The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels

by Mildred Benson

  To Penny’s ears the words were words only, lacking sincerity. Determining to waste no time, she spoke of DeWitt’s sudden illness.

  “Oh yes, he’ll be off duty for at least a month,” replied Mr. Schirr. “Naturally in his absence I have assumed charge. We put out a real paper this morning.”

  “I saw the front page.”

  Penny longed to say that the story about her father had displeased her. However, she knew it would do no good. The account, once printed, could not be recalled. Far better, she reasoned, to let the matter pass.

  “I hear Mose Johnson has been discharged,” she remarked.

  “Yes, we had to let him go.” Mr. Schirr opened a desk drawer, helping himself to one of Mr. Parker’s cigars. “Mose is indolent, irresponsible—a drag on the payroll.”

  “My father always liked him.”

  “Yes, he did seem to favor the old coot,” agreed Schirr with a shrug. “Well, thank you for dropping in, Miss Parker. If we have any encouraging news, I’ll see that you are notified at once.”

  Well aware that she had been dismissed, Penny left the office. Schirr’s attitude angered her. He had made her feel unwelcome in her own father’s newspaper plant.

  As she closed the door behind her, she realized that nearly every eye in the apparently-busy newsroom, had focused upon her. Deliberately, she composed herself. Acting undisturbed, she swept past the rows of desks to a rear stairway leading to the basement.

  The janitor had delivered her message to Mose Johnson. She found the old colored man curled up fast asleep on a crate by the warm stove.

  Penny touched Mose on the arm. He straightened up as suddenly as if someone had set off a fire-cracker.

  “Oh, Miss Penny!” he beamed. “I’se suah su’prised at seein’ you down heah in dis dumpy fu’nace room. But I thanks you just the same fo’ wakin’ me up out o’ dat ghost dream.”

  “Were you having a ghost dream?” echoed Penny.

  “Yes, Miss. Yo’ see I was dreamin’ about dat same ghost I saw last night on de way to work.”

  Penny, fully aware that Mose was directing the conversation where he wished it to go, hid a smile.

  “I heard about that, Mose,” she commented. “It must have been quite a lively ghost to make you two hours late.”

  “It suah was a lively ghost,” Mose confirmed, bobbing his woolly head. “Why, it walked around jest like a live pu’son.”

  “Aren’t you being a bit superstitious, Mose?”

  “Deedy not, Miss. You is supe’stitious when you sees a ghost dat ain’t dar. But when you sees one dat is dar you ain’t supe’stitious. You is jest plain scared!”

  “Suppose you tell me about it,” Penny invited.

  “Well, Miss Penny, it was like dis,” began the old colored man. “At half past eleven I starts off fo’ work same as always. I picks up mah lunch box de ole lady packed fo’ me, an’ scoots off toward de bus stop to get de 11:45. But I nevah get dar. When I was goin’down dat road runnin’ past de old Harrison place, I seen de ghost.”

  “The Harrison place?” interrupted Penny. “Where is that?”

  “You know de road that winds up Craig Hill? It’s out towa’d de boat club.”

  “You don’t mean that big estate house with the fence surrounding it?”

  “Dat’s de place! Well, I seed dis heah ghost a cavortin’around behind de big iron gate dat goes in to de old Harrison place. De ghost nevah sees me, but I gets a good close-up of him. He was dressed in white and he was carryin’ his own tombstone around in his arms jes’ like it doan weigh nothin’.”

  “Oh, Mose!” protested Penny. “And then what happened? Did the ghost disappear?”

  “No, Miss,” grinned the colored man, “but I did! I turns tail an’ runs as fast as a man half mah age could go, an’ I nevah stops fo’ nuthin’ till I gits back to mah own place.

  “When I tells mah ole lady what was goin’ on she says, ‘Mose, you sees white ghosts ’cause you been a drinkin’ some mo’ o’ dat white-eye. It’s twelve o’clock dis minute and you’se missed de last bus. Now you start walkin’! And if you is fired, don’t nevah da’ken dat do’ no mo’.’”

  Old Mose drew a deep sigh. “And dat’s jest what happened, Miss Penny. I ain’t got no job an’ no mo’home than a rabbit. I’se suah bubblin’ oveh with trouble. It all come from seein’ dat ghost you says I didn’t see.”

  “I’m sure you thought you saw one,” replied Penny. “If you’ll promise to attend strictly to your duties hereafter, I’ll ask Mr. Schirr to reinstate you on the payroll.”

  Old Mose brightened. “I suah nuff will!” he said jubilantly. “I won’t have no mo’ truck with dat ghost. No sir!”

  To face Mr. Schirr once more, was a most unpleasant ordeal for Penny. Nevertheless, she sought his office, apologizing for the intrusion.

  “I am busy,” the editor said pointedly. “What is it you want?”

  Penny explained that she had talked with Mose Johnson and was convinced that his offense would not be repeated.

  “I want you to put him back on his old job,” she requested.

  “Impossible!”

  “Why do you take that attitude?” inquired Penny, stiffening for an argument. “Dad always liked Mose.”

  “One can’t mix sentiment with business. I have a job to do here and I intend to do it efficiently.”

  “Dad probably will show up before another day.”

  “I don’t like to dash your hopes,” said Mr. Schirr. “We’ve tried to spare your feelings. Perhaps your father will be found, but you know I tried to warn him he was inviting trouble when he mixed with the tire-theft gang.”

  “So you believe Dad has fallen into the clutches of those men?”

  “I do.”

  “What makes you think so? Have you any evidence?”

  “Not a scrap.”

  “And how did you learn Dad intended to expose the higher-ups?”

  “I don’t mind telling you I heard him talking to Jerry Livingston about it.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “We’re getting nowhere with this discussion,” Mr. Schirr said impatiently. “I really am busy—”

  “Will you reinstate Mose?” Penny asked, reverting to the original subject.

  “I’ve already given my answer.”

  “After all, this is my father’s paper,” Penny said, trying to control her voice. “It’s not a corporation. Only Dad’s money is invested here.”

  “So what?”

  “As a personal favor I ask you to reinstate Mose.”

  “You’re making an issue of it?”

  “Call it that if you like.”

  Mr. Schirr’s dark eyes blazed. He slammed a paper weight across the desk and it dropped to the floor with a hard thud.

  “Very well,” he said stiffly, “we’ll restore your pet to the payroll.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Schirr.”

  “But get this, Miss Parker,” the editor completed. “We may as well have an understanding. While your father is absent, I’m in full charge here. In the future I’ll have no interference from you or any other person.”

  CHAPTER 9

  AN OPEN SAFE

  Rather flattened by the interview with Mr. Schirr, Penny was glad to leave the Star plant. Going down in the elevator, she requested Charley to tell Mose Johnson that he had been restored to his old job.

  “That’s fine!” the janitor beamed. “Mighty glad to hear it.” Opening the cage door, he inquired:“Will you be going to see Mr. DeWitt?”

  “I thought I would.”

  “He’s at City Hospital. You might tell him that we all miss him around here.”

  “I’ll certainly deliver the message,” promised Penny.

  City Hospital was only six blocks away. Penny bought flowers and then presented herself at the institution. After a brief wait in the lobby, she was allowed to see Mr. DeWitt for a few minutes.

  “Good morning,” she said cheerfully, handing the box of flowers to
a nurse.

  Mr. DeWitt, pale and weak, stirred and turned his head so that he could see her.

  “What’s good about it?” he muttered with a trace of his old spirit. “They won’t even let me sit up!”

  “I should think not,” smiled Penny. She sat down in a chair beside the bed.

  “Of all times to get laid up!” the editor went on. “Heard from your father?”

  Penny shook her head. A long silence followed, and then she said brightly:

  “But he’ll be found—probably today.”

  Mr. DeWitt lay with his eyes closed. “I’ve been thinking—” he mumbled drowsily.

  “Yes?” Penny waited.

  “Mind’s still fogged with that blamed ether,” DeWitt muttered. “About your father—” His voice trailed off.

  “Do you think he could have been waylaid by enemies?”Penny asked after a moment. “Mr. Schirr believes his disappearance has a connection with the tire-theft gang.”

  Mr. DeWitt’s eyes opened again. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Your father was planning to break a big story—didn’t tell me much about it.”

  “You don’t know what evidence he carried in the portfolio when he went to see the State Prosecutor?”

  DeWitt shook his head. “Jerry’ll know.”

  “But how can I reach him?”

  “Didn’t he leave an address at the office?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then there’s no way to reach him.” Exhausted from so much talking, DeWitt fell silent. At length however, he aroused himself and asked: “Have you tried your father’s safe?”

  “For Jerry’s address?”

  “No, the names of the tire-theft gang. If the police had something to work on—”

  “Dad took a lot of papers out just before he started for the Prosecutor’s office,” Penny replied thoughtfully. “But some of the evidence may have been left. It’s worth investigating.”

  The nurse returned to the room with a vase for the flowers.

  “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to remain much longer,” she said regretfully.

  As she arose to go, Penny remembered to deliver Old Charley’s message.

  “How’s everything at the office?” Mr. DeWitt asked. “Who’s in charge?”

  “Harley Schirr.”

  Mr. DeWitt’s forehead wrinkled. “Now I know I’ve got to roll out of here!” he declared. “Things will be in a nice state by the time I get back.”

  Penny did not wish to worry him. “Oh, everything will go along,” she soothed. “Mr. Schirr is very efficient in his methods.”

  “And opinionated,” muttered DeWitt. “Oh, well, I’ll be back on the job in ten days.”

  Penny did not disillusion him. Saying goodbye, she returned to the newspaper office. Pausing at the downstairs advertising department, she talked to Bud Corbin, a close friend of Jerry’s.

  “This is the only address Jerry gave me,” Mr. Corbin said, taking a card from his billfold. “A wire might reach him. But there’s a good chance it won’t. When he left here, he wasn’t sure he’d stop at Elk Horn Lodge.”

  Grateful for the address, Penny composed a telegram which the advertising man offered to send for her. In the message she not only told of her father’s strange disappearance, but asked for a complete duplication of material lost in the portfolio.

  “At least I’ve started the ball rolling,” she thought, with renewed hope in her efforts. “I believe Jerry can help if only he gets the wire.”

  Penny had not forgotten Mr. DeWitt’s suggestion that some evidence against the tire-theft gang might be found in Mr. Parker’s safe.

  “I hate to open it while Dad is away,” she reflected. “Still, I know the combination, and I’m sure he would want me to do it.”

  To brave Harley Schirr a second time was a duty not to Penny’s liking. She debated waiting until after four o’clock when the editor doubtless would leave the building. But time was precious and she could not afford to wait.

  “What am I, a coward?” she prodded herself. “Why should I be afraid of Harley Schirr? When Dad gets back on the job, he’ll bounce him back where he belongs.”

  Penny’s reappearance in the newsroom created a slight stir. However, no one spoke to her as she walked straight to her father’s office. The door was closed.

  “Mr. Schirr isn’t in conference?” she asked one of the copy readers.

  “No, just go right on in,” the man returned carelessly.

  Without knocking, Penny opened the door. On the threshold, she paused, startled. Harley Schirr was down on his knees in front of the open safe. Evidently he had been going through Mr. Parker’s private papers in systematic fashion for he was circledby little piles of manila envelopes.

  Mr. Schirr was even more startled than Penny. He sprang to his feet, the picture of guilt. Then, recovering his poise, he scowled and demanded: “Here again?”

  Penny carefully closed the office door before she spoke. Then her words were terse.

  “Mr. Schirr, kindly explain what you are doing in my father’s safe.”

  “Looking for information about the tire-theft gang.”

  “A story you say the Star never should print.”

  “That’s neither here nor there.” A deep flush had crept over Schirr’s cheeks but his manner remained confident. “As editor I have to know what’s going on.”

  “Who gave you permission to open the safe?”

  “You forget that I am editor here, Miss Parker.”

  “At least I’ve been reminded of it enough times,”Penny retorted. “How did you learn the combination?”

  “I’ve known it.”

  “You saw the numbers written on Dad’s desk,”Penny accused.

  Mr. Schirr did not deny the charge. Turning his back, he started to remove a rubber band from a small stack of yellowed letters. The act infuriated Penny, for she recognized the packet. Years before, the letters had been written by her own mother, and Mr. Parker always had treasured them.

  “Don’t you touch those!” she cried, darting forward. “They’re personal.”

  Snatching the packet from Mr. Schirr, she gathered up the other papers and envelopes from the floor. Thrusting everything into the safe, she closed and locked the door.

  “Well!” commented the editor scathingly.

  “You’re through here!” said Penny, facing him with blazing eyes. “Do you understand? I’m discharging you.”

  Mr. Schirr looked stunned. Then he laughed unpleasantly.

  “So you’re discharging me,” he mocked. “By what right may I ask?”

  “This is my father’s plant.”

  “Which doesn’t necessarily make you the editor or the owner, Miss Penelope Parker. You’re a minor as well as a nuisance. If your father proves to be dead, the court will step in—”

  “Get out!” cried Penny, fighting to keep back the tears. “You don’t care about Dad, or anything but your own selfish interests!”

  “Now you’re hysterical.”

  Penny’s anger subsided, to be replaced by a cool determination that Harley Schirr should not remain in charge of the Star another hour.

  “I meant just what I said,” she told him quietly. “Please go.”

  Schirr smiled grimly. Seating himself at the desk, his eyes challenged hers.

  “I remain as editor here,” he announced. “If you wish to contest my right, take your case to court. In the meantime, keep out of my private office.”

  CHAPTER 10

  TALE OF A GHOST

  Beaten and close to tears, Penny stumbled out of Harley Schirr’s office. As she paused just beyond the closed door, every eye in the newsroom focused upon her. Salt Sommers, camera box slung over his shoulder, went over and spoke to her.

  “Penny, we all heard that row. If you say the word, we’ll walk out of here in a body.”

  Penny smiled, touched by the expression of loyalty. “That would do no good,” she replied. “Thanks just the same.”
>
  “We’re through taking orders from Schirr!” Salt went on. “He always has been a pain in the neck, and now that he has authority, there’s no holding him down. How about it, boys?”

  A chorus of approval greeted his words. One of the reporters picked up a paper weight and would have hurled it against the closed door, had not another restrained him.

  “I’m sure Dad would want everyone to carry on,”Penny said quietly. “The paper must be published the same as always.”

  “We could do our work and do it well, if Schirr would just leave us alone,” growled one of the copy readers.

  “That’s right!” added another. “Why don’t you take over, Penny?”

  “Mr. Schirr just reminded me that I’m not the editor. I know nothing about running a newspaper.”

  “How about the time you ran the High School weekly?” Salt reminded her. “Why, you did a bang up job of it, and uncovered The Secret Pact story to boot! Don’t try to tell us you don’t know how to run a newspaper!”

  “A weekly high school sheet and the Star are two different propositions.”

  “But your father has a fine organization here,” Salt argued. “If Schirr can be kept from breaking it up, everything will go along. The boys all know their jobs.”

  Penny’s eyes began to sparkle. But she said: “I don’t see how I could take over, much as I would like to do it. Schirr has staked out rights in Dad’s office and nothing will move him short of a court order.”

  “You don’t need a fancy office to run a paper,”Salt grinned. “We’ll just take our orders from you. Schirr can sit until he’s had enough of it.”

  Penny gazed at the eager, loyal faces about her. Nearly all of the men were old employees, personally trained by her father and Mr. DeWitt. She knew she could depend on them.

  “We’ll do it!” she exclaimed suddenly. “As your new editor, I wish to issue my first order. Please, let’s not publish any more sensational stories about Dad’s disappearance.”

  “Okay Chief,” grinned one of the desk men. “That suits us all fine.”

  Penny was given a seat of honor at the slot of the circular copy desk. There she was able to read and pass upon every story which flowed from the typewriters of the various reporters. With the courteous help of one of the deskmen, she remade the front page of the noon edition. A particularly sensational story about Mr. Parker, prepared earlier in the day, was promptly “busted.”