“I’m not indifferent,” Jerry denied. “In a way I feel responsible for that kid. But what can we do?”
“Nothing, I guess,” acknowledged Penny unwillingly. “Miss Anderson said they had enough searchers.”
Opening the door of the building, they stepped into a huge room which hummed with activity. Girls in uniforms stood at long tables inspecting melons which moved on an endless belt arrangement before them. Sorted as to quality and size, each cantaloupe was stamped and packed in a crate which was then borne away.
“Hank Holloway around here?” Jerry asked one of the workers.
“Over there,” the girl responded, pointing to a burly, red-faced man who stood at the opposite end of the room.
Jerry and Penny approached the manager of the cooperative.
“Good morning,” the man said gruffly, gazing at them critically. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re from the Star,” Jerry informed. “Do you mind answering a few questions?”
“I’m pretty busy,” Hank Holloway responded, frowning. “What do you want to know?”
“There’s a rumor going the rounds that this cooperative has been forcing farmers to market their melons through your organization.”