Heads lifted and appraising eyes focused upon her. Nearly everyone nodded and smiled, but one girl who sat at the far end of a long typewriter table regarded her with an intent, almost hostile stare. And as luck would have it, Mr. DeWitt assigned Penny to the typewriter adjoining hers.
“This is Elda Hunt,” he introduced her. “Show Penny the ropes, will you?”
The girl, a blonde, with heavily-rouged cheeks, patted the rigid rolls of her hair into place. Staring at Mr. DeWitt, she answered not a word.
“I’ll have a lot to learn,” Penny said, trying to make friendly conversation.
Elda shrugged. “You’re the publisher’s daughter, aren’t you?” she inquired.
“Yes.”
“Then I don’t think you’ll have too hard a time,” the girl drawled.
Penny started to reply, but thought better of it. Seating herself beside Elda, she unhooded the typewriter, rolled a sheet of copy paper into it, and experimented with the keys.
The main newsroom was a confusion of sound. Although work was being handled with dispatch, there was an air of tension, for press time on the five-star edition was drawing close. Telephones were ringing, and Editor DeWitt, who sat at the head of the big rectangular desk, tersely assigned reporters to take the incoming calls. Not far from Penny’s ear, the police shortwave radio blared. Copy boys ran to and fro.
Benny Jewell, the assistant editor, tossed her a handful of typewritten sheets.