The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels (61 page)

“You’re completely insane if you ask me,” retorted Louise. “This place is a dreadful mess. You’ll never be able to clean it up, let alone get out an issue of the paper!”

The girls had passed through the vestibule to the lower floor room which once had served as the
Press
’circulation department. Behind the high service counter, desks and chairs remained untouched, covered by a thick layer of dust. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling light fixtures and festooned the walls.

Climbing the stairs, the girls glanced briefly into the newsroom, and then wandered on to the composing room. Penny’s gaze roved over long rows of linotype machines and steel trucks which were used to hold page forms. There were bins of type, Cheltenham, Goudy, Century—more varieties than she had ever seen before.

Passing the stereotyping department, the girls entered the press room where slumbered ten giant double-decked rotary presses. Lying on the roller of one was a torn strip of newspaper, the last issue of the
Morning Press
ever printed.

“It gives one a queer feeling to see all this,” said Louise. “Why do you suppose Judson closed the plant when it was prosperous?”

“No one seems to know the answer,” Penny replied, stooping to peer into an empty ink pot. “But it doesn’t seem possible a man would give up his business, throw so many persons out of work, without a good reason.”

“His bad luck seems to be yours,” Louise remarked gloomily. “Well, since you’ve fallen heir to all this, what will you do with it? It will take a sizeable chunk of your hundred dollars just to get the place cleaned.”

“Not according to my calculations,” chuckled Penny. “Let’s choose our offices and then we’ll discuss business.”

“Our offices?” echoed Louise. “I’m not in on this brain-storm of yours.”

“Oh, yes, you are. You’ll be the editor.”

“But I thought you were that!”

“I’ll be the managing editor,” said Penny gently. “You’ll have your office, and oodles of authority. Of course, you’ll have to work hard keeping our staff in line.”

“What staff?”

“We’ll recruit from Riverview High, concentrating on the journalism majors. Now I think Jack Malone will be our new advertising manager.”

“Jack Malone! Why, Penny, he hasn’t an ounce of push.”

“I know, Lou. But his father is president of the Malone Glass Company. I figure if his son is in charge of advertising—”

“I get the idea,” interrupted Louise. “Penny, with a head like yours, we should land all the important accounts in town.”

“I aim to win several fat ones away from the
Star
,”Penny said with quiet confidence. “If we don’t, it will be bankruptcy before the first issue of the paper is off the press.”

Louise glanced dubiously at the dusty machinery.

“There’s no denying you’re a genius, Penny. Even so, I don’t see how you expect to get these presses running.”

“We’ll only need one.”

“True, but you can’t recruit pressmen or linotype operators from Riverview High.”

“Unfortunately, no,” sighed Penny. “The first issue of the
Times
will be printed at the
Star
plant. Dad doesn’t know it yet. After that—well, I’ll think of something.”

“How do you propose to get this place cleaned?”

“Every person who works on our paper must wield a broom, Lou. After we’ve chosen our offices, we’ll scamper forth and gather our staff together.”

Returning to the second floor, the girls inspected the offices adjoining the newsroom. Penny selected for hers the one which previously had been occupied by Matthew Judson. His name remained on the frosted-glass door, and the walls bore etchings and paintings of considerable value.

In the top drawer of the flat-top desk there remained an assortment of pens, erasers, thumbtacks, and small articles. All letters and papers had been removed.

“Mr. Judson apparently left here in a great hurry,” she remarked. “For some reason he never returned for the paintings and personal trifles.”

Louise chose an office adjoining Penny’s new quarters. They both were admiring the view from the window when her chum suddenly drew herself into an attitude of attention.

“What’s wrong?” inquired Louise, mystified.

“I thought I heard someone moving about,” whispered Penny. “Quiet!”

They remained motionless; listening. A board creaked.

Darting to the door, Penny flung it open. The newsroom was deserted, but she was almost certain she heard footsteps retreating swiftly down the hall.

“Lou, we’re not alone in this building!”

“I thought I heard someone, too.”

The girls ran through the newsroom to the hall, and down the stairway. Three steps from the bottom, Penny suddenly halted. On the service counter of the advertising department lay a man’s grimy felt hat.

“Look at that,” she whispered. “Someone
was
upstairs!”

“He may still be here, too. Penny, did you leave the entrance door unlocked?”

“I guess so. I don’t remember.”

“A loiterer may have wandered into the building, and then left when we gave chase.”

“Without his hat?”

“It probably was forgotten.”

“Anyhow, I intend to look carefully about,” declared Penny. “After all, I am responsible for this place now.”

Both girls were uneasy as they wandered from room to room. Penny even ventured into the basement where a number of rats had taken refuge. The building seemed deserted.

“We’re only wasting precious time,” she said at last. “Whoever the intruder was, he’s gone now.”

Retracing their way to the advertising department, the girls stopped short, staring at the counter. The hat, observed there only a few minutes before, had vanished.

CHAPTER 6

HEADLINES AND HEADACHES

Penny and Louise stared at the counter, unable to believe their eyesight. They knew that they had not touched the hat. Obviously it had been removed by the man who had left it there.

“The hat’s gone,” whispered Louise nervously. “That means someone is still inside the building!”

“He could have slipped out the front door while we were in the basement.”

Once more the girls made a complete tour of the building, entering every room. Unable to find an intruder they finally decided to give up the futile search.

“After this I’ll take care to lock the door,” declared Penny as they prepared to leave the building. “Now let’s get busy and gather our staff.”

During the next hour she and Louise motored from house to house, recruiting school friends. Early afternoon found the old
Press
building invaded by a crew of willing and enthusiastic young workers. A group of fifteen boys and girls, armed with mops, window cloths and brooms, fell to work with such vigor that by nightfall the main portion of the building had emerged from its cocoon of grime.

Weary but well satisfied with her first day as a newspaper publisher, Penny went home and to bed. At breakfast the next morning she ate with such a preoccupied air that her father commented upon her sober countenance.

“I hope you haven’t encountered knotty problems so soon in your journalistic venture,” he remarked teasingly.

“None which you can’t solve for me,” said Penny. “I’ve decided to run the octopus tattoo story on the front page of our first issue.”

“Indeed? And when does the first issue appear?”

“I’ll print one week from today.”

“A Sunday paper?”

“I thought probably your presses wouldn’t be busy on that day.”

“
My
presses!”

“Yes, I haven’t hired my pressroom force yet. I plan to make up the paper, set the type and lock it in the page forms. Then I’ll haul it over to your plant for stereotyping and the press run.”

“And if I object?”

“You won’t, will you, Dad? I’m such a pathetic little competitor.”

“I’ll run off the first edition for you,” Mr. Parker promised. “But mind, only the first. How many papers will you want? About five hundred?”

“Oh, roughly, six thousand. That should take care of my street sales.”

Mr. Parker’s fork clattered against his plate. “Your street sales?” he repeated. “Where, may I ask, did you acquire your distribution organization?”

“Oh, I have plans,” Penny chuckled. “Running a paper is really very simple.”

“Young lady, you’re riding for a heartbreaking fall,” warned her father severely. “Six thousand copies! Why, you’ll be lucky to dispose of three hundred!”

“Wait and see,” said Penny confidently.

During the week which followed there were no idle moments for the staff of the newly organized
Weekly Times
. Leaving Louise in charge of the news output, Penny concentrated most of her attention on the problem of winning advertisers. Starting with a page taken by the Malone Glass Company, she and Jack Malone toured the city, selling a total of forty-two full columns.

The novelty of the enterprise intrigued many business men, while others took space because they were friends of Mr. Malone or Mr. Parker. Money continued to pour into the till of the
Weekly Times
.

Yet, when everything should have been sailing along smoothly, Louise complained that it was becoming difficult to keep her staff of writers satisfied. One by one they were falling away.

“We must expect that,” declared Penny. “Always the weak drop by the wayside. If only we can get on a paying basis, we’ll be able to offer small salaries. Then we’ll have more workers than we can use.”

“You certainly look to the future,” laughed Louise. “Personally I have grave doubts we’ll ever get the first issue set up.”

Every moment which could be spared from school, Penny spent at the plant. Long after the other young people had left, she remained, trying to master the intricacies of the linotype machine. Although in theory it operated somewhat like a typewriter, she could not learn to set type accurately.

Friday night, alone in the building, the task suddenly overwhelmed her.

“Machines, machines, machines,” she muttered. “The paper is going to be a mess and all because I can’t run this hateful old thing!”

Dropping her head wearily on the keyboard, Penny wept with vexation.

Suddenly she stiffened. Unmistakably, footsteps were coming softly down the hall toward the composing room.

Twice during the week Louise had declared that she believed someone prowled about the plant when it was deserted. Penny had been too busy to worry about the matter. But now, realizing that she was alone and without protection, her pulse began to hammer.

A shadow fell across the doorway.

“Who—who is there?” Penny called, her voice unsteady.

To her relief, a young man, his bashful grin reassuringly familiar, stepped into the cavernous room. Bill Carlyle was one of her father’s best linotype operators.

“You nearly startled me out of my wits,” she laughed shakily, “What brought you here, Bill?”

“I noticed the light burning,” the operator replied, twisting his hat in his hands. “I thought I would drop in and see how you were getting along.”

“Why, that’s nice of you, Bill.” Penny saw that he was gazing hard at her. She was afraid he could tell that she had been crying.

“The boys say you’re doing right well.” Bill moved nearer the linotype machine.

“Don’t look at my work,” pleaded Penny. “It’s simply awful. I can’t get the hang of this horrid old machine. I wish I hadn’t started a newspaper—I must have been crazy just as everyone says.”

“You’re tired, that’s what’s the trouble,” said Bill soothingly. “Now there’s nothing to running a linotype. Give me a piece of copy and I’ll show you.”

He slid into the vacant chair and his fingers began to move over the keyboard. As if by magic, type fell into place, and there were no mistakes.

“You do it marvelously,” said Penny admiringly. “What’s the trick?”

“About ten years practice. Shoot out your copy now and I’ll set some of it for you.”

“Bill, you’re a darling! But dare you do it? What about the union?”

“This is just between you and me,” he grinned. “You need a helping hand and I’m here to give it.”

Until midnight Bill remained at his post, setting more type in three hours than Penny had done in three days.

“Your front page should look pretty good at any rate,” he said as they left the building together. “Using rather old stories though, aren’t you?”

“Old?”

“That one about the man who was pushed off the bridge.”

“The story is still news,” Penny said defensively. “No other paper has used it. Didn’t you like it?”

“Sure, it was good,” he responded.