“Anyway, let’s forget it.”

Louise took Penny’s elbow, steering her toward the cafe. The girls had been friends since grade school days. They made an excellent pair, for Louise exerted a subduing effect upon her impulsive chum.

The only daughter of Anthony Parker, publisher of the Star, Penny had a talent for innocently getting into trouble. Inactivity bored her. When nothing more exciting offered, she frequently tried her hand at writing stories for her father’s newspaper. Such truly important yarns as The Vanishing Houseboat, The Wishing Well, Behind the Green Door, and The Clock Strikes Thirteen had rolled from her typewriter. Penny thoroughly enjoyed reportorial work, but best of all she loved to take an active part in the adventures she recounted.

“Now remember,” Louise warned her, “not a word to that truck driver. We’ll just snub him.”

“Oh, all right. I’ll try to behave myself.”

Grinning, Penny allowed herself to be guided toward the restaurant. Near the doorway they came to the parked truck, and noticed that it was loaded with large wooden boxes.

“War equipment,” commented Penny.

“How do you know?”

“Why, the boxes are unmarked except by numerals. Haven’t you noticed, Lou, that’s the way machines and materials are transported to and from factories. It’s done so no one can tell what’s inside.”

Penny opened the door and they went into the warm, smoky cafe. As they seated themselves at a table the driver glanced toward them, but seemingly without recognition.

“How about a date tonight, Baby?” he asked the waitress.

Without replying, the girl slapped a menu card on the counter in front of him.

“High toned, ain’t you?” he chuckled.

“What will it be?” the waitress demanded impatiently.

“How about a nice smile, Baby?”

Turning away, the waitress started to serve another customer.

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