Part 22 (1/2)

Only by an effort of will could Penny keep her mind on the work before her. There were rewrites to do, and an interesting feature. At four-thirty with two stories yet to be done, she became panicky that she could not finish on time. But by really digging in, she completed the stories exactly on the dot of five, and with a tired sigh of relief, dropped them into Editor DeWitt's wire copy basket.

”You're just like a trained race horse, Penny,” he said jokingly. ”But your work is okay. You're improving.”

Penny brightened at the praise, for Editor DeWitt was not given to complimentary words as a rule. Hurriedly was.h.i.+ng carbon paper stains from her hands, she caught a bus which took her within a block of Ben's shack.

Smoke curled from the chimney, and as she thumped on the sagging door, she detected the odor of cooking bacon.

”Come in, come in!” Ben greeted her heartily. ”You're just in time to share my supper. You got my note?”

”Yes, I did, Ben. What's up?”

Without answering, the former reporter stepped aside for her to enter.

The room was much cleaner than when Penny last had visited it. Ben looked better too. Although his clothes remained unpressed, his hair had been cut, and there was a brightness to his eyes which she instantly noted.

”You've found work?” she surmised.

”Odd jobs,” Ben answered briefly. ”After talking to you I made up my mind I'd better snap out of it. If I can't find newspaper work, I'll try something else.”

”I was thinking--” Penny sat down in a rickety chair, ”--couldn't you do free lance work? Write stories for newspapers out of town?”

”Without a typewriter? I put mine in hock months ago, and it finally was sold for charges.”

”I have a typewriter at home, Ben. I'll lend it to you.”

Ben's face brightened, but he hesitated. ”I've sure been lost without a machine,” he declared. ”But I hate to take yours. You know what happened to my watch. This shack isn't safe. Anyone might come in here and steal it.”

”It's only an old typewriter, Ben. I'm willing to take a chance. I'll see that you get the machine within a day or so.”

The former reporter stepped to the stove to turn the bacon. He kept his face averted as he said: ”Penny, you've been a real friend--the only one.

That day when you met me--well, I didn't give a darn. I was only one step from walking off a dock.”

”Don't say such things, Ben!” Penny warned. ”You've had a run of hard luck, but it's changing now. Suppose you tell me what you learned about the _Snark_.”

”Nothing too startling, so don't get your hopes up,” Ben grinned.

He set out two cracked plates on the battered table, two cups for coffee, and then dished up the bacon and a few fried potatoes. It was a meagre supper, but not for the world would Penny have offended Ben by refusing to share it.

”Now tell me about the _Snark_,” she urged again, as Ben poured the coffee.

”I've been watching the boat at night, Penny. Queer things go on there.”

”We suspected that after seeing Webb pitched overboard.”

”I've seen a lot of men come and go from that vessel,” Ben resumed. ”It's a cinch they couldn't all be employed on her, because the _Snark_ has been out of service for months.”

”What do you make of it?”