“That’s so, this little gem of literature did set you back two dollars and ten cents. Lucky I collected before you opened the telegram.”
Mr. Parker slammed his desk shut with a force which rattled the office windows.
“This same crack-pot who signs himself ‘Disgusted Reader’ or ‘Ben Bowman,’ or whatever name suits his fancy, has sent me six telegrams in the past month! I’m getting fed up!”
“All of the messages collect?”
“Every one. The nit-wit has criticised everything from the Star’s comic strips to the advertising columns. I’ve had enough of it!”
“Then why not do something about it?” Penny asked soothingly. “Refuse the telegrams.”
“It’s not that easy,” the editor growled. “Each day the Star receives a large number of ‘collect’ messages, hot news tips from out-of-town correspondents and from reporters who try to sell free lance stories. We’re glad to pay for these telegrams. This fellow who keeps bombarding us is just smart enough to use different names and send his wires from various places. Sometimes he addresses the telegrams to me, and then perhaps to City Editor DeWitt or one of the other staff members.”
“In that case, I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” Penny said teasingly. “How about drowning your troubles in a little sleep?”
“It is late,” Mr. Parker admitted, glancing at his watch. “Almost midnight. Time we’re starting home.”
Reaching for his hat, Mr. Parker switched off the light, locked the door, and followed Penny down the stairway to the street. At the parking lot opposite the Star building, he tramped about restlessly while waiting for an attendant to bring the car.