"Humph!" snorted Pendleton, and passed on out of doors.
Pen carried her supper into the dining-room. She sat, abstractedly stirring her cup, and munching a sandwich, while the same phrase ran around and around in her head. "Got to have five hundred, a thousand would be better!" Blanche might almost as well have asked her for a million, she thought sighing. Bye and bye Pendleton having finished his chores, came in again.
"Sit down a minute, Dad," she said. "I want to talk to you."
Anticipating something unpleasant, he dropped into a chair grumbling.
"This business has about finished me up," said Pen. "I must get away for awhile."
"You're looking particularly well to me," he said.
She refused to be drawn off.
"I don't know what to make of you," he went on crossly. "A while ago you were all for helping in the search."
"I hoped to end it," said Pen. "But I was unsuccessful."
Pendleton scowled sulkily at the table. "You know what I want you to do," he muttered.