LARRY JOINS THE NEW YORK FIRE DEPARTMENT.
On Wednesday morning Larry received a letter from the fire commissioner
telling him to call that afternoon at three o’clock.
As usual, our hero was promptly on time.
“I will do what I can for you, Barlow,” said Mr. Kessenger. “But a good
deal of what comes will depend upon yourself. To tell the truth you are
rather young for the department.”
“I will be twenty soon.”
“You must get the recommendation of several reliable men who know you.”
“I can get them, sir. I thought of that before.”
“Then, first of all, you must stand the examination physically and
mentally.”
“I am willing to go through all that is necessary.”
“I do not think you will fail physically,” smiled Paul Kessenger,
as he looked at our hero’s sturdy frame. “But about the school
examination——”
“I have a fair grammar school education, sir.”
“I am glad to hear that. Then you must come for examination next
week—Tuesday at ten o’clock.”
“I’ll be on hand, sir.”
“I hope you’ll pass, for I have taken an interest in you. And, by the
way, did you have a relative in the department a few years ago?” went
on the commissioner, curiously.
“Not to my knowledge, sir.”
“Your face looks familiar to me—and your name doesn’t seem to be
strange, either. It is odd.”
“Perhaps you once met my father,” answered Larry quickly. “He came to
New York several years ago with a newly invented elevator lift. But he
disappeared and his invention was either lost or stolen.”
“Oh, yes; I remember the case now perfectly. So he was your father? Did
you ever hear from him?”
“No, sir.”
“It was a sad case, indeed. I remember the invention. I thought it a
fine thing at the time.”
“Do you remember the details of his invention?”
“I do not—although I used to be in the elevator business myself, as
perhaps you know.”
“Yes, that is why I spoke of the elevator lift. You see I am something
of an inventor myself, and I have been trying my spare time to
reproduce his invention. But one part bothers me, and I can’t get it.”
After a few words more Larry left the commissioner’s office. Some of my
readers may think it strange that he did not mention his new extension
ladder when he had such a good chance to introduce the subject, but he
was resolved to say nothing on the point until he had consulted with a
reliable patent agent and obtained his patent papers.
“I’ll make sure that there is no trip up in this,” he told himself. “If
the invention is worth anything I want my full share.”
Promptly at the time appointed Larry went to be examined. He found a
dozen or more other applicants on hand, including a young fellow from
Harlem who was George Harwell, a cousin to Oscar Harwell.
“I am glad to know you,” said Larry to George Harwell. “Your cousin
Oscar did me a great service not long ago,” and he told of the
warehouse affair.
“Oscar is as brave as they make them,” returned George Harwell. “I
hope, if I get in, that I make as good a record as he is making.”
The examination proved to be quite easy for Larry, who had let himself
believe he would be put on his mettle. The physical examination was
also easily passed.
“You’re a good one,” said the doctor, as he slapped Larry on the
ribs. “I wish they were all as healthy.” And he passed on to the next
applicant.
After this came a long wait, until Larry could get into the School of
Instructions, as it is termed, where he was to learn to do all the
things he had mentioned to Kate, and a lot more besides.
“I don’t know how I am to live in the meantime,” he thought, when told
that he would have to serve at the school for about three months, but
then came the welcome news that embryo firemen were paid even when at
the school, the salary being about sixty-five dollars per month.
At once he wrote to Kate to break up housekeeping in Ferryville and
sell off such things as she did not wish to keep; and added that he
would be up to help move on the following Saturday.
Coming to New York would necessitate finding apartments, and while
Larry was hunting around for a suitable future home for his sister, he
again ran across little Willie Morrison, just at the time that big
Bill Buck was once more bullying him.
“I told yer to keep away from de corner!” cried Bill Buck, savagely,
and was on the point of hitting Willie, when our hero came up, caught
him by the neck and landed him up against the elevated road steps with
a force that made his bones crack.
“I told you before to let Willie alone,” said Larry. “Now, are you
going to mind, or are you going to take a good licking?”
“Oh, say, don’t hit me!” howled Bill Buck. “I didn’t mean nuthin’. I
wasn’t goin’ ter hit Willie!” and off he ran as fast as his long legs
would carry him.
“Larry Barlow!” ejaculated the little newsboy, joyfully. “Say, ain’t I
glad you came!” and he almost hugged our hero.
“How are you making out, Willie?”
“Pretty fair—made seventy-two cents since this morning.”
“Does Bill Buck bother you much?”
“Not as much as he did. He’s afraid you’ll be around.”
“Perhaps he’ll be more afraid after this.”
“Hope he is.”
So the talk ran on, until Willie asked what had brought Larry to the
neighborhood.
“Maybe you’re looking for them men again?” he suggested.
“Not now, Willie. I am looking for a place to live.”
“Then you’re going to move to New York?”
“Yes. Do you know of any nice place around here that I can rent?”
“There’s a flat to rent in the house mother and I live in; but maybe it
won’t be grand enough for you.”
“I don’t want a grand place. But I want something bright and clean.”
“It’s got good light, and all the folks in the building are clean. The
agent won’t have any others.”
“Show me the place, Willie.”
The little newsboy was more than willing to do Larry a favor, and they
were soon at the house. The flat was one of four rooms, all light, and,
as Willie had said, very clean.
Mrs. Morrison proved to be a genteel personage, and Larry felt certain
Kate would like her.
“I’ll hire this flat, if I can,” he said, and hurried off.
“If I get it,” he thought, “Kate will have a friend from the start, and
that will make it less lonely for her.”
The flat was hired readily and then Larry sat down and penned Kate a
letter telling what had been done.
In the meantime, Willie had gone off to get some extras. As Larry went
to post the letter, he met the newsboy at the corner.
“Here give me a newspaper,” said our hero, as he saw the big headline:
“Fearful Railroad Disaster in England.”
“No pay from you, Larry Barlow,” said the little fellow, as he handed
over the paper.
But Larry slipped the cent in his pocket. Then he turned to read the
particulars of the disaster.
A great shock awaited him. The express train running from Liverpool to
London had been wrecked in a collision with a goods, or freight train,
and half a dozen people had been killed.
Those who had lost their lives were all Americans lately landed at
Liverpool, and among the list of dead was the name of Richard Vern.