“That so?” the editor asked in surprise. “I hadn’t heard about it.”
“Blake gave the position to a special friend of his. Can’t you do something about it, Dad?”
“I don’t know any of the basic facts, Penny. Why should I interfere in a matter which is none of my affair?”
“At least let’s not give Mr. Blake a big build-up because of his donation.”
“The story must be written,” Mr. Parker said with finality. “I always keep a bargain, even a bad one.”
“Then you might write the story,” Penny proposed mischievously. “I can’t spell such a big word as hypocrite!”
“Never mind,” Mr. Parker reproved. “Just get busy and see that you handle the article in a way favorable to Blake.”
With a deep sigh, Penny took herself to the adjoining newsroom. Selecting a typewriter, she pecked listlessly at the keys. Presently Jerry Livingston, one of the reporters, fired a paper ball at her.
“Your story must be a masterpiece,” he teased. “It’s taken you long enough to write it.”
Penny jerked the sheet of copy from the typewriter roller. “It’s not fair,” she complained. “I have to dish out soft soap while you handle all the interesting stories. There should be a law against it.”