Penny brightened at the praise, for Editor DeWitt was not given to complimentary words as a rule. Hurriedly washing carbon paper stains from her hands, she caught a bus which took her within a block of Ben’s shack.
Smoke curled from the chimney, and as she thumped on the sagging door, she detected the odor of cooking bacon.
“Come in, come in!” Ben greeted her heartily. “You’re just in time to share my supper. You got my note?”
“Yes, I did, Ben. What’s up?”
Without answering, the former reporter stepped aside for her to enter. The room was much cleaner than when Penny last had visited it. Ben looked better too. Although his clothes remained unpressed, his hair had been cut, and there was a brightness to his eyes which she instantly noted.
“You’ve found work?” she surmised.
“Odd jobs,” Ben answered briefly. “After talking to you I made up my mind I’d better snap out of it. If I can’t find newspaper work, I’ll try something else.”
“I was thinking—” Penny sat down in a rickety chair, “—couldn’t you do free lance work? Write stories for newspapers out of town?”
“Without a typewriter? I put mine in hock months ago, and it finally was sold for charges.”
“I have a typewriter at home, Ben. I’ll lend it to you.”