“Oh, Mrs. Weems, don’t be cross,” Penny pleaded, giving her a squeeze. “Newspaper work is wonderful! Next time I’ll telephone you if I know I’ll be late.”
“Have you had anything to eat?” the housekeeper asked in a softened tone. “Dinner was over an hour ago.”
“I’ll dig up something for myself from the refrigerator. Where’s Dad?”
Even as Penny asked the question, Anthony Parker, a tall, lean man with graying hair, came to the arched doorway of the kitchen. “Now what’s all this?” he inquired. “Penny off the reservation again?”
Mrs. Weems made no reply, knowing only too well that in almost any argument the publisher would support his daughter. Many times, and without success, she had told him she disapproved of his system of granting Penny almost unrestricted freedom.
No one doubted that Mr. Parker was an over-indulgent father, but the publisher had raised his daughter according to a strict code. He knew that she had writing talent and a flair for tracking down a story. Only because she had demonstrated that she could look after herself and think clearly in an emergency, did he allow her to make most of her own decisions.
Now, Penny eagerly poured out an account of her experiences in trying to get the Rhett story for the Star. Mr. Parker, who had read most of it in the Green Streak edition, listened attentively, offering little comment other than to say:
“I met Rhett once at a Chamber of Commerce luncheon. Not a bad fellow.”
“What was he like?” Penny inquired eagerly.
“Quiet and rather bored by the meeting. I don’t recall that he said a dozen words during the luncheon.”