PETER IS DISCHARGED
“Yes, I did,” replied Larry firmly. “I started down the hall with it
as soon as Mr. Emberg gave it to me. You stood near the tube with some
other copy and you said you’d send mine up for me.”
“How about that, Peter?” asked Mr. Emberg.
“I--I don’t remember anything about it,” said Peter. “I sent up my own
copy; that’s all I’m supposed to do.”
“No, it is not,” said the city editor. “You are supposed to do what we
are all doing here, work for the interests of the paper, no matter in
what way. Larry did wrong if he let anyone else take any copy that was
intrusted to him. Never do it again, Larry. When you get copy put it in
the tube yourself. Then you will be sure it goes upstairs.”
“But he asked me for it,” said the new boy, feeling quite badly over
the matter.
“No matter if he did.”
“I didn’t do it. He’s just tryin’ to get out of it,” spoke Peter.
“We’ll soon see who’s to blame,” came from the city editor. “You boys
come with me.”
Secure in the sense that he was right, Larry followed. As for Peter
he would a good deal rather not have gone, only he dared not disobey.
Up to the composing room Mr. Emberg led the two boys. There he asked
the boy whose duty it was to take copy from the tubes whether he had
received any on yellow paper, for it was on sheets of that hue that the
missing story was written.
“No yellow copy came up this afternoon,” said the tube boy. “The last
batch I took out was a story about the new monument, and that was all.”
“That’s the copy you took, Peter, about the same time I sent the story
about Alderman Murphy up,” said Mr. Emberg.
“I don’t know nothin’ about no yellow copy,” said Peter sullenly.
“I’ll inquire in the copy room downstairs,” said the city editor. With
the boys following him, he went to the apartment where the pipe was
located, in which the copy was sent upstairs. It was the duty of one
boy to remain here all the while the paper was going to press to see
that the machinery was in order.
“Who sent up the last copy, Dudley?” asked Mr. Emberg.
“Peter Manton,” replied Dudley. “There was some other fellow that ran
in the last minute, but Peter took the copy from him and said he’d
send it up.”
“What kind of copy was it?” asked the city editor.
“On red--no--it was on yellow paper,” replied Dudley.
“And did you see Peter put it in the pipe?” asked Mr. Emberg.
“No, sir. I didn’t look at him closely. I had to turn on a little more
compressed air then, and I was too busy to take much notice.”
“Peter, you never sent that copy up!” exclaimed the city editor
suddenly, turning to the sulking office boy. “You are up to some trick.
Tell me what you did with it.”
“I didn’t----” began Peter.
But Mr. Emberg, with a quick motion, leaned forward and tore open
Peter’s coat. Out on the floor tumbled a number of yellow sheets of
paper. Mr. Emberg picked some of them up.
“There’s the missing copy,” he said. “Peter, you can go downstairs, get
what money is coming to you, and go. We don’t want you here any more.”
“All right,” growled Peter sullenly.
He turned to leave. As he passed Larry he muttered in a low turn:
“This is all your fault. Wait until I get a chance! I’ll pay you back
all right, all right!”
Then, before Larry could answer, Peter shuffled down the hall. And
that was the end of Peter on the _Leader_, though it was by no means
the last Larry saw of him.
Thus the first day of Larry’s life on a big newspaper came to a close
and it was with considerable pride that he started for home. He felt he
had done well, though he had made one or two mistakes. He was a little
worried about what pay he was going to get, and he had a little fear
lest he might be paid nothing while learning.
His fears were set at rest, however, when, as he was going out of the
door, Mr. Emberg called to him.
“Well, Larry, how do you like it?”
“First-rate,” said Larry heartily.
“I forgot to tell you about your money,” the city editor went on. “You
will get five dollars a week to start, and, as you improve, you will be
paid more. Perhaps you’ll become a reporter some day.”
“I’d like to, but I’m afraid I never can,” said the boy wistfully.
“Why not?”
“I haven’t a good enough education.”
“It doesn’t always take education to make a good reporter,” said Mr.
Emberg kindly. “Some of our best men would never take a prize at
school. Yet they have a nose for news that makes them more valuable
than the best college educated chaps.”
“A nose for news?” asked Larry, wondering what sort of a nose that was.
“Yes; to know a good story when they hear about it, and know how to go
about getting it. That’s what counts. I hope you’ll have a nose for
news, Larry.”
“I hope so,” replied the boy, yet he did not have much anticipation.
He was thinking more about the five dollars he was to earn every week
than about his prospects as a reporter. He knew the money would be much
needed, and he resolved to do all he could to merit a raise.
There was much rejoicing in the humble home that night when Larry told
about his salary. Mrs. Dexter also had good news, for the firm for
which she sewed had given her a finer grade of work, at which she could
earn more money.
“We’ll get along fine, mother,” said Larry.
“Ain’t you afraid that mean boy Peter will hurt you?” asked little
James, who had listened to Larry’s recital of the discharge of the
other office boy.
“No, I guess I can take care of myself,” said Larry, feeling of the
muscles of his arm, which were not small for a lad of his age. “And how
are you, Lucy?” the boy went on, going over to where his sister was
propped up in a big chair.
“I think I’m a little better,” the girl said with a brave attempt at
a smile. Yet a shadow of pain crossed her face, and Larry knew she
was suffering but did not want to tell, so as to keep her mother from
worrying.
“You wait,” whispered Larry. “When I get money enough I’m going to get
you a big chair that you can wheel yourself around in. Then I’m going
to have some big doctor cure you. You just wait, Lucy,” and he gave her
hand a gentle pat.
“Thank you, Larry,” said his sister. Somehow it made the pain a little
easier when her brother sympathized with her, and she resolved to be
brave and say nothing at all of how she suffered.
That night, when all save Larry and his mother had gone to bed, Mrs.
Dexter brought out a box of papers and began sorting them over.
“What are they, mother?” asked the boy.
“Old documents that are of no use,” said his mother. “I thought I would
burn them up and get them out of the way. I need the box to keep my
thread and sewing materials in.”
She began piling the papers up on the table, making two bundles; those
she intended to keep and those she wanted to put in the fire.
“There’s a lot of old deeds,” she said. “I guess they might as well go,
since we no longer own the property.”
Larry glanced at them. They were mostly for the farm up in Campton
which the sheriff had sold. One document, however, caught Larry’s eye.
“Hello,” he said. “What’s this? ‘Property in the State of New York, in
the locality known as the Bronx.’ I say, mother, what’s this?”
“Oh, that’s a deed to some land your father took a good many years ago
in settlement of some money a man owed him. It’s no good though.”
“Why not?”
“Because your father had it looked up. It’s nothing but a piece of
swamp land. He was swindled on that deal.”
“Maybe it will be good some day,” said Larry. “I heard some of the
reporters talking in the office to-day about the Bronx. There’s a river
there. It’s quite a ways out, and the reporters hate to be sent there
on stories. But maybe some day, when New York grows bigger, the land
will be valuable.”
“I’m afraid not,” said Mrs. Dexter with a sigh. “You might as well burn
the deed up.”
“No, I’ll save it,” said Larry. “It will not take up much room, and I
may find a use for it.”
“Very well,” spoke his mother. “But these other papers you had better
destroy.”
Larry looked them over, and, seeing they all referred to the farm they
had recently left, and which they no longer had a claim on, he tossed
them into the fire. The other deed, however, he carefully put away.
Though he did not know it, the time was coming when it would prove of
great worth to him and his mother.
Larry reported early for work the next morning. He was more busy than
the day before, and the calls of copy seemed constant. He ran back and
forth until it seemed that his feet were chunks of lead and his legs
like sticks of wood. Yet he did not flag, and more than once Mr. Emberg
nodded pleasantly to him to show that he appreciated the boy’s attempts
to please.
Of course Larry made mistakes. He sometimes got the wrong proofs and
took the right ones to the wrong places. But he was good-natured when
told of his errors, and more than one man on the paper, busy as they
all were, took an interest in him, and did much to help him.