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Neither of the girls regretted their promise to help with the tag-day sale, for the cause was a worthy one. The campaign to raise sufficient funds with which to purchase and equip an orphans' summer camp site, had been underway many weeks, and was headed by Mrs. Van Cleve, a prominent club woman.

Parking Leaping Lena at the designated street corner, the girls went to work with a will. All their lives they had lived in Riverview, and Penny in particular, had a wide acquaintance. Accosting nearly everyone who passed, she soon disposed of all her tags, and then sold many for her chum.

"They've gone fast," Louise declared as the morning wore on. "We have only one left."

"Don't sell that tag!" Penny said impulsively. "I have it earmarked for a certain person--Old Seth McGuire."

"The caretaker at the Hubell Clock Tower?" Louise asked in astonishment.

"Yes, he always liked children and I think he would be glad to help."

"But why drive so far?" protested Louise. "I'm sure we could dispose of it right here, and much quicker."

"Oh, I have a special reason for going to see Seth," Penny answered carelessly. "I'll tell you about it on the way there."

From her chum's manner, Louise deducted that something interesting lay ahead. She had learned, frequently to her sorrow, that Penny enjoyed interviewing unusual characters and engaging in amazing activities. Only a few months earlier, the girls had operated their own newspaper in an abandoned downtown building with results which were still the talk of Riverview. Another time they had attended a society wedding on an island guarded by a drawbridge, and had ended by using the drawbridge as a means of capturing a boatload of crooks. In fact, Louise took delight in remarking that if ever her chum chose to write an autobiography, a suitable title would be: "Life with Penelope Parker: Never a Dull Moment."

"What's up now, Penny?" she inquired, as they rattled toward the Hubell Tower in Leaping Lena.

"Just a little argument I had with Dad last night. I maintain that the big clock struck thirteen last night at midnight. He thinks I'm a wee bit touched in the head."

"Which you must be," retorted Louise. "Who ever heard of such a thing?"

"What's so crazy about it?" Penny asked with a grimace. "Didn't you ever hear a clock strike the wrong number?"

"Of course, but not the Hubell clock. Why, the works were purchased in Europe, and it's supposed to be one of the best in the country."

"Even a good clock can make a mistake, I guess. Anyway, we'll see what Seth McGuire has to say about it."

Penny brought Leaping Lena to a quivering halt opposite the tall Hubell Tower. Glancing upward at the octagonical-shaped clock face, she saw that the hands indicated twenty minutes to twelve.

"Rather an awkward time to call," she remarked, swinging open the car door, "but Seth probably won't mind."

As the girls walked toward the tower entrance, they noticed that the grounds surrounding the building were not as neat as when last they had viewed them. The shrubs were untrimmed, the lawn choked with weeds, and old newspapers had matted against the hedge.

"I wonder if Mr. McGuire has been well?" Penny commented, knocking on the tower door. "He always took pride in looking after the yard."

"At least he seems to be up and around," Louise returned in a low tone.

"I can hear someone moving about inside."

The girls waited expectantly for the door to open. When there was no response to their knock, Penny tried again.

"Who's there?" called a loud and not very friendly voice.

Penny knew that it was not Old Seth who spoke, for the caretaker's high-pitched tones were unmistakable.

"We came to see Mr. McGuire," she called through the panel.

The door swung back and the girls found themselves facing a stout, red-faced man of perhaps forty, who wore a soiled suede jacket and unpressed corduroy trousers.

"McGuire's not here any more," he informed curtly. "You'll probably find him at his farm."

Before the man could close the door, Penny quickly asked if Mr. McGuire had given up his position as caretaker because of sickness.

"Oh, he was getting too old to do his work," the man answered with a shrug. "I'm Charley Phelps, the new attendant. Visiting hours are from two to four each afternoon."

"We didn't come to see the clock," persisted Penny.

"What did bring you here then?" the man demanded gruffly. "You a personal friend of Seth's?"

"Not exactly." Penny peered beyond the caretaker into an untidy living room clouded with tobacco smoke. "We thought we might sell him one of these tags. Perhaps you would like to contribute to the orphans' camp fund?"

She extended the bit of yellow cardboard, bestowing upon the attendant one of her most dazzling smiles.

"No, thanks, Sister," he declined, refusing to take the tag. "You'll have to peddle your wares somewhere else."

"Only twenty-five cents."

"I'm not interested. Now run along and give me a chance to eat my lunch in peace."

"Sorry to have bothered you," Penny apologized woodenly. Without moving from the door, she inquired: "Oh, by the way, what happened to the clock last night?"

"Nothing happened to it," the caretaker retorted. "What d'you mean?"

"At midnight it struck thirteen times instead of twelve."

"You must have dreamed it!" the man declared. "Say, what are you trying to do anyhow--start stories so I'll lose my job?"

"Why, I never thought of such a thing!" Penny gasped. "I truly believed that the clock did strike thirteen--"

"Well, you were wrong, and I'll thank you not to go around telling folks such bunk!" the man said angrily. "The clock hasn't struck a wrong hour since the day it was installed. I take better care of the mechanism than Seth McGuire ever did!"

"I didn't mean to intimate that you were careless--" Penny began.

She did not complete the sentence, for Charley Phelps slammed the door in her face.

CHAPTER 5 _OLD SETH_

"Well, Penny, you certainly drew lightning that time," Louise remarked dryly as the girls retreated to Leaping Lena. "I thought Mr. Phelps was going to throw the tower at you!"

"How could I know he was so touchy?" Penny asked in a grieved tone.

"You did talk as if you thought he had been careless in taking care of the big clock."

"I never meant it that way, Lou. Anyway, he could have been more polite."

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