The editorial, cleverly worded but with very definite implications, was composed that night, and telephoned to the newspaper office. Penny had the pleasure of reading it at breakfast the next morning.

"You certainly did yourself proud, Dad," she praised. "However, I imagine the museum people aren't going to be too pleased. Nor certain other folks in this town."

"Let me take a look at it," Mr. Parker requested, reaching for the paper.

As Penny offered it to him, the doorbell rang. Mrs. Weems was busy in the kitchen so the girl arose and went to answer it. Jay Franklin stood on the porch.

"Good morning," he said in a hard voice. "Is your father here?"

"Yes, he is eating breakfast," Penny responded. "Won't you come in, please?"

Mr. Franklin walked ahead of her into the living room.

"Good morning, Jay," called the editor, who was able to see the caller from his chair at the breakfast table. "Will you have a cup of coffee with us?"

Ignoring the invitation, Mr. Franklin entered the dinette, blocking the doorway. From his pocket he took a copy of the morning _Star_.

"Parker," he said curtly, "I've just read your editorial and I demand an explanation! Do you realize what you've done?"

"Written a pretty fair stickful--or so my daughter tells me," Mr. Parker smiled undisturbed.

"You've deliberately tried to smear me," the real estate man accused.

"I don't recall that your name was mentioned in the editorial."

"No, but you know I expect to sell those two stones to the museum. This editorial of yours may queer the sale!"

"Then it will have fulfilled its purpose. The stones are fakes. If you aren't aware of it, I suggest that you acquaint yourself with the true facts."

"Those stones bear genuine Elizabethan writing. There's no connection with any cheap Indian show, and I defy you to prove it!"

"Consider your challenge accepted," replied Mr. Parker evenly. "I expect to publish the true facts very shortly in the _Star_."

"If you prevent me from making a sale to the museum, I'll sue you!" Jay Franklin threatened. "That's all I have to say. Good morning!"

In his anger he turned so quickly that he ran into Penny who stood directly behind him. Without bothering to apologize, he brushed past her, out the front door.

"What a dreadful man!" remarked Mrs. Weems who had heard the conversation from the kitchen.

"I rather expected him to call, although not so early in the morning,"

the publisher remarked, reaching for a slice of toast. "His att.i.tude doesn't bother me in the least."

"He may actually sue you if you don't make good on producing facts,"

Penny commented. "How are you going to do it?"

"DeWitt informs me that the Indian Show is playing at Bryan this week.

I'll drive over there today and see what I can learn."

Bryan was a small city located sixty-nine miles from Riverview. Although Penny ordinarily would have spent the day in school, she immediately decided that her father would need her a.s.sistance. Accordingly, she begged so hard to accompany him that he finally gave his consent.

Early afternoon saw Mr. Parker and his daughter at the outskirts of Bryan where two large blue and red show tents had been set up. A band played, and townspeople were pouring past the ticket-taker, an Indian who wore the headdress of a chieftain.

"It looks rather interesting," Penny remarked wistfully.

Mr. Parker stripped a bill from his wallet and gave it to her.

"Go buy yourself a ticket," he said, smiling. "I'll meet you here by the entrance in an hour."

"Don't you want to see the show, Dad?"

"I've outgrown such foolishness," he rejoined. "I'll find the publicity agent and have my little talk with him."

The enticing sound of tom-toms and Indian war whoops caused Penny to forget her desire to meet the show's publicity man. Saying goodbye to her father, she bought a ticket and hastened into the big top. For an hour she sat through a very mediocre performance, consisting in the main part of cowboy and Indian horseback riding. The concluding event, a tableau, depicted an attack by redskins upon an early English colony settlement.

It was all very boring, and Penny left in the middle of the performance.

Mr. Parker was not waiting at the entrance way. Loitering about for a time, she inquired of a workman and learned that her father was in one of the small tents close by. The flap had been rolled back, permitting her to see a sharp-faced man of thirty who sat at a desk piled with papers.

"Is that the show's publicity agent?" she asked the workman.

"Yep, Bill McJavins," he answered. "He's sure put new life into this outfit. We've been packin' them in ever since he took over."

Within a few minutes Mr. Parker joined Penny and from the expression of his face, she immediately guessed that his interview had not been very successful.

"I take it that Bill McJavins didn't break down and confess all?" she inquired lightly.

"He denied any connection with those stones found in Riverview," Mr.

Parker replied. "But in the next breath he admitted he knew all about them and intends to capitalize on the story."

"Just how will it help the show?"

"From what McJavins told me, I gather the program includes an historical pageant."

"That would be a flattering name for it."

"In the pageant, Indians attack a white settlement. A beautiful maiden escapes, and chisels on a stone tablet an account of the ma.s.sacre--then she, too, succ.u.mbs to the tomahawk."

"You seem to know more about the show than I," Penny laughed. "Anyway, I'm glad to learn how it came out!"

"It's my guess that McJavins hopes to profit by a tie-up between the stone writing of the pageant and the finding of similar rocks near Riverview. It's a cheap trick, and the hoax would have been exposed a long time ago if museum authorities were awake!"

Neither discouraged nor too much elated by the results of the trip, Mr.

Parker and Penny returned to Riverview. It was exactly noon when they reached the newspaper office.

"I trust you plan to attend school this afternoon," the editor reminded his daughter. "By lunching downtown you'll have plenty of time to get there."

Loitering about the newsroom as long as she dared, Penny crossed the street to have a sandwich at a quick-lunch cafe. As she reached the restaurant she observed a familiar figure coming toward her.

"Rhoda Wiegand!" she exclaimed. "Aren't you going in the wrong direction?"