"Are--are you busy?" asked the boy diffidently.

"Yes, I am," said Penny with discouraging brevity.

"I don't want to bother you," Fred murmured, "but I was wondering--do you have a job for me around here? I'd like to work on a real paper. Being editor of _Chatter_ is okay but you don't get any practical experience."

"Oh, so you want a job?" inquired Penny. Inclined to give him a short answer, she thought better of it. "Everything considered," she said, "what you need, Fred, is to learn about different kinds of type. It's so easy to get name-plates and various headlines mixed!"

Fred kept his gaze on his shoes.

"I have just the job for you," resumed Penny. "You can sort and clean the type when it's broken out of the page forms. If you do that well, perhaps you can work up later on."

"When do I start?" Fred asked in a crushed voice.

Penny was surprised for she had expected him to decline such a dirty, menial job. In a far more friendly tone she directed him to seek Old Horney who would be found in the composing room.

"Fred isn't so bad after all," she thought after he had gone. "I'll give him an office job next week."

Penny returned to her work. In need of an extra sheet of paper, she tried to open the lower drawer of her desk. It was stuck fast. She tugged at it several times, finally pulling it out entirely. A folded newspaper clipping dropped to the floor.

Wondering what it might be, she picked it up. The torn sheet, yellow with age, bore the picture of a young man. The face was vaguely familiar although the name beneath it read, Matthew Jewel.

"Matthew Jewel," she whispered. "But it's Matthew Judson! Judson as a young man. He must have changed his name!"

The two column headline drew her attention.

MATTHEW JEWEL BEGINS TEN YEAR SENTENCE IN NEW YORK PRISON FOR MISAPPROPRIATION OF BANK FUNDS

The clipping, she noted, had been cut from a New York paper and was dated twenty years earlier. It reported Matthew Jewel's conviction, following an admission that he had stolen two thousand dollars belonging to the Berkley Savings Bank.

Penny studied the picture again. Not the slightest doubt entered her mind that the young man of the story and Matthew Judson were the same individual. Evidently the clipping had been saved by the former publisher, and in some manner had become lodged beneath the drawer.

"I'm sure no one in Riverview ever knew that Judson served a term in prison," she thought. "He came here years ago with his daughter, and to all appearances had led an upright life."

After perusing the item again, she returned it to the drawer which she carefully locked. She knew that the information was of utmost importance.

Was it not possible that she had stumbled upon a motivation for Judson's strange behavior of the past year? Could not the data contained in the clipping have provided an unscrupulous person with a basis for blackmail?

"But why should Judson ruin his career rather than face exposure?" she reflected. "Other men have made mistakes in their youth and started over again. The truth might have humiliated him, but Riverview people would have taken a charitable att.i.tude."

Deeply troubled, Penny gathered together her belongings and went in search of Old Horney. Finding him initiating Fred Clousky in his new duties, she discreetly invited him to attend the picnic.

"Thank you mightily," responded the pressman, "but I'm not dressed for it. These pants are so shiny you could use 'em for a mirror."

"Don't you worry about your clothes, Horney. Besides, it will be so dark no one will notice. Dad gave you a special invitation."

"Did he now?" The old pressman could not hide his pleasure. "Well, if you think he really wants me, maybe I'll go."

"You wash up while I get the car," Penny urged. "We're rather late."

Within ten minutes, Old Horney met her at the front entrance. His hair was combed, he wore a frayed coat, and had contrived to polish his shoes.

"Horney," Penny said abruptly as they drove toward the river, "did you ever hear that Matthew Judson had been in trouble before he gave up his paper?"

"You mean financial?" the pressman inquired.

"No, I meant of a personal nature. I've been thinking over your theory that Judson was blackmailed."

"Maybe I oughtn't to have said what I did. It was just my own idea."

"I'm inclined to believe there may be something to it, Horney. Now supposing that Judson had stolen money or had been in prison--"

"It couldn't have been that," interrupted the pressman. "Why, Judson was so honest he bent over backwards."

Penny was tempted to tell Horney about the clipping, but refrained from doing so. However, she was satisfied that employes of the _Morning Press_ had gained no inkling of Mr. Judson's prison record.

The picnic was well under way by the time Penny and the pressman arrived at the river cottage. A caterer had taken complete charge, and with his crew of helpers, prepared to serve nearly two hundred boisterous, hungry newspaper employes.

Always a favorite, Penny immediately was surrounded by a group of friends. a.s.sured that Horney had found welcome with pressmen acquaintances, she entered wholeheartedly into the frivolity.

Jerry Livingston, frowning away all other young men, became her escort for the evening. After supper had been served, he guided her firmly away from the group.

"We don't want to hear any speeches," he said. "Let's go look at the moon."

"Can't we see it here?" countered Penny.

"A moon to be appreciated properly must be seen from a sandy beach,"

chuckled Jerry. "Preferably from a nice comfortable shoulder."

Breaking away, Penny raced ahead of him, along the beach to the suspension bridge. She was halfway across when he overtook her, rocking it so violently that she had to cling to him for support.

"Stop that, Jerry Livingston! You'll break the bridge!"

"Then don't try to run away from me. Will you let me show you the moon?"

"No, I know you, Jerry. You show it to all the girls."

"If I do, it's just as a rehearsal. You see, Penny, I've hoped that someday I might get a chance to show it to you."

"What a line you have," laughed Penny. "But I won't play. As a moon-shower your technique is terrible. Better practice some more."

Jerry chuckled and slipping his hand in hers, led her on across the bridge.

"If you won't look at the moon," he said, "then take a squint at Old Man River."

"I believe I prefer the moon after all," Penny returned, raising her eyes to the disc of light sailing serenely through the star-p.r.i.c.ked sky. "It _is_ beautiful."

Her reverie was broken by Jerry's voice. His hand tightened on her own.

"Penny!" he exclaimed. "Look over there!"