FROM OFFICE BOY
TO REPORTER

“[NOW THEN, YOU NEW BOY—WHAT’S YOUR NAME?]”

From Office Boy To Reporter

FROM OFFICE BOY
TO REPORTER

OR

THE FIRST STEP IN JOURNALISM

BY
HOWARD R. GARIS

AUTHOR OF “THE WHITE CRYSTALS,” “THE ISLE OF BLACK FIRE,”
“WITH FORCE AND ARMS,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

New York
GROSSET & DUNLAP
Publishers

Copyright, 1907
BY
CHATTERTON-PECK COMPANY

From Office Boy to Reporter

PREFACE

My Dear Boys:—

I have tried to write for you a story of newspaper life and tell how a boy, who started in the lowest position,—that of a copy carrier,—rose to become a reporter. The newspaper covers a wide field, and enters into almost every home, telling of the doings of all the world, including that which takes place right in our midst.

There are many persons in the business, which is an interesting and fascinating one. I have been actively engaged in it for nearly sixteen years, and I have seen many strange happenings. Some of these I have set down in this book for you to read, and I hope you will like them.

There are many things which I had not the time or space to tell about, and which may be related in other books of this series. There have been written many good stories of newspaper life and experiences. I trust I may have added one that will appeal especially to you boys. If I have, I will feel amply repaid for what I have done.

Yours with best wishes,
Howard R. Garis.

January 10, 1907.

CONTENTS

FROM OFFICE BOY
TO REPORTER

CHAPTER I
FORECLOSING THE MORTGAGE

“Now then,” began the shrill voice of the auctioneer, “we’ll start these proceedin’s, if ye ain’t got no objections. Step right this way, everybody, an’ let th’ biddin’ be lively!”

“Hold on a minute!” called a big man in the crowd. “We want to know what the terms are.”

“I thought everybody knowed ’em,” spoke Simon Rollinson, deputy sheriff, of the village of Campton, New York State. “This here farm, belongin’ in fee-simple to Mrs. Elizabeth Dexter, widow of Robert Dexter, containin’ in all some forty acres of tillable land, four acres of pasture an’ ten of woods, is about to be sold, with all stock an’ fixtures, consistin’ of seven cows an’ four horses, an’ other things, to th’ highest bidder, t’ satisfy a mortgage of three thousand dollars.”

“We know all that,” said the big man who had first spoken. “What’s the terms of payment?”

“Th’ terms is,” resumed Simon, “ten per cent. down, an’ the balance in thirty days, an’ the buyer has t’ give a satisfactory bond or——”

“That’ll do, go ahead,” called several.

“Now then, this way, everybody,” went on Mr. Rollinson. “Give me your attention. What am I bid to start this here farm, one of the finest in Onondaga County? What am I bid?”

There was a moment’s silence. A murmur went through the crowd of people gathered in the farmyard in front of a big red barn. Several wanted to bid, but did not like to be the first.

As the deputy sheriff, who acted as the auctioneer, had said, the farm was about to be sold. It was a fine one, and had belonged to Robert Dexter. With his wife Elizabeth, his sons, Larry, aged fifteen, a sturdy lad with bright blue eyes and brown hair, and James, aged eight, his daughters, Lucy, a girl of twelve, afflicted with a bad disease of the spine, and little Mary, just turned four, Mr. Dexter had lived on the place, and had worked it successfully, for several years.

Then he had become ill of consumption. He could not follow the hard life. Crops failed, and in order to get cash to keep his family he was obliged to borrow a large sum of money. He gave the farm as security, and agreed, in case he could not pay the money back in a certain time, that the farm should be forfeited.

He was never able to get the funds together, and this worry, with the ravages of the disease, soon caused his death. Mrs. Dexter, with Larry’s help, made a brave effort to stand up against the misfortune, but it was of no use. She could not pay the interest on the mortgage, and, finally, the holder, Samuel Mortland, foreclosed.

The matter was placed in the hands of the sheriff, whose duty it is to foreclose mortgages, and that official, being a busy man, delegated the unpleasant task to one of his deputies or assistants, who lived in the town of Campton. The sale had been advertised for several miles surrounding the village, and on the date set quite a crowd gathered.

There were farmers from many hamlets, a number of whom brought their wives and families, as a country auction is not unlike a fair or circus as an attraction. There they were sure to meet friends and acquaintances, and, besides, they might pick up some bargains.

“Who’ll make the first offer?” called Mr. Rollinson. “The upset or startin’ price is fifteen hundred dollars, an’ I’ll jest go ahead with that. Now who’ll make it two thousand?”

“I’ll go seventeen hundred,” called a short stout man in the front row.

“Huh! I should think ye would, Nate Jackson. Why, seventeen hundred dollars wouldn’t buy th’ house an’ barn. You’ll hev t’ do better than that!”

“I’ll say eighteen hundred,” cried a woman who seemed to mean business.

“Now you’re talkin’!” cried Mr. Rollinson. “That’s sumthin’ like. Why, jest think of th’ pasture, an’ woodland, an’ cows an’ horses an’——”

“I’ll make it two thousand dollars,” said a third bidder.

“I’m bid two thousand,” cried the deputy sheriff. “Who’ll make it twenty-two hundred?”

Then the auction was in full swing. The bidding became lively, though the advances were of smaller amounts than at first. By degrees the price crept up until it was twenty-nine hundred dollars.

“I’ve got to git at least thirty-one hundred to pay th’ mortgage an’ expenses,” the auctioneer explained. “If I don’t git more than this last bid Mr. Mortland will take the property himself. Now’s your last chance, neighbors.”

This seemed to stimulate the people, and several offers came in at once, until at last the bid was $3,090. There it seemed to stick, no one caring to go any higher, and each one hoping he might, by adding a few dollars more, get possession of the property, which was worth considerable above the figure offered.

While the auction was going on there sat, in the darkened parlor of the farmhouse, Mrs. Dexter and her three younger children. With them were some sympathizing neighbors, who had called to tell her how sorry they were that she had lost the farm.

“What do you intend to do?” asked Mrs. Olney, winding her long cork-screw curls about her fingers.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Mrs. Dexter said. “If we have to leave here, and I suppose we will, I think the only thing to do is to go to my sister. She lives in New York.”

“Let’s see, she married a Jimson, didn’t she?” asked Mrs. Peterkins, another neighbor.

“No, her husband’s name is Edward Ralston,” replied Mrs. Dexter. “He is a conductor on a street car, in New York. My sister wrote to me to come to her if I could find no other place.”

“That would be a wise thing to do,” spoke Mrs. Olney. “New York is such a big place. Perhaps Larry could find some work there.”

“I hope he can,” said Larry’s mother. “He is getting to be a strong boy, but I would rather see him in school.”

“Of course, knowledge is good for the young,” admitted Mrs. Peterkins, “but you’ll need the money Larry can earn.”

“I’m goin’ to earn money when I go to New York!” exclaimed James. “I’m goin’ to the end of the rainbow, where there’s a pot of gold, an’ I’m goin’ to dig it up an’ give it all to mommer.”

“Good for you!” exclaimed Mrs. Olney, clasping the little fellow to her and kissing him. “You’ll be a great help to your mother when you grow up.”

“Kisses is for girls!” exclaimed James, struggling to free himself, whereat even his mother, who had been saddened by the thought of leaving her home, smiled.

“Will—will you have any money left after the place is sold?” asked Mrs. Peterkins.

“I hope it will bring in at least a few hundred dollars above the mortgage,” answered Mrs. Dexter. “If it does not I don’t know what I’ll do. We would have to sell some of the house things to get money enough to travel.”

Outside, the shrill voice of the auctioneer could be heard, for it was summer and the windows were open.

“Third an’ last call!” cried Mr. Rollinson.

“Oh, it’s going to be sold!” exclaimed Mrs. Dexter, with a sound that seemed like a sob in her throat. “The dear old farm is going.”

“Third an’ last call!” the deputy sheriff went on. “Last call! Last call! Going! Going! Gone!”

With a bang that sounded like the report of a rifle, Mr. Rollinson brought his hammer down on the block.

“I declare this farm sold to Jeptha Morrison fer th’ sum of thirty-two hundred and seventy-five dollars,” he cried. “Step this way, Mr. Morrison, an’ I’ll take yer money an’ give ye a receipt. Allers willin’ t’ take money,”—at which sally the crowd laughed.

“Only thirty-two hundred and seventy-five dollars,” repeated Mrs. Dexter. “Why, that will leave scarcely anything for me. The sheriff’s fees will have to be paid, and some back interest. I will have nothing.”

She looked worried, and the two neighbors, knowing what it meant to be a widow without money and with little children to support, felt keenly for her.

“Mother!” exclaimed a voice, and a lad came into the room somewhat excitedly. “Mother, the farm’s sold!”

“Yes, Larry, I heard Mr. Rollinson say so,” said Mrs. Dexter.

“It wasn’t fair!” the boy went on. “We should have got more for it!”

“Hush, Larry. Don’t say it wasn’t fair,” said his mother. “You should accuse no one.”

“But I heard Mr. Mortland going around and telling people not to bid on it, as the title wasn’t good,” the boy declared. “He wanted to scare them from bidding so he could get the property cheap.”

“But he didn’t buy it,” said Mrs. Dexter. “It went to Mr. Morrison.”

“Yes, and he bought it with the money Mr. Mortland supplied him,” Larry cried. “I saw through the whole game. It was a trick of Mr. Mortland’s to get the farm, and he’ll have it in a few weeks. Oh, how I wish I was a man! I’d show them something!”

“Larry, dear,” said his mother reprovingly, and then the boy noticed, for the first time, that others were in the room.

“Of course I haven’t any proof,” Larry continued, “for I only saw Mr. Mortland hand Mr. Morrison some money and heard him tell him to make the last bid. But I have my suspicions, just the same. Why, mother, there will be nothing left for us.”

“That’s what I was telling Mrs. Olney and Mrs. Peterkins,” said Mrs. Dexter with a sigh. “I don’t know how we can get to New York, when railroad fares are so high.”

“I’ll tell you what we must do, mother!” exclaimed Larry.

“What, son?”

“We must sell the furniture.”

“Oh, I could never do that.”

“But we must,” the boy went on. “We cannot take it with us to New York, and we may get money enough from it to help us out. It is the best thing to do.”

CHAPTER II
BAD NEWS

“I believe Larry is right,” said Mrs. Olney. “The furniture would only be a trouble to you, Mrs. Dexter. Now would be a good chance to sell it, while the crowd is here. You ought to get pretty good prices, as much of the stuff is new.”

“Perhaps you are right,” assented the widow, “though I hate to part with the things. Suppose you tell Mr. Rollinson, Larry.”

The boy hurried from the room to inform the auctioneer there was more work for him, and Mrs. Dexter, with her two friends, came from the parlor, for they knew the place would soon be overrun by curious persons looking for bargains.

Mr. Rollinson, anxious to make more commissions, readily undertook to put the furniture up for auction. With the exception of a few articles that she prized very highly, and laying aside only the clothes of herself and children, Mrs. Dexter permitted all the contents of the house to be offered for sale.

Then, having reached this decision, she went off in a bedroom and cried softly, for she could not bear to think of her home being broken up, and strangers using the chairs and tables which, with the other things, had made such a nice place while Mr. Dexter was alive.

Larry had hard work to keep back the tears when he saw some article of furniture, with which were associated happy memories, bid for by some farmer.

When, at length, Mr. Rollinson reached the old armchair, in which Mr. Dexter used to sit and tell his children stories, and where, during the last days of his life he had rested with his little family gathered about him, Larry could stand it no longer. He felt the hot scalding tears come to his eyes, and ran out behind the big red barn, where he sobbed out his grief all alone.

He covered his face with his hands and, as he thought of the happy days that seemed to be gone forever, his grief grew more intense. All at once he heard a voice calling:

“Hello, cry-baby!”

At first Larry was too much occupied with his troubles to pay any attention. Then someone called again:

“Larry Dexter cries like a girl!”

Larry looked up, to meet the laughing gaze of a boy about his own size and age, with bright red hair and a face much covered with freckles.

“I’m not a cry-baby!” Larry exclaimed.

“You be, too! Didn’t I see you cryin’?”

“I’ll make you cry on the other side of your mouth, Chot Ramsey!” Larry exclaimed, making a spring for his tormentor.

Chot doubled up his fists. To do him credit he had no idea that Larry was crying because he felt so badly at the prospect of leaving the farm that had been his home for many years. Chot was a good-hearted boy, but thoughtless. So, when he saw one of his playmates weeping, which act was considered only fit for girls, Chot could not resist the temptation to taunt Larry.

“Do you want t’ fight?” demanded Chot.

“I’ll punch you for calling me names!” exclaimed Larry, his sorrow at the sale of his father’s armchair dispersed at the idea of being laughed at and called a cry-baby.

“You will, hey?” asked Chot. “Well, I dare you to touch me!”

“I’ll make you sing a different tune in a minute!” cried Larry, rushing forward.

Then, like two game roosters, both wishing to fight, yet neither desiring to begin the battle, the boys faced each other. Their eyes were angry and all tears had disappeared from Larry’s face.

“Will you knock a chip off my shoulder?” demanded Chot.

“Sure,” replied Larry.

Chot stooped down, found a little piece of wood and carefully balanced it on the upper part of his arm.

“I dare you to!” he taunted.

This time-honored method of starting hostilities was not ignored by Larry. He sprang forward, and with a quick motion sent the fragment of wood flying through the air. Then he doubled up his fists, imitating the example Chot had earlier set, and stood ready for the fracas.

But at that instant, when, in another second Chot and Larry would have been involved in a rough-and-tumble encounter, James, Larry’s little brother, came running around the corner of the barn. He seemed greatly excited.

“Larry! Larry!” he exclaimed. “They’re sellin’ my nice old rockin’ horse, an’ my high chair what I used to have when I was a baby! Please stop ’em, Larry!”

Larry lost all desire to fight. He didn’t mind if all the boys in Campton called him cry-baby. He had too many sorrows to mind that.

“Don’t worry, Jimmie,” he said to the little fellow. “I’ll buy you some new ones.”

But little James was not to be comforted, and burst into a flood of tears. Chot, who had looked on in some wonder at what it was all about, for he did not understand that the household goods were being sold, unclosed his clenched fists. Underneath a somewhat rough exterior he had a warm heart.

“Say,” he began, coming up awkwardly to Larry, “I didn’t know you was bein’ sold out. I—I didn’t mean t’ make fun of ye. I—I was only foolin’ when I said ye was a cry-baby. Ye can have my best fishhook, honest ye can!”

“Thanks, Chot,” replied Larry, quick to feel the change of feeling. “I couldn’t help crying when I saw some of the things dad used to have going under the hammer. But I feel worse for mother and the others. I can stand it.”

“Are ye goin’ away from here?” asked Chot, for that anyone should leave Campton, where he had lived all his life, seemed too strange a thing to be true.

“I think we will go to New York,” replied Larry. “Mother’s sister lives there. I expect to get some work, and help support the folks.”

“I wish I was goin’ off like that!” exclaimed Chot. “They could sell everything in my house, an’ everything I’ve got, except my dog, if they’d let me go t’ New York.”

“You don’t know when you’re well off,” spoke Larry, who, in the last few months, under the stress of trouble, had become older than his years indicated.

By this time James, who saw a big yellow butterfly darting about among the flowers which grew in an old-fashioned garden below the barn, rushed to capture it, forgetting his troubles. Larry, whose grief-stricken mood had passed, returned to the house, to find it a place of confusion.

Men and women were in almost every room, going through and looking at the different articles. The loud voice of the auctioneer rang out, and Larry felt another pang in his heart as he saw piece after piece of furniture being knocked down to the highest bidder.

The boy found his mother in the bedroom, where she had sought a quiet place to rest.

“Have you really made up your mind to go to New York, mother?” Larry asked.

“I think it is the best thing to do,” was the answer. “We can stay with your aunt Ellen until I can find some work to do.”

“Are you going to work, mother? I hate to think of it. I’ll work for you.”

“I know you will do what you can,” replied Mrs. Dexter, “but I’m afraid boys do not earn much in big cities, so we will need all we both can get. It is going to be a hard struggle.”

“Don’t worry!” exclaimed Larry, assuming a cheerfulness he did not feel. “It will all come out right, somehow, you see if it doesn’t.”

“I hope so,” sighed Mrs. Dexter.

The auctioneering of the goods went on rapidly, and, toward the close of the afternoon, all that were not to be kept were disposed of. Mr. Rollinson cried his last “Going! Going! Gone!” brought his hammer down for the last time with a loud bang, and then announced that the sale was over.

“Where’s your mother, Larry?” he asked of the boy.

“I’ll call her.”

In a few minutes Larry had brought Mrs. Dexter to where the deputy sheriff waited for her in the parlor.

“Wa’al, everthing’s sold,” Mr. Rollinson began. “Didn’t bring as much as I cal’lated on, but then ye never can git much at a forced sale.”

“How much will I have left after all expenses are paid?” asked Mrs. Dexter.

“Allowin’ for everything,” said the auctioneer, figuring up on the back of an envelope, “you’ll have jest four hundred and three dollars and forty-five cents, the odd cents bein’ for some pictures.”

“It is very little to begin life over again on,” said Mrs. Dexter.

“But it’s better than nothin’,” said Mr. Rollinson, who seldom looked on the dark side of things. “Now I made the sale of these household things dependent on you. You can stay here two weeks if ye want t’, an’ nothin’ will be taken away. Them as bought it understands it.”

“I would like t’ get away as soon as possible,” said the widow.

“Wa’al, there’s nothin’ t’ hinder ye.”

“Then I shall start for New York day after to-morrow.”

“All right, Mrs. Dexter. I’ll settle up th’ accounts an’ have all th’ money ready by then.”

Mr. Rollinson was as good as his word. On the third day after the sale, having written to her sister that she was coming, but not waiting for a reply, Mrs. Dexter, with Larry, Lucy, Mary and James, boarded a train for the big city where they were all hoping their fortunes awaited them. Little James was full of excitement. He was sure they were going at last to the end of the rainbow. Mary was delighted with the new and strange sights along the way. Larry was very thoughtful. As for Lucy her spine hurt her so that she got very little enjoyment from the trip. But she did not say anything about it, for fear of worrying her mother.

It was a long journey, but it came to an end at last. The train reached Hoboken, on the New Jersey side of the Hudson River, and, though somewhat bewildered by the lights, the noise and confusion, Larry managed to learn which ferryboat to take to land them nearest to his aunt’s house, who lived on what is called the “East Side” of New York.

The trip across the river on the big boat was a source of much delight to the younger children, but Mrs. Dexter was too worried to be interested. Lucy was very tired, but Larry kept up his spirits.

Once landed in New York, in the evening, the confusion, the noise, the shouts of the cabmen, the rattle of the cars, the clanging of gongs and the ringing of bells, was so great that poor Mrs. Dexter, who had been so long used to the quiet of the country, felt her head ache.

By dint of many inquiries Larry found out which car to take and, marshaling his mother and the children ahead of him, he directed them where to go. A long ride brought them to the street where Mrs. Ralston lived.

Here was more confusion. The thoroughfare swarmed with children, and the noise was almost as great as down at the ferry. A man directed the travelers to the house, which was an apartment or tenement one, inhabited by a number of families. Larry, his mother, and the children climbed the stairs to the third floor, where Mrs. Ralston lived. A knock on the door brought a woman who was surprised at her visitors.

“Does Mrs. Ralston live here?” asked Larry, thinking he might have made a mistake.

“She did, but she moved away yesterday,” was the answer.

“Moved away?”

“Yes, didn’t you hear? Her husband was killed in a street-car accident a few days ago, and after the funeral Mrs. Ralston said she could not afford to keep these rooms. So she moved away. I came in last night. Are you relatives of hers?”

“I am her sister,” said Mrs. Dexter, and then, at the news of Mr. Ralston’s death, coming on top of all the other troubles, the poor woman burst into tears.

CHAPTER III
LOOKING FOR WORK

“Now there, don’t you worry one mite,” said the woman who had come to the door. “I know jest how you feel. Come right in. We haven’t much room, but there’s only my husband, and he can sleep on the floor to-night. I’ll take care of you until you can find some place to stay. Bring the children in. Well, if there isn’t a little fellow who’s jest the image of my little Eddie that died,” and the good woman clasped James in her arms and hugged him tightly.

“I’m afraid we’ll be too much trouble for you,” spoke Larry, seeing that his mother was too overcome to talk.

“Not a bit of it,” was the hearty reply. “Come right along. I was jest gittin’ supper, an’ there’s plenty for all of you. Come in!”

Confused and alarmed at the sudden news, and hardly knowing what she did, Mrs. Dexter entered the rooms where she had expected to find her sister. She was almost stunned by the many troubles coming all at once, and was glad enough to find any sort of temporary shelter.

“I’m Mrs. Jackson,” the woman went on. “We’re a little upset, but I know you won’t mind that.”

“No indeed,” replied Mrs. Dexter. “We are only too glad to come in.”

The apartment, which consisted of four small rooms, was in considerable confusion. Chairs and tables stood in all sorts of positions, and there were two beds up.

“We’ll manage somehow,” said Mrs. Jackson. “My goodness! The potatoes are burning!” and she ran to the kitchen, where supper was cooking.

While she was busy over the meal her husband came in, and, though he was much surprised to see so many strangers in the house, he quickly welcomed them when his wife explained the circumstances. Supper was soon ready, and the travelers, except Mrs. Dexter, ate with good appetites. Then, after she had told something of her troubles it was decided that the two younger children should sleep in a bed with their mother. Lucy shared Mrs. Jackson’s room, and Larry and Mr. Jackson had beds made up on the floor in the parlor.

“We’ll pretend we’re camping out,” said Mr. Jackson. “Did you ever camp, Larry?”

“Sometimes, with the boys in Campton,” was the reply. “But we never stayed out all night.”

“I have when I was a young man,” said Mr. Jackson. “I used to be quite fond of hunting.”

Larry was tired enough to fall off to sleep at once, but, for a time, the many unusual noises bothered him. There was an elevated railroad not far off, and the whistle of the trains, the buzz and hum of the motors, kept him awake. Then, too, the streets were full of excitement, boys shouting and men calling, for it was a warm night, and many stayed out until late.

At length, however, the country boy fell asleep, and dreamed that he was engineer on a ferryboat which collided with an elevated train, and the whole affair smashed into a balloon and came shooting earthward, landing with a thump, which so startled Larry that he awoke with a spring that would have rolled him out of bed had he not been sleeping on the floor.

It was just getting daylight, and Larry at first could not recall where he was. Then he sat up, and his movement awakened Mr. Jackson.

“Is it time to get up?” asked the latter.

“I—I don’t know,” said Larry.

Mr. Jackson reached under his pillow, drew out his watch, and looked at the time.

“Guess I’d better be stirring if I want to get to work to-day,” he remarked. Then he began to dress and Larry did likewise. Mrs. Jackson was already up, and breakfast was soon served.

“Make yourselves at home,” was Mr. Jackson’s remark, as he left the house to go to the office where he was employed.

Mrs. Dexter insisted on helping Mrs. Jackson with the housework, and, while the two women were engaged Mary and James went down to the street to see what, to them, were many wonderful sights. Lucy, whose spine hurt her very much because of the long journey, remained in bed, and Larry made himself useful by going to the store for Mrs. Jackson, after receiving many cautions from his mother not to get lost in New York.

Mrs. Dexter was worrying over what she should do. She wanted to find her sister, but she realized that if Mr. Ralston was dead his widow would not be in a position to give even temporary shelter to Mrs. Dexter and her family. She knew her sister must have written to her, but the letter had probably reached Campton after Mrs. Dexter had left.

“Why don’t you take a few rooms in this house?” suggested Mrs. Jackson. “There are some to be had cheap on the floor above, and it’s a respectable place. Then you will have time to hunt up your sister. Maybe the janitor knows where she moved to.”

“I believe I will do that,” said the widow. She knew what little money she had would not last long and she wanted to make a home for her children where they could stay while she went out to work.

When Larry returned Mrs. Dexter talked the matter over with him, for she had come to depend on her son very much of late. The matter was decided by their engaging four rooms on the floor above. They were unfurnished except for an attractive gas range on which cooking could be done.

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know how to work it,” said Mrs. Dexter.

“I know,” said Larry. “Mrs. Jackson showed me this morning.”

From a secondhand store some beds, a table, and a few chairs were purchased, and thus, on a very modest scale, compared with their former home, the Dexters began housekeeping in New York.

They ate supper in their new rooms that night. The younger children were delighted, but Mrs. Dexter could not but feel that it was a poor home compared to the one she had been compelled to leave. Larry saw what was troubling his mother.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll soon be working and we will have a better place.”

“I wish I was strong enough to work,” said Lucy in a low tone, her eyes filling with tears as she thought of her helplessness.

“Don’t you wish anything of the kind!” exclaimed Larry. “I’m going to work for all of us.”

He made up his mind to start out the first thing in the morning and hunt for a job. He carried this plan out. After a simple breakfast which was added to by some nice potatoes and meat which Mrs. Jackson sent up, Larry hurried off.

“Be very careful,” cautioned his mother. “Don’t let anyone steal your pocketbook.”

Larry thought a thief would not make a very good haul, as he only had twenty-five cents in it, but he did not say so to his mother.

The boy did not know where to start to look for work. He had had no experience except on a farm, and there is not much call for that sort of labor in the city. Still he was strong, quick, and willing, and, though he didn’t know it, those qualities go a great way in any kind of work.

Larry started out from the apartment house, and walked slowly. He had the address of his new home written down, in case he got lost, but he determined to walk slowly, note the direction of the streets, and so acquaint himself with the “lay-out” of the big city.

He had two plans in mind. One was to go along the streets looking for a sign “Boy Wanted.” The other was to look at the advertisements in the newspapers. He resolved to try both.

Purchasing one of the big New York daily newspapers, which bore on the front page the name The Leader, Larry turned to the page where the dealer who sold it to him had said he would find plenty of want advertisements. There were a number of boys wanted, from those to run errands to the variety who were expected to begin in a wholesale house at a small salary and work their way up. In nearly every one were the words “experience necessary.”

Now Larry had had no experience, and he felt that it would be useless to try the places where that qualification was required. He marked several of the advertisements that he thought might provide an opening for him, and asked the first policeman he met how to get to the different addresses.

The bluecoat was a friendly one, who had boys of his own at home, and he kindly explained to Larry just how to get to the big wholesale and retail places that needed lads.

But luck seemed to be against Larry that day. At every place he went he was told that he was just too late.

“You’ll have to get up earlier in the morning if you want to get a job,” said one man where he inquired. “There were ten boys here before breakfast after this place. This is a city where you can’t go to sleep for very long.”

Larry was beginning to think so. He had tried a number of places that advertised, without success, when he saw a sign hanging out in front of a shoe store. It informed those who cared to know that a boy was needed.

Larry made an application. Timidly he asked the proprietor of the store for work.

“I hired a boy this morning about seven o’clock,” was the reply.

“Your sign is out yet,” spoke Larry.

“I forgot to bring it in,” said the man.

He did not seem to think it minded that he had caused disappointment to one lad, and might to others. Larry walked from the place much discouraged.

CHAPTER IV
LARRY AND THE REPORTER

It was now noon, and Larry, who had a healthy boy’s appetite, began to feel hungry. He had never eaten in one of the big city restaurants, and he felt somewhat timid about going in. Besides, he had only a quarter, and he thought that he could get very little for that. He also felt that he had better save some of the money for car-fare, and so he made up his mind that fifteen cents was all he could afford for dinner.

He walked down several streets before he saw a restaurant that seemed quiet enough for him to venture in.

The place was kept by an old German, and while it was neat and clean did not seem to be very prosperous, as Larry was the only customer at that particular hour.

“Vat you want, boy?” asked the old man, as Larry entered. “I don’t have noddings to gif away to beggars. I ain’t buying noddings. You had better git out.”

“I’m not selling anything and I’m not a beggar,” said Larry sharply. “I came in here to buy a meal,—er—that is a small one,” he added as he thought of his limited finances.

“Ach! a meal, eh!” exclaimed the German, smiling instead of frowning. “Dot’s different alretty yet! Sid down! I have fine meals!”

“I guess I only want something plain,” spoke Larry. “A cup of coffee and some bread and butter.”

“We gif a plate of soup, a piece of meat, coffee und rolls yet by a meal,” said the restaurant keeper, and Larry wondered how much such a meal would cost. “It’s fifteen cents alretty,” the German went on, and Larry breathed a sigh of relief, for he was very hungry.

He had gone, by chance, into one of the cheap though good restaurants of New York, where a few cents buys plenty of food, though it is not served with as much style as in more expensive places.

The restaurant keeper motioned Larry to sit down at one of the oilcloth-covered tables, and then, having brought a glass of water, hurried away. Soon his voice was heard giving orders, and in a little while he came back, bringing a bowl of hot soup. Larry thought he had never tasted anything so fine.

By this time several other persons had come into the place and the German was kept busy filling orders. A young woman came out from the rear of the shop to help him and she served Larry with the rest of his meal. When he had finished he was given a red square of pasteboard, with the figures “15” on it, and he guessed that this was his meal check and that he was to pay at the desk, over which a fat woman presided. It was near the door, and walking up to it Larry laid down his quarter, getting his ten cents in change and going out.

He felt that he was getting on in the world, since he had eaten all by himself in a public restaurant, and he was encouraged now to go on with his search for work. A meal often puts a strong heart into a man, or boy either, for that matter.

“Now for a job!” exclaimed Larry as he started off briskly.

He consulted the paper which he still had and went to several places that had advertised. But that day must have brought forth an astonishing crop of boys out of work, or else all places were quickly filled, for at every establishment where Larry called he was told that there was no need for his services.

Signs of “Boy Wanted” became “as scarce as hen’s teeth,” Larry said afterward, which are very scarce indeed, as no one ever saw a hen with teeth. About four o’clock in the afternoon he found himself at the junction of Fifth Avenue and Broadway, where the big Flatiron Building, as it is called, stands. Larry had walked several miles and he was tired and discouraged.

The day, which had been pleasant when Larry started out, had become cloudy, and a dark bank of clouds rolling up in the west indicated that a thunderstorm was about to break. As Larry stood there, amid all the bustle and excitement of the biggest city in the United States, he felt so lonely and worried that he did not know what to do. He thought of his mother and the children at home, and wondered whether he would ever get work so that he could take care of them.

Suddenly, from out of the western sky, there came a dazzling flash of lightning. It was followed by a crashing peal of thunder, and then the storm, which had been gathering for some time, burst. There was a deluge of rain, and people began running for shelter.

Larry looked about, and, seeing that many were making for the open doorway of the Flatiron Building, on the Fifth Avenue side, ran in that direction. He had hardly reached the friendly shelter when there came a crash that sounded like the discharge of a thirteen-inch gun, and a shock that seemed to make the very ground tremble.

At the same time Larry felt a queer tingling in the ends of his fingers, and several persons near him jumped.

“That struck near here!” a man at his side exclaimed.

“Guess you’re right,” another man said. “Lucky we’re in out of the wet.”

By this time the rain was coming down in torrents, and several more persons crowded into the lobby of the big building. Larry stayed near the door, for he liked to watch the storm and was not afraid.

Suddenly, down the street, there sounded a shrill whistle, mingled with a rumbling and a clang of bells.

“It’s a fire!” cried several.

“Lightning struck!” exclaimed one or two.

“It was that last smash!” said the man Larry had noticed first. “I thought it did some damage. Here come the engines!”

Up Fifth Avenue dashed the steamers, hose carts, and hook-and-ladder wagons.

“There’s the fire! In that building across the street!” someone said.

Larry looked and saw, coming out of the top story of a big piano warehouse on the opposite side of Fifth Avenue, a volume of black smoke. A number of men, unmindful of the rain, ran out to see the firemen work, and after a little hesitation Larry, who did not mind a wetting, followed.

It was the first time he had ever seen a fire in a big city, and he did not want to miss it. He worked his way through the crowds that quickly gathered until he was almost in front. There he held his place, not minding the rain, which was still falling hard, though not as plentifully as at first.

He saw the firemen run out long lengths of hose, attach them to the steamers, which had already started to pump, and watched the ladder men run out the long runged affairs up which they swarmed to carry the hose to the top stories, where the lightning had started the fire.

Then the water tower was brought into play. Under the power of compressed air the long slender pole of latticed ironwork rose high, carrying several lengths of hose with it. Then the nozzle was pointed toward the top windows, and soon a powerful stream of water was being sent in on the flames, that were making great headway among wood and shavings in the piano place.

The street was filled with excited men who were running back and forth. Many of them were persons who had come from near-by buildings to see the fire. Some were from the burning building, trying to save their possessions. The firemen themselves were the coolest of the lot, and went about their tasks as if there was nothing unusual the matter. Soon the police patrol dashed up and the blue-coats piled out and began to establish fire lines. Larry, like many others, was forced to get back from the middle of the street.

The boy, however, managed to keep his position in the front rank. He watched with eager eyes the firemen at work, and never thought how wet he was.

“It’s going to be a bad blaze,” remarked a man near Larry. “The fire department’s going to have its hands full this time.”

It certainly seemed so, for flames were spouting from all the windows on the top story and the one below it. More engines dashed up, and the excitement, noise, and confusion grew.

In front of Larry a big policeman was standing, placed there by the sergeant in charge of the reserves to maintain the fire lines. The officer had his back toward the crowd, and enjoyed a good vantage point from which to watch the flames. A young fellow, with his coat collar and trousers turned up, and carrying an umbrella, worked his way through the crowd until he was beside Larry.

“Let me pass, please,” he said, and then, slipping under the rope which the police had stretched, he was about to pass the policeman and get closer to the fire.

“Here, come back, you!” the officer exclaimed.

“It’s all right; I’m a reporter from the Leader,” said the young fellow, and he turned, showing a big shining metal star on his coat.

“Go ahead,” spoke the policeman. “You’ll have a good story, I’m thinking.”

“Anybody hurt?” asked the reporter, pausing to ask the first question that a newspaper man puts when he gets to a fire.

“Wouldn’t wonder. Saw the Roosevelt Hospital ambulance taking a man away when we came up. Jumped from the roof, I heard.”

“Gee! I’ll have to get busy! Say, it ain’t doin’ a thing but rain, is it? I can’t take notes and hold my umbrella too, and I certainly hate to get wet. I wish I had a kid to manage the thing for me.”

“I’ll hold the umbrella for you,” volunteered Larry, quick to take advantage of the situation, and realizing that, by aiding the reporter, who seemed to be a sort of favored person at fires, he might see more of the blaze.

“All right, kid, come along,” spoke the newspaper man, and, at a nod from the policeman to show it was all right, Larry slipped under the rope and followed the reporter, who made off on a run toward the burning building. Many men wished they were in Larry’s place.

“Come on, youngster. What’s your name?” asked the reporter of Larry.

The boy told him.

“Mine’s Harvey Newton,” volunteered the newspaper man. “We’ll have to look lively. Here, you hold the umbrella over me, while I make a few notes.”

Larry did so, screening the paper which the reporter drew from his pocket as much as possible from the rain. Mr. Newton, who, as Larry looked at him more closely, appeared much older than he had at first, made what looked like the tracks of a hen, but which were in reality a few notes setting down the number of the building, the height, the size, the location of the fire. Then the reporter jotted down the number of engines present, a few facts about the crowd, the way the police were handling it, and something of how the firemen were fighting the blaze.

“This is better than getting wet through,” Mr. Newton said, as he returned his paper to his pocket and waited for new developments.

“Say, why don’t you bring the city editor out with you when you cover fires?” asked another reporter, from a different paper, addressing Mr. Newton, and noticing Larry’s occupation.

“I would if he’d come,” replied Mr. Newton. “Don’t you wish you had an umbrella and a rain-shield bearer?”

“Don’t know but what I do,” rejoined the other, who was soaking wet. “Say, this is a corker, ain’t it? Got much?”

“Not yet. Just arrived.”

Suddenly, with a report like that of a dynamite blast, the whole top of the building seemed to rise in the air. An explosion of oils and varnishes used on pianos had occurred. For an instant there was deep silence succeeding the report. Then came cries of fear and pain, mingled with the shouts of men in the fiercely burning structure.

“I’ll need help on this story!” exclaimed Mr. Newton. “I wonder—— Say, Larry,” he went on, turning to the boy, “can you use a telephone?”

“Yes,” replied Larry, who had used one several times at Campton.

“Then call up the Leader office. The number’s seventeen hundred and eighty-four. Ask for the city editor, and tell him Newton said to send down a couple of men to help cover the fire. Run as if you were in a race!”

CHAPTER V
LARRY SECURES WORK

Larry handed over the umbrella and darted toward the sidewalk. He wiggled his way through the crowd, and went back to the lobby of the Flatiron Building, where he had noticed a telephone booth. Dashing inside he took off the receiver, and gave central the number of the Leader office. Then the girl in the exchange, after making the connection, told him to drop ten cents in the slot, for the telephone was of the automatic kind. In a few seconds Larry, in a somewhat breathless voice, was talking with the city editor of one of New York’s biggest newspapers.

“What’s that?” Larry heard the voice at the other end of the wire ask. “Newton told you to call me up? Who are you? Larry Dexter, eh? Well, what is it? Big fire, eh? Explosion? Fifth Avenue and Broadway? All right. I’ll attend to it.”

Then, before the city editor hung up the receiver of his instrument Larry heard him call in sharp tones:

“Smith, Robinson! Quick! Jump up to that fire and help Newton. Telephone the stuff in! We’ll get out an extra if it’s worth it!”

Then came a click that told that the connection was cut off, and Larry knew that help for his friend, the reporter, was on the way.

The boy hurried from the booth and ran again toward the crowd that was watching the fire. There were more people than ever now on the scene, but Larry managed to make his way through them to where the same policeman stood that had let himself and the reporter through the lines once before. Larry resolved to find his new friend. He slid close up to the officer.

“I’m helping Mr. Newton, the reporter for the Leader,” the boy said to the bluecoat.

The policeman looked down, recognized Larry, and said:

“All right, youngster, go ahead. Only get a fire badge next time or I’ll have to shut you out.”

But Larry was not worrying about the next time. He was rejoicing that he had gained admittance through the lines, and was close to the fire, which was now burning furiously.

More engines arrived with the sending in of the third alarm, and several ambulances were on the scene, as a number of men had been hurt in the explosion. Within the space made by the ropes there was plenty of room to move about, but there was much confusion. Larry spied Mr. Newton as close to the blaze as the reporter could get. Then he saw him dart over to an ambulance to which they had carried a wounded man.

Larry ran after his new friend, and found him getting the name of the injured piano worker, who was badly burned. The poor fellow was being swathed in cotton and oil by the ambulance surgeon, but the reporter did not seem to think of this. He asked the man for his name and address, got them, and jotted them down on his paper, which was now quite wet, since he had furled the umbrella.

“Back on the job, eh?” questioned Mr. Newton, stopping a moment in his rush to notice Larry. “Did Mr. Emberg say he’d send me some help?”

“Mr. Emberg?” asked Larry.

“Yes. The city editor you telephoned to?”

“Oh yes, I heard him tell someone to ‘jump out on the fire.’”

“Then they’ll come. Now, youngster, let’s see—what’s your name? Oh yes,—Larry. Well, I’m going to have my hands full now. Never mind about holding the umbrella. But drop in the Leader office and see me some day, say about five o’clock in the afternoon, after we go to press.”

“All right,” said Larry, dimly wondering how he was to get home, since he had spent his last ten cents for the telephone. But Mr. Newton was thoughtful to remember that item, and taking a quarter from his pocket he handed it to Larry.

“That’s for the message and your trouble,” he said.

Larry was glad enough to take it, though he would have been satisfied with ten cents.

“Don’t forget to call and see me!” said Mr. Newton.