Penny twisted her neck to gaze at her reflection in the dresser mirror beyond the footboard of the big mahogany bed.
“I won’t mind growing up if only I’m able to develop plenty of glamour,” she said speculatively. “Am I getting any better looking, Dad?”
“Not that I’ve noticed,” replied Mr. Parker gruffly, but his gaze lingered affectionately upon his daughter’s golden hair. She really was growing prettier each day and looked more like her mother who had died when Penny was a little girl. He had spoiled her, of course, for she was an only child, but he was proud because he had taught her to think straight. She was deeply loyal and affectionate and those who loved her overlooked her casual ways and flippant speech.
“What happened to the paper boy this morning?” Mr. Parker asked between bites of buttered toast.
“It isn’t time for him yet, Dad,” said Penny demurely. “You always expect him at least an hour early.”
“First edition’s been off the press a good half hour,” grumbled the newspaper owner. “When I get back to the Star office, I’ll see that deliveries are speeded up. Just wait until I talk with Roberts!”
“Haven’t you been doing a pretty strenuous job of running the paper right from your bed?” inquired Penny as she refilled her father’s cup. “Sometimes when you talk with that poor circulation manager I think the telephone wires will burn off.”
“So I’m a tyrant, am I?”
“Oh, everyone knows your bark is worse than your bite, Dad. But you’ve certainly not been at your best the last few days.”
Mr. Parker’s eyes roved about the luxuriously furnished bedroom. Tinted walls, chintz draperies, the rich, deep rug, were completely lost upon him. “This place is a prison,” he grumbled.