“I heard the broadcast all right,” she said. “For that matter, so did Mrs. Weems and Louise. But probably it’s of no consequence.”
The subject was dropped. It was stuffy in the closed car and Penny presently rolled down a window. Immediately Mrs. Deline protested that the wind was blowing her hair helter-skelter. At a stern glance from her father, Penny closed the window again, leaving only a tiny crack for air.
“All the way, please,” requested Mrs. Deline.
“Penny, you’re being very, very difficult,” Mr. Parker added.
Penny rolled the window shut, but her blue eyes cast off little sparks of fire. As a rule, she was a very pleasant person, not in the least spoiled. In Riverview where she had lived for fifteen happy, eventful years, her friends were beyond count. Penny liked people and nearly everyone liked her. But for some reason, she and Mrs. Deline had taken an instant dislike to each other.
“Maybe I’m jealous,” Penny thought ruefully. “I shouldn’t be, but Dad’s all I have.”
Between Mr. Parker and his daughter there existed a deep bond of affection. Penny’s mother was dead and the noted publisher had devoted himself to filling the great void in the girl’s life. He had given her companionship and taught her to think straight. Knowing that she was dependable, he allowed her more freedom than most girls her age were permitted.
Penny adored her father and seemingly had inherited his love of newspaper work. Upon various occasions she had helped him at the Riverview Star, writing and obtaining some of the paper’s most spectacular front page stories. Only the past winter, following her father’s severe illness, she had acted as editor of the Star, managing the paper entirely herself.
“And now Dad and Mrs. Deline treat me as if I were a child!” she reflected resentfully.
Though very much upset, Penny kept her thoughts to herself. Curling up with her head on a pile of blankets, she pretended to sleep.