despairingly at her husband. “Where will we get the money?”

Penny stepped forward into Jay Franklin’s range of vision. Observing her for the first time, he politely doffed his hat, a courtesy he had not bestowed upon the Breens.

“Mr. Franklin, have you a cheque book?” she inquired.

“Yes, I have,” he responded with alacrity.

“Then I’ll write a cheque for the eight dollars if that will be satisfactory,” Penny offered. “The Breens are friends of mine.”

“That will settle the bill in full, Miss Parker.”

Whipping a fountain pen from his pocket, he offered it to her.

“Penny, we can’t allow you to assume our debts,” Rhoda protested. “Please don’t—”

“Now Rhoda, it’s only a loan to tide us over for a few days,” Mrs. Breen interposed. “Ted will get a job and then we’ll be able to pay it back.”

Penny wrote out the cheque, and cutting short the profuse thanks of the Breens, declared that she and Louise must return home at once.

“Driving into Riverview?” Mr. Franklin inquired. “My car is in the garage, and I’ll appreciate a lift to town.”

“We’ll be glad to take you, Mr. Franklin,” Penny responded, but without enthusiasm.

Enroute to Riverview he endeavored to make himself an agreeable conversationalist.

“So the Breens are friends of yours?” he remarked casually.

“Well, not exactly,” Penny corrected. “I met Rhoda at school and visited her for the first time today. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the family.”

“They’re a no-good lot. The old man never works, and the boy either can’t or won’t get a job.”

“Do you have many such families, Mr. Franklin?”

“Oh, now and then. But I weed them out as fast as I can. One can’t be soft and manage a tourist camp, you know.”

Penny smiled, thinking that no person ever would accuse Mr. Franklin of being “soft.” He had the reputation of ruthless devotion to his own interests. Changing the subject, she remarked that Mrs. Marborough had returned to the city to take up residence at Rose Acres.

“Is that so?” Mr. Franklin inquired, showing interest in the information. “Will she recondition the house?”

Penny replied that she had no knowledge of the widow’s future plans.

“No doubt Mrs. Marborough has returned to sell the property,” Mr. Franklin said musingly. “I should like to buy that place if it goes for a fair price. I could make money by remodeling it into a tourist home.”

“It would be a pity to turn such a lovely place into a roadside hotel,” Louise remarked disapprovingly. “Penny and I hope that someday it will be restored as it was in the old days.”

“There would be no profit in it as a residence,” Mr. Franklin returned. “The house is located on a main road though, and as a tourist hotel, should pay.”

Conversation languished, and a few minutes later, Penny dropped the man at his own home. Although she refrained from speaking of it to Louise, she neither liked nor trusted Jay Franklin. While it had been his right to eject the Breens from the tourist camp for non-payment of rent, she felt that he could have afforded to be more generous. She did not regret the impulse which had caused her to settle the debt even though it meant that she must deprive herself of a few luxuries.

After leaving Louise at the Sidell house, Penny drove on home. Entering the living room, she greeted her father who had arrived from the newspaper office only a moment before. A late edition of the Star lay on the table, and she glanced carelessly at it, inquiring: “What’s new, Dad?”

“Nothing worthy of mention,” Mr. Parker returned.

Sinking down on the davenport, Penny scanned the front page. Immediately her attention was drawn to a brief item which appeared in an inconspicuous bottom corner.

“Here’s something!” she exclaimed. “Why, how strange!”

“What is, Penny?”

“It says in this story that a big rock has been found on the farm of Carl Gleason! The stone bears writing thought to be of Elizabethan origin!”

“Let me see that paper,” Mr. Parker said, striding across the room. “I didn’t know any such story was used.”

With obvious displeasure, the editor read the brief item which Penny indicated. Only twenty lines in length, it stated that a stone bearing both Elizabethan and Indian carving had been found on the nearby farm.

“I don’t know how this item got past City Editor DeWitt,” Mr. Parker declared. “It has all the earmarks of a hoax! You didn’t by chance write it, Penny?”

“I certainly did not.”

“It reads a little like a Jerry Livingston story,” Mr. Parker said, glancing at the item a second time.

Going to a telephone he called first the Star office and then the home of the reporter, Jerry Livingston. After talking with the young man several minutes, he finally hung up the receiver.

“What did he say?” Penny asked curiously.

“Jerry wrote the story, and says it came from a reliable source. He’s coming over here to talk to me about it.”

Within ten minutes the reporter arrived at the Parker home. Penny loitered in the living room to hear the conversation. Jerry long had been a particular friend of hers and she hoped that her father would not reprimand him for any mistake he might have made.

“Have a chair,” Mr. Parker greeted the young man cordially. “Now tell me where you got hold of that story.”

“Straight from the farmer, Carl Gleason,” Jerry responded. “The stone was dug up on his farm early this morning.”

“Did you see it yourself?”

“Not yet. It was hauled to the Museum of Natural Science. Thought I’d drop around there on my way home and look it over.”

“I wish you would,” requested the editor. “While the stone may be an authentic one, I have a deep suspicion someone is trying to pull a fast trick.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve made a boner, Chief.”

“Oh, I’m not blaming you,” Mr. Parker assured him. “If the story is a fake, it was up to DeWitt to question it at the desk. Better look at the rock though, before you write any more about it.”

As Jerry arose to leave, Penny jumped up from her own chair.

“I’d like to see that stone too!” she declared. “Jerry, do you mind if I go along with you?”

“Glad to have you,” he said heartily.

Before Penny could get her hat and coat, Mrs. Maud Weems, the Parker housekeeper, appeared in the doorway to announce dinner. She was a stout, pleasant woman of middle-age and had looked after Penny since Mrs. Parker’s death many years before.

“Penny, where are you going now?” she asked, her voice disclosing mild disapproval.

“Only over to the museum.”

“You’ve not had your dinner.”

“Oh, yes, I have,” Penny laughed. “I dined on chicken at the Dorset Tourist Camp. I’ll be home in an hour or so.”

Jerking coat and hat from the hall closet, she fled from the house before Mrs. Weems could offer further objections. Jerry made a more ceremonious departure, joining Penny on the front porch.

At the curb stood the reporter’s mud-splattered coupe. The interior was only slightly less dirty, and before getting in, Penny industriously brushed off the seat.

“Tell me all about this interesting stone which was found at the Gleason farm,” she commanded, as the car started down the street.

“Nothing to tell except what was in the paper,” Jerry shrugged. “The rock has some writing on it, supposedly