LARRY MAKES AN ENEMY
Larry thought he would never get home that evening to tell the good
news. He fairly burst into the room where his mother was sewing and
cried out:
“Hurrah, mother! I’ve got a job!”
“Good, Larry!” exclaimed Mrs. Dexter. “I’m so glad. What is it?”
Talking so rapidly he could hardly be understood, Larry narrated all
that had occurred on his visit to the newspaper office.
“I’m to go to work to-morrow morning,” he finished.
“Will they give you a thousand dollars, Larry?” asked little James,
coming up to his brother.
“I’m afraid not, Jimmy. I really forgot to ask how much they pay, but
it will be something for a start, anyhow.”
“Maybe they’ll let you write stories for the paper,” went on James, who
was a great reader of fairy tales.
“Oh, wouldn’t that be fine!” spoke Lucy.
“They don’t have many stories in newspapers,” said Larry, who had begun
to consider himself somewhat of an authority in the matter. “At least
they call the things they print stories, for I heard Mr. Newton say he
had a good story of the fire, but they’re not what we call stories.
I wish I could get to writing, though; but I’m afraid I don’t know
enough.”
“Why don’t you study nights?” suggested Lucy. “I’ll help you.”
“I believe I will,” replied Larry, for his sister had been very bright
in her studies before the spinal trouble took her from school. “But
first I want to see what sort of work I have to do. My, but I’m hungry!”
“We were waiting with supper for you,” said Larry’s mother. “I’ll get
it right away.”
Then, while Mrs. Dexter set the table and started to serve the meal,
Larry took little Mary on his knee and told her over again the story
of the big fire he had seen, a tale which James also listened to with
great delight. The little boy declared it was better than the best
fairy story he had ever read.
Half an hour before the appointed time next morning Larry was at the
office of the _Leader_. Neither the city editor, the copy readers,
nor any of the reporters were on hand yet, but there were two boys in
the room. At first they paid no attention to Larry, but stood in one
corner, conversing. One of the boys, a rather thin chap, with a face
that seemed older than it should have on a boy of his size, took out a
cigarette and lighted it.
“If Mr. Emberg catches you, Peter, you’ll get fired,” cautioned the
other fellow, who had a shock of light hair, blue eyes, and seemed a
good-natured sort of chap.
“A heap I care for Emberg,” was Peter Manton’s reply. “I can get
another job easy. The _Rocket_ needs a good copy boy. Besides Emberg
won’t be here for an hour,” and he began to puff on his cigarette.
Larry advanced further into the room, and, at the sound of his steps,
the other boys turned quickly. Peter was the first to speak.
“Hello, kid,” he said rather familiarly, considering Larry was as old
and about as large as himself. “What do you want?”
“I’m waiting for Mr. Emberg,” replied Larry.
“Lookin’ for a job?” sneered Peter. “If you are you can fade away. We
got all the help we need. What right you got buttin’ in?”
“Mr. Emberg told me to come here and see him,” said Larry quietly, and
then he sat down in a chair.
“Look a-here,” began Peter, crossing the room quickly and coming close
to Larry, “if you think you can come in here and git a job over my head
you’re goin’ to get left. Do you hear?”
Larry thought it best not to answer.
“I’ve a good mind to punch your face,” went on Peter, doubling up his
fist. He seemed half inclined to put his threat into execution when the
door suddenly opened and Mr. Newton walked into the city room.
“Hello, Larry!” he exclaimed cordially. “You’re on time, I see.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the new copy boy.
At the sight of the reporter Peter had dropped his cigarette to the
floor and stepped on it. At the same time he slunk away from Larry,
though the look in Peter’s face was not pleasant.
“Who’s been smoking cigarettes?” asked Mr. Newton, sniffing the air
suspiciously. “Don’t you boys know the orders?”
While it was permitted for the men in the room to smoke there were
stringent rules against the boys indulging in the habit.
“There was a feller come in to see the editor,” replied Peter. “He was
smokin’ real hard. But he didn’t stay long. I guess that’s what you
smell.”
Mr. Newton gave a quick look at Peter, and then at the still
smouldering cigarette end on the floor. However, if he had any
suspicions he did not mention them.
Several other reporters came in now, and there was much laughter
and joking among them. Some had work to do on the stories they had
been out on the night before, and soon half a dozen typewriters were
clicking merrily.
Mr. Emberg arrived about half-past eight o’clock and began sending the
men out on their different duties, or assignments as they are called in
a newspaper office. He greeted Larry with a smile and told him to wait
until the morning’s rush was over, when the lad would be told what his
work was.
Larry was much interested in watching and listening to all that went
on. He heard the men talking about fires, robberies, suicides, and
political matters. The place seemed like a hive full of busy bees
with men and boys constantly coming and going. Larry felt a thrill of
excitement when he realized that he was soon to have a part in this.
In about half an hour, when most of the men had gone out to various
places, some to hospitals, some to police stations, some to the courts,
and some to fire headquarters, the room was comparatively quiet.
“Now then, you new boy--what’s your name?” began Mr. Emberg, motioning
to Larry. “Oh yes, I remember it now, it’s Harry.”
“No, sir, it’s Larry,” corrected the new boy.
“Oh yes, Larry. Well, I’ll tell you what you are to do.”
Thereupon the city editor instructed Larry how, whenever he heard
“Copy!” called, to hurry to the desk, get the sheets of paper on which
the articles for the paper were written, and carry them to a room down
the hall. There he was to put them in a sort of brass tube, or carrier,
drop the carrier into a pipe, and pull a lever, which sent compressed
air into the pipe and shot the tube of copy to the composing room.
There it would be taken out and set up into type. But Larry’s duties,
for the time, ended when he had put the copy in the tube.
There were many other little things to do, and errands to run, Mr.
Emberg said, but Larry would pick them up in time.
“Now then, Peter,” called Mr. Emberg--“or never mind, I guess you had
better do it, Bud,” to the tow-headed office boy. “You show Larry
around a bit, so he’ll know where to go when I send him.”
“Come ahead,” said Bud with a smile.
As they passed Peter, who seemed to be sulking in a corner, Larry heard
him utter:
“You wait, Larry, or whatever your name is, I’ll fix you for buttin’ in
here. You’ll wish you’d never come.”
“Don’t mind him,” said Bud. “He’s afraid he’ll lose his job.”
“Why?” asked Larry.
“Oh, he’s made two or three bad mistakes here lately, and I guess he’s
afraid they got you in his place. But don’t let that worry you, only
look out for Pete, that’s all, or he may do something you won’t like.”
“I will,” replied Larry, as he followed his friend to learn something
about the mysteries of a big newspaper office.