Signal in the Dark

"The situation is getting worse instead of better, Penny. Three of our reporters are sick, and we're trying to run the paper with only a third of our normal editorial staff." Anthony Parker, publisher of the Riverview Star, whirled around in the swivel chair to face his daughter who sat opposite him in the private office of the newspaper. "Frankly, I'm up against it," he added gloomily.

Penny, a slim girl with deep, intelligent blue eyes, uncurled herself from the window ledge. Carefully, she dusted her brown wool skirt which had picked up a cobweb and streaks of dirt.

"You could use a janitor around here too," she hinted teasingly. "How about hiring me?"

"As queen of the dustmop brigade?"

"As a reporter," Penny corrected. "I'm serious, Dad. You're desperate for employes. I'm desperate for spending money. I have three weeks school vacation coming up, so why not strike a bargain?"

"The paper needs experienced workers, Penny."

"Precisely."

"You're a very good writer," Mr. Parker admitted. "In fact, in months past you turned in some of the best feature stories the Star ever printed. But always they were special assignments. We must have a reporter who can work a daily, eight-hour grind and be depended upon to handle routine stories with speed, accuracy and efficiency."

"And you think I am not what the doctor ordered?"

"I think," corrected Mr. Parker, "that you would blow your pretty little top by the end of the second day. For instance, it's not easy nor pleasant to write obituaries. Yet it must be done, and accurately. On this paper, a new reporter is expected to do rewrites and other tedious work. You wouldn't like it, Penny."

"I'd take it neatly in my stride, Dad. Why not try me and see?"

Mr. Parker shook his head and began to read the three-star edition of the paper, its ink still damp from the press.

"Give me one sound, logical reason for turning me down," Penny persisted.

"Very well. You are my daughter. Our editors might feel that they were compelled to treat you with special consideration--give you the best assignments--handle you with kid gloves."

"You could take care of that matter easily enough."

"If they took my instructions seriously, you might not like it," the newspaper owner warned. "A reporter learns hard and bitter lessons. Mr. DeWitt, for instance, is a fine editor--our best, but he has a temper and--"

The frosted glass door swung open and an elderly, slightly bald man in shirt sleeves slouched in. Seeing Penny, he would have retreated, had not Mr. Parker called him back.

"What's on your mind, DeWitt?"

"Trouble," growled the editor. "That no-good, addle-brained boy we hired as night police reporter, just blew up! Said it was too confining to sit in a police station all night waiting for something to happen! So he gets himself a job in a canning factory! Now we're another employee short."

"Dad, let me take over the night police job!" Penny pleaded.

Both her father and Mr. DeWitt smiled as if suffering from intense pain. "Penny," Mr. Parker explained gently. "Night police work isn't suitable for a girl. Furthermore, it is one of the most undesirable jobs on a paper."

"But I want to work somewhere, and you're so stubborn!"

Mr. DeWitt studied Penny with concentrated interest. Hope flickered in his eyes. Turning abruptly to Mr. Parker he asked: "Why not, Chief? We could use her on the desk for rewrite. We're mighty hard up, and that's a fact."

"What about the personnel problem?" Mr. Parker frowned. "How would the staff take it?"

"Some of the reporters might not like it," Mr. DeWitt admitted, "but who's running this paper anyhow?"

"I often wonder," sighed Mr. Parker.

Detecting signs of a weakening, Penny appealed to Mr. DeWitt. "Wouldn't I be a help to you if I were on the staff?" she urged.

"Why, sure," he agreed cautiously.

"There, you see, Dad! Mr. DeWitt wants me!"

"Penny, it's a personnel problem," her father explained with growing impatience. "The other reporters might not consider you a welcome addition to the staff. You would expect favors."

"I never would!"

"We need her," said Mr. DeWitt significantly. "We really do."

With two against him, Mr. Parker suddenly gave in.

"All right," he agreed. "Penny, we'll put you on as a cub reporter. That means you'll start as a beginner with a beginner's salary and do routine work until you've proved your merit. You'll expect no special consideration. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly!" Grinning from ear to ear, Penny would have agreed to anything.

"Furthermore, if the work gets you down, I won't have you coming to me asking for a change."

"I'll never darken your office door, Dad. Just one question. How much money does a beginner get?"

"Twenty-five dollars."

Penny's face was a blank.

"It will be more than you are worth the first few weeks," Mr. Parker said.