As he turned his face toward her, Penny recognized Matthew Judson, the former publisher of the _Morning Press_. Calling him by name, she invited him into the car.

"Let me take you home, or wherever you are going," she urged. "You don't look well, Mr. Judson. I am afraid I frightened you."

"It was my fault," admitted the old gentleman, staring at Penny. "I--I was thinking about something when I stepped from the curb."

"This is a dangerous intersection. Please, Mr. Judson, can't I take you home?"

"If you insist," he murmured, entering the car. "You seem to know my name, but I haven't the pleasure of your acquaintance."

"I'm Penny Parker. My father publishes the _Star_."

"Oh, yes." Mr. Judson's voice became spiritless.

"Your home is on Drexel Boulevard, I believe?" Penny inquired.

Matthew Judson nodded and in the same dull, lifeless voice supplied the address. He made no attempt at conversation.

As she stole occasional glimpses at the man, Penny thought that his face bore lines of mental fatigue and discouragement. He stared straight ahead with glazed, unseeing eyes.

Hoping to start a conversation, she presently remarked that she was the managing editor of the _Weekly Times_. For the first time Matthew Judson displayed interest.

"Oh, are you the girl who has taken over my building?" he asked.

"Yes, Mr. Veeley allows me the use of it rent free. I hope you don't mind?"

"Mind?" repeated Mr. Judson, laughing mirthlessly. "Why should I?"

"Well, I thought--that is--" Penny began to stammer.

"You thought that because I gave up my own paper I might not wish to see the building used by another?"

"Something like that," admitted Penny.

"I try not to think about the past," said Mr. Judson quietly. "Long ago I made my decision, and now must abide by it. I realize that I never can publish the _Press_ again. I'm broken, beaten!"

The old man spoke with such bitterness that Penny glanced quickly at him.

There was an expression in his dark eyes which startled her.

"Surely one can't be defeated as long as he's willing to fight," she ventured. "Why, if you chose to make a come-back, I'm certain you would succeed."

Mr. Judson shook his head impatiently. "You don't understand. I am through--finished. All I can hope to do is to hold fast to what little I have, and try to protect Pauletta."

"Pauletta is your wife?" Penny inquired kindly.

"My daughter. If it weren't for her--" Mr. Judson hesitated, then finished in a voice quite casual: "If it weren't for her, I probably would end it all."

Penny was shocked.

"Why, Mr. Judson!" she protested. "You can't mean that!"

"Don't be alarmed," he said, smiling faintly. "I have no intention of taking the easy way out."

A dozen questions flashed through Penny's mind, but she was afraid to ask any of them. From Mr. Judson's remarks it was fairly evident that he never had relinquished the _Press_ voluntarily. Could financial difficulties alone account for his state of mental depression?

In the darkening twilight the car approached a white-painted brick house, set back some distance from the boulevard. Once an elegant dwelling, peeling paint had made it an unsightly residence. Roof shingles were curling, the front porch sagged, while an iron fence only partially hid a wide expanse of untended lawn.

"This is my home," said Mr. Judson. "Turn into the driveway if you wish."

Penny stopped the car just inside the iron gate.

As Mr. Judson alighted, a girl who appeared to be in her early twenties, arose from a bench. A white collie at her side, she came toward the car.

Midway across the lawn, she paused, staring. Then, she half turned as if to retreat.

"Pauletta," called Mr. Judson. "Will you come here, please?"

Reluctantly the girl approached the car, her gaze meeting Penny's almost defiantly. Pauletta was a beautiful girl with auburn hair and steel-blue eyes.

"Pauletta, this is Miss Parker," said her father.

"How do you do," responded the girl coldly.

The instant Penny heard the voice she knew where she previously had seen Mr. Judson's daughter--on the steamer _Goodtime_! Pauletta was the girl who had tossed a wig and clothing into the river.

"How do you do, Miss Judson," she responded. "Haven't we met before?"

Pauletta kept her face averted from her father. She met Penny's gaze with a bold stare.

"I think not," she said evenly. "No, Miss Parker, you are mistaken."

CHAPTER 12 _OLD HORNEY_

Penny made no reply to Pauletta and the silence became unbearable.

"Won't you stay for a few minutes?" Mr. Judson invited. "Pauletta, why not show Miss Parker our rose garden?"

"It's rather dark," his daughter replied. "Anyway, she wouldn't care to see it."

"Indeed, I should," contradicted Penny. Deliberately she switched off the car ignition.

Pauletta glared at her, but dared make no protest in her father's presence. With a shrug she led Penny along a gravel path to the rear of the house. Mr. Judson remained behind.

As soon as they were beyond hearing, Penny said quietly:

"Need we pretend? I am sure you recall that we met aboard the _Goodtime_."