Part 12 (1/2)
”Atherwald!” Mr. Parker exclaimed. ”Then he hasn't disappeared after all!
Show him in.”
”And I'm staying right here,” Penny declared, easing herself into the nearest chair. ”I have a hunch that this interview may concern me.”
CHAPTER 8 _PARENTAL PROTEST_
In a few minutes the office boy returned, followed by a distinguished, middle-aged man who carried a cane. Penny gave him an astonished glance for she had expected to see Grant Atherwald. It had not occurred to her that there might be two persons with the same surname.
”Mr. Atherwald?” inquired her father, waving the visitor into a chair.
”James Atherwald.”
The man spoke shortly and did not sit down. Instead he spread out a copy of the night edition of the _Star_ and pointed to the story which Penny had covered. She quaked inwardly, wondering what error of hers was to be exposed.
”Do you see this?” Mr. Atherwald demanded.
”What about it?” inquired the editor pleasantly.
”You are holding my family up to ridicule by printing such a story! Grant Atherwald is my son!”
”Is the story incorrect?”
”Yes, you imply that my son deliberately jilted Sylvia Kippenberg!”
”And actually he didn't?” Mr. Parker inquired evenly.
”Certainly not. My son is a man of honor and had a very deep regard for Sylvia. Under no circ.u.mstance would he have jilted her.”
”Still, the wedding did not take place.”
”That is true,” Mr. Atherwald admitted.
”Perhaps you can explain why it was postponed?”
”I don't know what happened to Grant,” Mr. Atherwald said reluctantly.
”He left our home in ample time for the ceremony, and I might add, was in excellent spirits. I believe he must have been the victim of a stupid, practical joke.”
”Well, that suggests a new angle,” Mr. Parker remarked thoughtfully. ”Did your son have friends who might be apt to play such a joke on him?”
”No one of my acquaintance,” Mr. Atherwald answered unwillingly. ”Of course, he had many young friends who were not in my circle.”
Penny had listened quietly to the conversation. She now arose and came over to the desk. From her pocket she took the white gold wedding ring.
”Mr. Atherwald,” she said, ”I wonder if you could identify this.”
The man studied the trinket for a moment.
”It looks very much like a ring which Grant purchased for Sylvia,” he declared. ”Where did you get it?”