Illustration: “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
CHAPTER PAGE
I. FORECLOSING THE MORTGAGE 1
II. BAD NEWS 9
III. LOOKING FOR WORK 18
IV. LARRY AND THE REPORTER 26
V. LARRY SECURES WORK 36
VI. LARRY MAKES AN ENEMY 46
VII. THE MISSING COPY 53
VIII. PETER IS DISCHARGED 62
IX. LARRY GETS A STORY 70
X. LARRY MEETS HIS ENEMY 79
XI. LARRY HAS A FIGHT 87
XII. A STRANGE ASSIGNMENT 95
XIII. UNDER THE RIVER 104
XIV. LARRY’S SUCCESS 113
XV. LARRY GOES TO SCHOOL 121
XVI. LARRY AT A STRIKE 130
XVII. TAKEN PRISONER 139
XVIII. HELD CAPTIVE 148
XIX. LARRY’S MOVEMENTS 156
XX. BACK AT WORK 165
XXI. LARRY ON THE WATCH 173
XXII. TRAPPING A THIEF 181
XXIII. BAD MONEY 189
XXIV. A QUEER CAPTURE 197
XXV. A BIG ROBBERY 205
XXVI. THE MEN IN THE LOT 214
XXVII. LARRY IS REWARDED 222
XXVIII. THE RENOWNED DOCTOR 233
XXIX. THE OPERATION 241
XXX. THE FLOOD 249
XXXI. DAYS OF TERROR 257
XXXII. THE FLOOD INCREASES 265
XXXIII. DYNAMITING THE DAM 273
XXXIV. UNDER WATER 281
XXXV. THE RACE 290
XXXVI. LARRY SCORES A BIG BEAT 298
XXXVII. LARRY’S ADVANCEMENT 306
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.”