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 bas.e.m.e.nt."

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 coc.o.o.n 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 compet.i.tor."

"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 Gla.s.s 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 s.p.a.ce 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 rea.s.suringly 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.