Before the man could close the door, Penny quickly asked if Mr. McGuire had given up his position as caretaker because of sickness.
“Oh, he was getting too old to do his work,” the man answered with a shrug. “I’m Charley Phelps, the new attendant. Visiting hours are from two to four each afternoon.”
“We didn’t come to see the clock,” persisted Penny.
“What did bring you here then?” the man demanded gruffly. “You a personal friend of Seth’s?”
“Not exactly.” Penny peered beyond the caretaker into an untidy living room clouded with tobacco smoke. “We thought we might sell him one of these tags. Perhaps you would like to contribute to the orphans’ camp fund?”
She extended the bit of yellow cardboard, bestowing upon the attendant one of her most dazzling smiles.
“No, thanks, Sister,” he declined, refusing to take the tag. “You’ll have to peddle your wares somewhere else.”
“Only twenty-five cents.”
“I’m not interested. Now run along and give me a chance to eat my lunch in peace.”
“Sorry to have bothered you,” Penny apologized woodenly. Without moving from the door, she inquired: “Oh, by the way, what happened to the clock last night?”