“One of the men was Ropes Mollinberg, a member of the tire-theft gang.”
“Yes, that was his name!” Mr. Parker agreed. “Speaking of tire thieves, I’ve been intending to write an editorial for the paper. Penny, please have my secretary come in. I’ll dictate the material while it is fresh in my mind.”
Mrs. Weems looked slightly distressed. Penny, however, whisked away the tray of food. Getting pencil and paper she again sat down beside her father.
“Your secretary isn’t available just now, but I’ll take down what you want to say.”
Penny could not write shorthand so she only pretended to jot down notes. Mr. Parker led off with a few crisp sentences, then wandered vaguely from one idea to another.
“I can’t seem to think straight any more,” he complained. “Type that up please and let me see it before it goes to the compositors.”
“How shall I sign the editorial?” Penny inquired.
“Why, with my name—Anthony Parker.”
Penny jumped up and fairly laughed with joy.
“Dad, events are coming back to you! You’ve just recalled your name and that’s a big step forward.”