Looking up the address of the Rhett estate, Penny hailed a passing taxi. As the cab sped along the winding river boulevard, she speculated upon how best to approach Mrs. Rhett.
“I wish I were more experienced as a reporter,” she thought, nervously examining her pocketbook to be certain she had paper and pencil. “Something tells me this story will be hard to get.”
The only daughter of a distinguished newspaper owner and publisher, Penny considered herself an essential part of the Star office. Even as a youngster in pigtails, she had haunted the big noisy newsroom, pecking at the typewriters and making a pest of herself.
From her father, Editor DeWitt, Jerry Livingston, a star reporter, and the printers who adored her, the alert girl had gleaned much useful information. But there were yawning gaps in her newspaper experience. No one realized it better than she.
Gazing thoughtfully toward the river, Penny recalled the first story she ever had written, carried in the paper under the title, “Tale of the Witch Doll.” Another yarn, “The Vanishing Houseboat,” also had been bannered across the front page of the Star, but in acquiring that story Penny and Jerry had nearly lost their lives.
Slight wonder that Mrs. Maud Weems, the Parker housekeeper, was reluctant to see the girl she loved so dearly take up a journalistic career. Sadly she declared that Penny’s nose for news and mystery would lead her into serious trouble. Mr. Parker, however, did not worry. “Penny has good horse sense,” he said. “And she was born with printer’s ink in her blood stream!”
The taxi stopped with a jerk in front of a large red brick mansion. Large acreage was enclosed by a wooden rail fence flanked by tall untrimmed bushes.
“Shall I wait?” inquired the cab driver as Penny alighted.
She shook her head, started to pay him, then thought of a better idea. “Charge this to the Star,” she instructed.
The cab driver looked a trifle worried as if he were fearful of losing the fare, so Penny flashed her press card again. It worked like magic.