“Don’t you touch those!” she cried, darting forward. “They’re personal.”
Snatching the packet from Mr. Schirr, she gathered up the other papers and envelopes from the floor. Thrusting everything into the safe, she closed and locked the door.
“Well!” commented the editor scathingly.
“You’re through here!” said Penny, facing him with blazing eyes. “Do you understand? I’m discharging you.”
Mr. Schirr looked stunned. Then he laughed unpleasantly.
“So you’re discharging me,” he mocked. “By what right may I ask?”
“This is my father’s plant.”
“Which doesn’t necessarily make you the editor or the owner, Miss Penelope Parker. You’re a minor as well as a nuisance. If your father proves to be dead, the court will step in—”
“Get out!” cried Penny, fighting to keep back the tears. “You don’t care about Dad, or anything but your own selfish interests!”
“Now you’re hysterical.”