The Secret Pact

  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 beenremoved by the man who had left it there.

  "The hat's gone," whispered Louise nervously. "That means someone isstill 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 everyroom. Unable to find an intruder they finally decided to give up thefutile search.

  "After this I'll take care to lock the door," declared Penny as theyprepared to leave the building. "Now let's get busy and gather ourstaff."

  During the next hour she and Louise motored from house to house,recruiting school friends. Early afternoon found the old _Press_ buildinginvaded by a crew of willing and enthusiastic young workers. A group offifteen boys and girls, armed with mops, window cloths and brooms, fellto work with such vigor that by nightfall the main portion of thebuilding 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 withsuch a preoccupied air that her father commented upon her sobercountenance.

  "I hope you haven't encountered knotty problems so soon in yourjournalistic venture," he remarked teasingly.

  "None which you can't solve for me," said Penny. "I've decided to run theoctopus 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 thepaper, set the type and lock it in the page forms. Then I'll haul it overto 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?" herepeated. "Where, may I ask, did you acquire your distributionorganization?"

  "Oh, I have plans," Penny chuckled. "Running a paper is really verysimple."

  "Young lady, you're riding for a heartbreaking fall," warned her fatherseverely. "Six thousand copies! Why, you'll be lucky to dispose of threehundred!"

  "Wait and see," said Penny confidently.

  During the week which followed there were no idle moments for the staffof the newly organized _Weekly Times_. Leaving Louise in charge of thenews output, Penny concentrated most of her attention on the problem ofwinning advertisers. Starting with a page taken by the Malone GlassCompany, she and Jack Malone toured the city, selling a total offorty-two full columns.

  The novelty of the enterprise intrigued many business men, while otherstook space because they were friends of Mr. Malone or Mr. Parker. Moneycontinued to pour into the till of the _Weekly Times_.

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

  "We must expect that," declared Penny. "Always the weak drop by thewayside. If only we can get on a paying basis, we'll be able to offersmall salaries. Then we'll have more workers than we can use."

  "You certainly look to the future," laughed Louise. "Personally I havegrave 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 tomaster the intricacies of the linotype machine. Although in theory itoperated somewhat like a typewriter, she could not learn to set typeaccurately.

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

  "Machines, machines, machines," she muttered. "The paper is going to be amess 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 downthe hall toward the composing room.

  Twice during the week Louise had declared that she believed someoneprowled about the plant when it was deserted. Penny had been too busy toworry about the matter. But now, realizing that she was alone and withoutprotection, 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'sbest linotype operators.

  "You nearly startled me out of my wits," she laughed shakily, "Whatbrought you here, Bill?"

  "I noticed the light burning," the operator replied, twisting his hat inhis hands. "I thought I would drop in and see how you were gettingalong."

  "Why, that's nice of you, Bill." Penny saw that he was gazing hard ather. She was afraid he could tell that she had been crying.

  "The boys say you're doing right well." Bill moved nearer the linotypemachine.

  "Don't look at my work," pleaded Penny. "It's simply awful. I can't getthe hang of this horrid old machine. I wish I hadn't started anewspaper--I must have been crazy just as everyone says."

  "You're tired, that's what's the trouble," said Bill soothingly. "Nowthere's nothing to running a linotype. Give me a piece of copy and I'llshow you."

  He slid into the vacant chair and his fingers began to move over thekeyboard. As if by magic, type fell into place, and there were nomistakes.

  "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 ofit 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 handand I'm here to give it."

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

  "Your front page should look pretty good at any rate," he said as theyleft the building together. "Using rather old stories though, aren'tyou?"

  "Old?"

  "That one about the man who was pushed off the bridge."

  "The story is still news," Penny said defensively. "No other paper hasused it. Didn't you like it?"

  "Sure, it was good," he responded.

  Now that several days had elapsed since her experience at the river, evenPenny's interest in John Munn and his strange tattoo, had faded. However,she was determined that the story should appear in the paper if for noother reason than to plague the editor of _Chatter_.

  According to a report from Louise, Fred Clousky had called at the _Times_early that afternoon, and had seemed very gloomy as he inspected theplant. He had spent nearly a half hour in the composing room, a factwhich Penny later was to recall with chagrin.

  "Poor Fred," she thought. "After my paper comes out his _Chatter_ willlook more than ever like a sick cat."

  Saturday was another day of toil, but by six o'clock, aided by the fewfaithful members of her staff, the last stick of type was set, the pageslocked and transported to the _Star_ ready for the Sunday morning run.

  "I'll be here early tomorrow," Penny told the pressman. "Don't start theedition rolling until I arrive. I want to press the button myself."

  At her urging, Mr. Parker, Jerry Livingston, Salt Sommers, and manymembers of the _Star's_ staff, came to view the stereotyped plateswaiting to be fitted on the press rollers.

  "You've done well
, Penny," praised her father. "I confess I never thoughtyou would get this far. Still figuring on a street sale of six thousand?"

  "I've increased the number to seven," laughed Penny.

  "And how do you plan to get the papers sold?"

  "Oh, that's my secret, Dad. You may be surprised."

  Exhausted but happy, Penny went home and to bed. She was up at six, andafter a hastily eaten breakfast, arrived at the _Star_ office in time togreet the workmen who were just coming on duty.

  "Everything is set," the foreman told her presently. "You can start thepress now."

  Penny was so nervous that her hand trembled as she pressed the electricswitch. There was a low, whining noise as the wheels began to turn,slowly at first, then faster and faster. Pressmen moved back and forth,oiling the machinery and tightening screws.

  Penny's gaze was upon the long stream of paper feeding into the press. Ina moment the neatly folded newspapers would slide out at the rate ofeight hundred a minute. Only slightly over an hour and the run would becompleted.

  The first printed paper dropped from the press, and the foreman reachedfor it.

  "Here you are," he said, offering it to Penny.

  Almost reverently she accepted the paper. Even though there were onlyeight pages, each one represented hours of labor. She had turned out aprofessional job, and could rightly feel proud.

  And then suddenly Penny's eyes fell upon the uppermost line of the frontpage. She gasped and leaned against the wall.

  "I'm ruined!" she moaned. "Ruined! Someone has played a cruel joke onme!"

  "Why, what's wrong?" inquired the press foreman, reaching for anotherpaper.

  "Look at this," wailed Penny. "Just look!"

  She pointed to the name of the paper, printed in large black letters. Itread: THE WEAKLY TIMES.

  "I'll be the laughing stock of Riverview," Penny moaned. "The paperscan't go out that way. Stop the press!"