Anthony Parker, editor and owner of the Riverview Star sat propped up with pillows, reading a day-old edition of the newspaper.
“’Morning, Dad,” said Penny cheerfully. “How is our invalid today?”
“I’m no more an invalid than you are,” returned Mr. Parker testily. “If that old quack, Doctor Horn, doesn’t let me out of bed today—”
“You’ll simply explode, won’t you, Dad?” Penny finished mischievously. “Here, drink your coffee and you’ll feel less like a stick of dynamite.”
Mr. Parker tossed the newspaper aside and made a place on his knees for the breakfast tray.
“Did I hear an argument between you and Mrs. Weems?” he asked curiously.
“No argument, Dad. I just wanted to ride up in style on the lift. Mrs. Weems thought it wasn’t a civilized way to travel.”
“I should think not.” The corners of Mr. Parker’s mouth twitched slightly as he poured coffee from the silver pot. “That lift was built to carry breakfast trays, but not in combination with athletic young ladies.”
“What a bore, this business of growing up,” sighed Penny. “You can’t be natural at all.”
“You seem to manage rather well with all the restrictions,” her father remarked dryly.