“Let’s not speak of ghosts,” he pleaded. “I’m well now, and I don’t like to be reminded of those disgraceful night-shirt parades.”
“Are you sure you’re perfectly well?” teased Penny.
“Of course I am. My memory is as good as it ever was!”
“Haven’t you forgotten a rather important financial item?”
Mr. Parker looked puzzled. Then light broke over his face.
“Your allowance! I’ve not paid it for a long while, have I?”
“You certainly haven’t,” grinned Penny. “The old till is painfully empty. I can use a little folding money to good advantage.”
Her father smiled and opened his pocketbook. “Here you are,” he said. “Go out and paint the town red!”
When Penny thumbed over the little stack of “folding money” she drew in her breath. Then she leaped to her feet in youthful exuberance.
“Oh, Dad, you’re a darling!” she cried. “Why, this will buy a brush and a whole barrel of red paint! Look out, Riverview, here I come!”