“Dozens of them probably. Every reporter has. But I don’t know of anyone who hates me enough to try to lay me out.”
The dressing room door now swung open to admit Mr. Parker and several other newspapermen.
“Penny, did you call for help?” her father demanded. “What’s wrong?”
“Jerry was slugged,” Penny answered, and told what had happened.
“How do you feel, Jerry?” the publisher inquired. “That’s a nasty looking bump on your head.”
“I’m fit as a fiddle and ready for a dinner date,” Jerry announced brightly, winking at Penny. “How about it?”
“Well, I don’t know,” she replied. “Are you sure you feel up to it?”
“I’m fine.” To prove his words, Jerry got to his feet. He started across the room, weaving unsteadily.
Had not Mr. Parker and another man seized him by the arms, he would have slumped to the floor.
“Jerry, you’re in no shape for anything except a hospital checkup,” the publisher said firmly. “That’s where you’re going!”