"If they are as loose as I think they are, I might be able to get them out myself. Not tonight though."

Penny felt in no mood to discuss future possibilities or even to consider them. Already cold, the misty air added to her physical discomfort.

"Better get a hot shower and go to bed," Louise advised as they finally reached the Parker home. "We'll talk things over in the morning."

Not desiring to attract attention to herself, Penny entered the house by a side door. To her discomfiture, Mrs. Weems, who chanced to be getting a drink in the kitchen, saw the disheveled clothing.

"Why, Penny Parker!" she exclaimed. "What have you done to yourself?"

"Nothing," Penny mumbled. "I'm just a little wet. I've been down in a well."

"There are times when your jokes don't seem at all funny," the housekeeper said sternly. "How did you ruin your clothes?"

"That's the truth, Mrs. Weems. I was down in a well and I stepped off into the water--"

"Penny, you can't expect me to believe such a tall story. Now tell me exactly what _did_ happen."

"Would it seem more reasonable if I said that I stumbled and fell into a ditch?"

"I rather thought something of the sort happened," Mrs. Weems declared.

"How did the accident occur?"

"It didn't," Penny maintained plaintively.

Escaping upstairs before the housekeeper could question her further, she took a hot shower and went to bed. She could hear a murmur of voices in the living room below, and knew that Mrs. Weems was discussing her "behavior" with her father.

"Sometimes grownups are so unreasonable," she sighed, snuggling into the covers. "You tell them the truth and what they really want is a nice logical whopper!"

Penny slept soundly and did not awaken until the Sunday morning sun was high in the heavens. Sitting up in bed, she moved her arms experimentally. They were very sore and stiff. She swung her feet to the floor and groaned with pain.

"Guess I can't take it any more," she muttered. "I must be getting soft, or else it's old age sneaking up on me!"

Torturing herself with a limbering exercise, Penny dressed and went downstairs. Mrs. Weems had gone to church while Mr. Parker had submerged himself in fifty-eight pages of Sunday paper. Detouring around the living room, Penny went to the kitchen to prepare herself a belated breakfast.

She was picking at the nuts of a fruit salad found in the ice box when her father appeared in the doorway.

"Penny--" he began sternly.

"Where was I last night?" she interrupted. "I've said before, and now repeat--in a well! A nice deep one with water in it."

"When you're ready to tell me the real story, I shall listen," Mr. Parker said quietly. "Until that time, I must deprive you of your weekly allowance."

"Oh, Dad!" Penny wailed. "You know I'm stony broke! I won't be able to drive my car or even buy a hot dog!"

"That is your misfortune. Mrs. Weems says I have been entirely too indulgent with you, and I am inclined to agree with her. I've seldom checked your comings or goings, but in the future I shall expect you to tell me your plans when you leave the house at night."

Having delivered his ultimatum, Mr. Parker quietly withdrew.

Penny had lost her appet.i.te for breakfast. Feeling much abused she banged out the kitchen door into the yard. Her first act was to inspect the gasoline tanks of both Leaping Lena and the maroon car. As she had feared, the combined fuel supply did not equal three gallons.

"There's just about fifty-five miles between me and misery," she reflected grimly. "I wouldn't dare siphon gas out of Dad's car or ask for credit at a filling station either!"

Wandering around to the front porch, she sat down on the steps. One of her high school boy friends pedalled past on his bicycle, calling a cheery greeting. Penny barely responded.

Presently a milk wagon clattered to a stop in front of the house. The driver came up the walk with his rack of milk bottles. Penny eyed him speculatively.

"We have a lot of old bottles in the bas.e.m.e.nt," she greeted him. "Does your company pay for them?"

"Sorry," he declined. "We use only our own stamped bottles. There's no deposit charge. Customers are expected to return them without rebate."

The driver left a quart of milk on the back doorstep of the Parker home.

In walking to his wagon, he paused beside Penny, remarking:

"Maybe you could sell your old bottles to a second-hand dealer. I saw one on the next street about five minutes ago."

"Where?" Penny demanded, jumping to her feet.

"He was on Fulton Avenue when I drove past."

Thanking the driver, Penny ran as fast as her stiff limbs would permit to the next street corner. Far up the avenue she saw a battered old car of the second-hand man. Hurrying on, she reached the automobile just as its owner came from a house carrying an armful of corded newspapers.

"Excuse me," she called eagerly, "do you buy old bottles?"

The man turned toward her, doffing his derby hat.

"Good morning, Miss," he said. "I buy newspapers, old furniture, rubber tires, copper, bra.s.s, or gold, but not bottles."

Penny scarcely heard the discouraging information for she was staring at the man as if his appearance fascinated her. For a moment she could not think where she had seen him before. And then suddenly she remembered.

"Why, I saw you at Mrs. Marborough's place!" she exclaimed. "You're the one person who has been inside the house! I want you to tell me all about it."

CHAPTER 16 _INSIDE THE MANSION_

Mr. b.u.t.terworth, the second-hand dealer, scarcely knew what to make of Penny's abrupt request.

"Tell me how the house looks inside," she requested as he remained mute.

"Is it as handsome as folks say?"

"You are a friend of Mrs. Marborough?" the man inquired, c.o.c.king his head sideways as he regarded the girl.

"Of course."

"Then why do you not ask Mrs. Marborough that question?"

"Because she never invites anyone into her house," Penny explained patiently. "You're the only person to get in so far as I know. I'll venture she sold you something. Am I right?"