“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Weems murmured. “I’ve done something I shouldn’t—”
“It was not your fault,” Mr. Parker assured her. “In the future, however, refuse to accept any collect message.”
As her father did not open the telegram, Penny seized upon it.
“This is from a man who calls himself Isaac Fulterton,” she disclosed, glancing at the bottom of the typed page.
“Merely one of Ben Bowman’s many names,” Mr. Parker sighed.
“Ah, this is a gem!” Penny chuckled, and read aloud: “‘Here is a suggestion for your rotten rag. Why not print it on yellow paper? I know you will not use it because editors think they know everything. I once knew a reader who got a little good out of your paper. He used it to clean the garbage can.’”
“How dreadful!” Mrs. Weems exclaimed, genuinely shocked.
“Penny, if you insist upon reading another line, I shall leave the table,” Mr. Parker snapped. “I’ve had quite enough of Ben Bowman.”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Penny apologized, slipping the message into her pocket. “I can appreciate that this doesn’t seem very funny to you.”
The telegram was not mentioned again. Nevertheless, Mr. Parker’s good humor had given way to moody silence, contributing no cheer to the evening meal. Mrs. Weems kept glancing uneasily at her employer, wondering if she had offended him. Only Penny, whose appetite never failed, seemed thoroughly at ease.