Absently Mr. Parker took two crisp dollar bills from his pocket and reached for the telegram.
“Don’t forget the dime,” Penny reminded him. “It may seem a trifle to you, but not to a girl who has to live on a weekly allowance.”
For lack of change, the editor tossed over a quarter, which his daughter pocketed with deep satisfaction. Ripping open the envelope, he scanned the telegram, but as he read, his face darkened.
“Why, Dad, what’s wrong?” Penny asked in surprise.
Mr. Parker crumpled the sheet into a round ball and hurled it toward the waste paper basket.
“Your aim gets worse every day,” Penny chuckled, stooping to retrieve the paper. Smoothing the corrugations, she read aloud:
“YOUR EDITORIAL ‘FREEDOM OF THE PRESS’ IN THURSDAY’S STAR THOROUGHLY DISGUSTED THIS READER. WHAT YOUR CHEAP PAPER NEEDS IS A LITTLE LESS FREEDOM AND MORE DECENCY. IF OUR FOREFATHERS COULD HAVE FORESEEN THE YELLOW PRESS OF TODAY THEY WOULD HAVE REGULATED IT, NOT MADE IT FREE. WHY DON’T YOU TAKE THAT AMERICAN FLAG OFF YOUR MASTHEAD AND SUBSTITUTE A CASH REGISTER? FLY YOUR TRUE COLORS AND SOFT-PEDAL THE PARKER BRAND OF HYPOCRISY!”
“Stop it—don’t read another line!” the editor commanded before Penny had half finished.
“Why, Dad, you poor old wounded lion!” she chided, blue eyes dancing with mischief. “I thought you prided yourself that uncomplimentary opinions never disturbed you. Can’t you take it any more?”
“I don’t mind a few insults,” Mr. Parker snapped, “but paying for them is another matter.”