“But I’m stony broke! I’m destitute!” The blue eyes became eloquent, pleading. “My allowance doesn’t come due for another ten days.”
“Why not talk it over with your father?”
Penny retrieved the check and tore it to bits. “I’ve already worked on Dad until I’m blue in the face,” she grumbled. “Talking to a mountain gives one a lot more satisfaction.”
“Now you know your father gives you almost everything you want,” the treasurer teased. “You have a car of your own—”
“And no gas to run it,” Penny cut in. “Why, I work like a galley slave helping Dad build up the circulation of this newspaper!”
“You have brought the Star many new subscribers,” Mr. Peters agreed warmly. “I’ll always remember that fine story you wrote about the Vanishing Houseboat Mystery. It was one of the best this paper ever published.”
“What’s the use of being the talented, only daughter of a prosperous newspaper owner if you can’t cash in on it now and then?” Penny went on. “Why, the coffers of this old paper fairly drip gold, but do I ever get any of it?”
“I’ll let you have a few dollars,” Mr. Peters offered unexpectedly. “Enough to tide you over until the day your allowance falls due. You see, I know how it is because I have a daughter of my own.”
Penny’s chubby, freckled face brightened. Then the light faded. She asked doubtfully:
“You don’t intend to give me the money out of your own pocket, Mr. Peters?”