTER 5

  STRANGERS FROM TEXAS

  Jerry smiled broadly as he edged the car from its parking space by the curb.

  “You certainly have a vivid imagination, Penny,” he accused. “Those two men didn’t look like plain-clothes men to me. Anyway, if Ted Wiegand had committed an illegal act, wouldn’t it be your duty to turn him over to the authorities?”

  “I suppose so,” Penny admitted unwillingly. “Ted stole one of Truman Crocker’s chickens today. It was a dreadful thing to do, but in a way you couldn’t blame him too much. I’m sure the Breens needed food.”

  “Stealing is stealing. I don’t know the lad, but if a fellow is crooked in small things, he’s usually dishonest otherwise as well. Speaking of Truman Crocker, he was the man who hauled the big rock to the museum.”

  “Was he?” Penny inquired, not particularly interested in the information. “I understand he does a great deal of rock hauling around Riverview. A queer fellow.”

  Becoming absorbed in her own thoughts, Penny had little to say until the car drew up in front of the Parker home.

  “Won’t you come in?” she invited Jerry as she alighted.

  “Can’t tonight,” he declined regretfully. “I have a date at a bowling alley.”

  Mr. Parker had been called downtown to attend a meeting, Penny discovered upon entering the house. Unable to tell him of her trip to the museum, she tried to interest Mrs. Weems in the story. However, the housekeeper, who was eager to start for a moving-picture theatre, soon cut her short.

  “Excuse me, Penny, but I really must be leaving or I’ll be late,” she apologized, putting on her hat.

  “I thought you were interested in mystery, Mrs. Weems.”

  “Mystery, yes,” smiled the housekeeper. “To tell you the truth, though, I can’t become very excited over an old stone, no matter what’s written on it.”

  After Mrs. Weems had gone, Penny was left alone in the big house. She sat down to read a book but soon laid it aside. To pass the time, she thought she would make a batch of fudge. But, no sooner had she mixed the sugar and chocolate together than it seemed like a useless occupation, so she set aside the pan for Mrs. Weems to finish upon her return from the movie.

  “I know what I’ll do!” she thought suddenly. “I wonder why I didn’t think of it sooner?”

  Hastening to the telephone she called her chum, Louise, asking her to come over at once.

  “What’s up?” the other inquired curiously.

  “We’re going to carry out a philanthropic enterprise, Lou! I’ll tell you about it when you get here!”

  “One of these days you’ll choke on some of those big words,” Louise grumbled. “All right, I’ll come.”

  Fifteen minutes later she arrived at the Parker home to find Penny, garbed in an apron, working industriously in the kitchen.

  “Say, what is this?” Louise demanded suspiciously. “If you tricked me into helping you with the dishes, I’m going straight home!”

  “Oh, relax,�
�� Penny laughed. “The dishes were done hours ago. We’re going to help out the Old Wishing Well.”

  “I wish you would explain what you mean.”

  “It’s this way, Lou. The Breens are as poor as church mice, and they need food. At the Marborough place this afternoon Rhoda made a wish—that her family would have more to eat. Well, it’s up to us to make that wish come true.”

  “You’re preparing a basket of food to take out to the camp?”

  “That’s the general idea. We can leave it on the doorstep of the trailer and slip away without revealing our identity.”

  “Why, your idea is a splendid one!” Louise suddenly approved. “Of course Mrs. Weems said it would be all right to fix the basket of food?”

  “Oh, she won’t mind. I know she would want me to do it if she were here.”

  Swinging open the porcelain door of the ice box, Penny peered into the illuminated shelves. The refrigerator was unusually well stocked, for Mrs. Weems had baked that day in anticipation of week-end appetites. Without hesitation, Penny handed out a meat loaf, a plum pudding, bunches of radishes, scrubbed carrots, celery, and a dozen fresh eggs.

  “Dash down to the basement and get some canned goods from the supply shelf,” she instructed Louise briskly. “We ought to have jelly too, and a sample of Mrs. Weems’ strawberry preserves.”

  “You do the dashing, if you don’t mind,” her chum demurred. “I prefer not to become too deeply involved in this affair.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Weems won’t care—not a bit,” Penny returned as she started for the basement. “She’s the most charitable person in the world.”

  In a minute she was back, her arms laden with heavy canned goods. Finding a market basket in the garage, the girls packed the food, wrapping perishables carefully in waxed paper.

  “There! We can’t crowd another thing into the basket,” Penny declared at last.

  “The ice-box is as bare as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard,”Louise rejoined. “What will the Parker family eat tomorrow?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Weems can buy more. She’ll be a good sport about it, I know.”

  With no misgivings, Penny carried the heavy basket to the garage and loaded it into the car. Discovering that the gasoline gauge registered low, she skillfully siphoned an extra two gallons from her father’s car, and then announced that she was ready to go.