A QUEER LETTER
It was just getting dawn when the reporters, editors, and copy readers,
who had worked so hard on the extra, stopped, and had a breathing spell.
Down in the street the newsboys were crying their wares in shrill tones.
The thoroughfares were almost deserted, however, save by a few
night-workers who were hurrying home. In a little while, though, they
would be thronged by crowds anxious to buy papers, to scan the returns,
for not everyone remains up late enough to find out who is elected.
Larry thought, now that the paper was out, there would be a chance for
all hands to go to bed, and get some sleep. But as the _Leader_ was an
afternoon paper, and the election extra was a sort of side line, the
entire force, without having had a wink of sleep, had to turn in and get
ready for the regular issue.
“But before we do that we’ll have breakfast,” remarked Mr. Emberg. So he
took the crowd of reporters to a nearby restaurant, where some hot
coffee and wheat cakes with maple syrup made everyone feel a bit
fresher, though there were many sleepy eyes in the city room that day.
Larry thought he never would be able to stick it out. Every now and
then, in the midst of his writing, he would find his head nodding toward
the desk, and he would just catch himself in time. He looked around
somewhat sheepishly at such times, but no one seemed to be noticing him.
As a matter of fact everyone else had momentary failings.
Aside from going over the returns, and making some corrections, getting
interviews from defeated candidates and leaders who told how they had
been whipped, and talks with successful ones, who told how the people
were sure to be benefited by the new party, there was not much news that
day.
A few fires, none of them very big, several robberies, and a number of
accidents, one of which proved fatal, made up the day’s happenings.
Usually a general lack of news was something to be regarded as an
undesirable happening, but the day after election even the editors were
too weary to want many items.
The paper closed early that afternoon, and Larry went straight home, ate
a hearty supper, and then tumbled into bed. He slept like a top until
the sun, streaming in at his window, awakened him, and then he felt as
if a few hours more would have done him no harm.
But he felt freshened up, and, making a hearty breakfast, went to the
office. He was among the first to arrive. Mr. Newton was there, busily
engaged in writing at his desk. He looked up when Larry entered.
“Anything new?” he asked, and Larry shook his head, knowing his friend
referred to the deed.
“We’ll have to get busy on that again, now,” spoke Mr. Newton, coming
over to where Larry was. “It will not do to let the gang think we have
given up.”
“But what can we do?” asked Larry.
“We’ll wait, and see if they don’t do something first,” replied Mr.
Newton. “They may show us a little more of their hand, and give us a
better clew to work on. I guess we can’t depend any more on Mr. Hosfer
to help us. He will be suspected by the gang from now on. We’ll have to
think up a new plan.”
“Do you suppose they’ll be after me again, to sign the deed?” asked
Larry.
“I presume so. They must have your signature, as well as that of your
mother. In fact, I doubt if they could get possession of the property,
even if you and your mother did sign. You see, it belongs to you, your
mother, and the other children jointly. It would be necessary for you
all to sign, and, as you and the other children are not of age, your
signatures would be of no value. The courts would have to be appealed to
to appoint a guardian for you. But the gang evidently think that if they
get your signature, and that of your mother, they can pass the deed off
for genuine on some unsuspecting purchaser, without waiting for the
other names.”
“Have you any idea about why they are so anxious to get the land?” asked
Larry.
“Nothing, except I am sure there is some big move afoot in that part of
town. It concerns the city, but what it is I can’t learn, though I’ve
tried in all the ways I know. I’m only afraid some other paper will find
out before I do, and get a beat on me as well as spoiling our chance to
get the deed back. But that’s one of the risks you take in this
business.”
“Then the only thing to do is to wait?” asked Larry.
“That’s all.”
It was three days after this that a strange letter came, addressed to
Larry. And an odd enough one it was. Instead of the address being
written, or printed by hand, or on a typewriter, the name, number, and
street had all been cut from some paper or book, and pasted on the
envelope. It was a slow and laborious piece of work, and the persons who
sent it must have had plenty of time at their disposal. At first Larry
thought it was a joke.
But when he had opened the envelope, and taken out the single sheet of
paper it contained, he was sure it was no joke, but something quite
different.
“Phew!” he whistled, softly.
The words in the letter had been cut separately from a newspaper, and
pasted one after another to make sentences.
“This is odd,” thought Larry. “I wonder why anyone who wanted to write
me a letter could not do it in the usual way. This was a lot of work.”
But when he had read the missive through he was more puzzled than ever.
It seemed to be nothing but a lot of words jumbled together. There was
no sense to it.
“If it was Valentine’s day, I’d think someone was sending me a
new-fashioned kind,” thought Larry. “But as it is, I guess it’s a
Chinese puzzle.”
Once more he read the letter through slowly. This is what he saw:
“To impossible the suddenness boy forever who nevermind found whatever
the inexperienced paper delivery with upside blue showcase marks satin
we lace give devoted you steam one furnace week pencil to ink make
Hudson up ever your Brazil mind pig after cows that fencerail look
evidently for concise the farm loss plow of cart the automobile small
steamboat one teapot who stove bears umbrella the typewriter name
ribbon of door a couch martyred dog president lamp he seemingly will
purpose be desire taken curtain from when you deliberate when always
you regular least sat expect train sign doormat deed impossible at
tiger once.”
“Well, if that isn’t foolish, I’d like to know what is,” remarked Larry.
The oftener he read it the stranger it seemed. Then he turned it upside
down, and tried to read it backward, but it was as bad one way as the
other.
“I guess I’ll throw it away,” he remarked. “No, I’ll save it, and show
Mr. Newton,” he said, on second thought. “Maybe some of the fellows in
the office sent it to me for fun. He’ll probably know about it.”
The next morning he took the strange letter to the office with him,
having said nothing to his mother about it, for fear she would worry.
“She’d say it came from the Black Hand society, or the Mafia,” he
thought, as the papers were full of stories concerning these
blackmailers.
“Any news?” asked Mr. Newton, when he greeted Larry.
“Nothing special,” replied the lad. “Someone has been having a little
fun with me, I guess.”
“How?”
Larry produced the oddly-constructed letter, and gave it to Mr. Newton.
At first the older reporter glanced carelessly at it. Then he looked
more carefully over it, and a puzzled look came into his face.
“Can you make any sense out of it?” asked Larry.
“Well, not exactly. That is, not right away.”
“Do you mean you ever expect to be able to?”
“I might.”
“But it’s all nonsense. Just as if I took a lot of words at random, and
jotted them down. It reads as good backwards as it does frontwards.”
“Of course it does. That’s the way they intended.”
“Who intended?”
“The persons who sent you this cipher message.”
“Is this a cipher?”
“It certainly is, and it’s evidently a very easy one, or the gang would
never have sent it. They evidently want to scare you a bit.”
“Do you think the gang that stole the deed sent this?”
“I certainly do.”
“And can you read what’s in it?”
“Not at once, but I’m going to try. They’re laughing at us, Larry, but
we’ll laugh at them soon. Now to solve this cipher.”