“I finally persuaded the doctor to let me out,” Anthony Parker replied, swinging around in his swivel chair. “How did you get along with your assignment?”
“I thought I did very well,” Penny said aloofly. “But from now on I’ll not telephone anything in. I’ll write the story myself.”
“Now don’t blame DeWitt or the rewrite man,” said Mr. Parker, smiling. “A paper has to be careful in what it publishes, especially about a wedding. Alligators are a bit too—shall we say sensational?”
“You made a similar remark about witch dolls,” Penny reminded him.
“I did eat my words that time,” Mr. Parker admitted, “but this is different. If we build up a big story about Grant Atherwald’s disappearance, and then tomorrow he shows up at his own home, we’ll appear pretty ridiculous.”
“I guess you’re right,” Penny said, turning away. “Well, I’m happy to see you back in the office again.”
Mr. Parker watched her speculatively. When she reached the door he inquired: “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“What, Dad?”
“Today is Thursday.” The editor took a sealed envelope from the desk drawer. “This is the first time you have failed to collect your allowance in over a year.”
“I must be slipping.” Penny grinned as she pocketed the envelope.