“Our biggest advertiser. He’s threatening to go over to the Record.”
“Why, that’s serious!”
“It is if he quits the Star. The old man—Mr. Parker—” DeWitt corrected hastily, “has been trying to soften him up for the past two hours. Whatever you do, don’t bust in there now.”
“I won’t, Mr. DeWitt, but I did wish to see Dad.”
“Anything I can do for you?”
Penny hesitated. “Well, I wanted to talk to him about something I learned today at the Celestial Temple.”
“Oh, yes,” nodded the city editor, his attention on a sheet of copy. “Mr. Parker is handling the campaign personally. Sorry I can’t be of service.”
Rather startled by DeWitt’s unusual politeness, Penny glanced hopefully toward Jerry Livingston’s desk. It was littered with papers, but quite deserted.
With a sigh she left the building and walked to Dorr Street where she had left her maroon car. Upon reaching home she found that Mrs. Weems was not there and she had forgotten her own key. For a time she sat disconsolately on the front porch. Then she decided to go to the Hudell Garage where Leaping Lena had been left for repairs three days earlier.
The car was ready, and with it a bill for eight dollars and forty-two cents.