Penny sank into an upholstered chair in front of her father’s desk.
“If it’s money you want,” began Mr. Parker, “the answer is no! Not one cent until your allowance is due. And no sob story please.”
“Why, Dad.” Penny shot him an injured look. “I wasn’t even thinking of money—at least not such a trivial amount as exchanges hands on my allowance day. Nothing less than five hundred dollars interests me.”
“Five hundred dollars!”
“Oh, I aim to earn it myself,” Penny assured him hastily.
“How may I ask?”
“Maybe by catching a Headless Horseman,” Penny grinned mischievously. “It seems that one is galloping wild out Red Valley way.”
“Red Valley? Never heard of the place.” Mr. Parker began to show irritation. “Penny, what are you talking about anyway?”
“This,” explained Penny, spreading the clipping on the desk. “An old fellow who looked like Rip Van Winkle gave it to me. Then he disappeared before I could ask any questions. What do you think, Dad?”
Mr. Parker read the advertisement at a glance. “Bunk!” he exploded. “Pure bunk!”