Though she would not have confessed it even to herself, Penny was reluctant to meet her father at dinner time. He might not ask questions, but his all-knowing, all-seeing eyes would read her secrets. At a glance he could tell that newspaper work was not going well for her, and that she disliked it.
“I certainly won’t give him an opportunity to even think, ‘I told you so,’” she reflected. “Even if it kills me, I’ll stick here, and I’ll pretend to like it too!”
Because it was too early to dine, Penny walked aimlessly toward the river. She paused at a dock to watch two boys fishing, and then sauntered on toward the passenger wharves.
A young man in an unpressed suit, and shoes badly in need of a shine, leaned against one of the freight buildings. Seeing Penny, he pulled his hat low over his eyes, and became engrossed in lighting a cigarette.
She would have passed him by without a second glance, save that he deliberately turned his back to shield his face. The hunch of his shoulders struck her as strangely familiar.
Involuntarily, she exclaimed: “Ben! Ben Bartell!”
He turned then and she saw that she had not been mistaken. The young man indeed was a former reporter for the Riverview Mirror, a news magazine published weekly. Ben had not shaved that day, and he looked years older than when she last had seen him.
“Hello, Penny,” he said uncomfortably.
“Ben, what has happened to you?” she asked. “Why were you trying to avoid me?”
Ben did not reply for a moment. Then he said quietly: “Why should I want to see any of my old friends now? Just look at me and you have your answer.”