LARRY GETS A STORY
There were few prouder boys in the big city of New York than Larry
when, at the end of his first week, he carried home his wages. The five
dollars seemed a small gold mine to him, and he handed the cash to his
mother with the remark that some day it would be more.
“You’re doing very well,” said Mrs. Dexter. “I shall not worry now.”
“I’m goin’ to work to-morrow,” spoke James. “I can sell papers. I seen
littler boys than me sellin’ ’em.”
“I guess we will not have to start you in right away,” spoke Larry.
“There’s time enough.”
“Couldn’t you get me some work to do?” asked Lucy with a smile, as
she sat propped up in the big chair. “I could direct envelopes or
something.”
“You just get well and strong and maybe we’ll talk about work,” said
Larry, for he could not bear to think of his sister suffering.
“I’m afraid I’ll never be any better,” said the girl a little sadly.
“Yes, you will!” exclaimed Larry, turning away to hide the tears in
his eyes. “I read in our paper to-day of a big doctor that’s coming
from Europe to cure people that have the same kind of spinal disease
you have.”
“But it costs an awful lot of money,” sighed Lucy.
“I’ll earn it!” said Larry determinedly.
During those days came a letter for Mrs. Dexter which had been sent
to Campton from New York and then returned to the metropolis. The
communication was from her sister and told about Mrs. Ralston’s
bereavement and stated that the widow had decided to pay an extended
visit to some of her husband’s folks who lived in another state.
“I hope she finds a good home,” said Larry’s mother, and that evening
penned a letter to Mrs. Ralston, telling of the changes that had
occurred in the Dexter household.
Larry began his second week of work with better spirits than he had the
first. He began to feel confidence in himself. Another boy had been
hired to take Peter’s place and Larry lost some of the feeling of being
the “cub” copy boy, as the newest arrival on a paper is called.
He was rapidly learning many things that were destined to be useful to
him. He could go after proofs now and make no errors, for he had come
to distinguish the different kinds of type in which the headings of the
stories were printed. There were the big “horse heads,” with three
lines of very black type. Then there were the ordinary “display heads,”
of two lines, of not quite such heavy letters. Then came “lap” heads,
smaller still, “twelve points,” or type about half an inch high, and so
on down to the small single-line heads, that were put on only the least
important articles.
Larry began to have some idea of the necessity of being quick and
accurate. He saw that, even near last-edition time, when everything was
on the rush, the reporters and editors kept cool, and, though they had
to work fast, they made every motion count.
The boy came to admire the coolness of the veteran reporter who could
write a story with a boy standing at his elbow grabbing each page
of copy as it was finished and rushing it to the editor, and thence
upstairs.
“I’m going to be a reporter,” Larry decided one day, when he had been
on the paper three weeks. “I’m going to study and fix myself for a
place on the _Leader_.”
He began to see the importance that a really good and conscientious
reporter holds in a community. He heard the newspaper men telling of
the well-known public men they interviewed, the events of the day
they took part in, and all this fired his ambition to be one of the
_Leader’s_ reporters.
He spoke to his mother about it that evening and said he was going to
attend night school.
“There’s a teacher in one of those schools who lives on the floor
above,” said Mrs. Dexter. “I heard his wife talking to Mrs. Jackson the
other day, and she mentioned it. His name is Professor Carlton.”
“I’m going up and ask him about it,” decided Larry, who, of late, had
been getting in the habit of doing things quickly, as they did in the
newspaper office.
Professor Carlton was at home, and Larry, after introducing himself,
stated the object of his call.
“What do you want to study for?” asked the teacher.
“To be a reporter,” replied Larry.
“I’m afraid it will take more than study to make you that,” said Mr.
Carlton. “You have to have a ‘nose for news’ I’m told.”
“I know,” said Larry, nodding gravely, “that’s what Mr. Emberg, the
city editor, says.”
“Then you’re on a paper now?” asked Mr. Carlton.
“Only a copy boy,” replied Larry.
“Many a copy boy has risen to be a reporter, though,” was the teacher’s
answer. “I hope you will. But about the evening schools. You see this
is summer, and the schools do not start until September. That’s two
months off.”
“I don’t want to wait as long as that,” said Larry. “I want to be
earning more money as soon as I can.”
“Perhaps I can help you,” said the instructor, who had taken an
interest in the lad. “I have little to do nights, and we might make a
class of one, with you for the pupil and me for the teacher, say three
evenings a week. You would learn more rapidly then, and be ready when
the evening schools opened in the fall.”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t pay for the lessons,” said Larry.
“Never mind about the pay,” said the professor. “I’ll be only too glad
to help a boy that wants to help himself.”
So it was arranged. Larry had a good common school education, but
there were many things he was ignorant of that the boys of his age, in
the city, were instructed in. So, under the direction of Mr. Carlton
he applied himself to his books evenings, and made good progress,
everything considered.
“If I can only develop that ‘nose for news,’” Larry thought with a
sigh. He imagined it was some magic gift that comes to only a favored
few. And so, in the main, it does, but at heart every boy is a
reporter, for if he doesn’t tell his chum or the family at home the
different things he sees during the day he’s only half a boy. And
telling the things one sees is, after all, the beginning of reporting,
for that’s all a newspaper does, only on a larger scale.
Like many another thing that one wants very much and which often comes
unexpectedly, Larry’s chance came when he had no idea it was so close
at hand.
He had been on the _Leader_ a month now and was getting well acquainted
not only with the editors and men on the staff, but the different ways
of doing things, from the time a reporter brought a story in until it
came out in the paper.
One hot August morning as Larry was on his way to work, he saw quite a
crowd at the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge, caused by a breakdown on
one of the cars. He paused for a few minutes, as he was a little ahead
of time. As he did so he noticed, on the outer edge of the throng, a
handsomely dressed woman. In her hand she carried a large silver purse,
through the open meshes of which could be seen a green roll of bills.
Suddenly a roughly dressed youth grabbed the purse, pulled it from the
lady’s hand with a savage yank, and bolted down a side street.
“Thief! Robber! He’s stolen my money!” the woman cried.
Instantly the crowd forgot all about the breakdown on the bridge and
raised a cry of:
“Stop thief!”
“There he goes!”
“Catch him!”
“Police!”
“Which way did he go?” asked a policeman, coming up on the run.
“Down there!” exclaimed Larry, pointing down a street that ran parallel
with the bridge abutments.
The fleeing youth was running at top speed, but he made one mistake. He
looked behind to see if anyone was after him, and did not see an ash
barrel that stood in his path. He stumbled over this and went down in
a heap, covered with cinders. He got up, however, before the policeman
was near enough to grab him and started off again.
At that moment, however, from a side street there came a small cart, in
charge of an Italian, and bearing a heap of peanuts and a roaster at
full steam.
Before the thief could check his flight he had crashed, full tilt, into
the Italian’s cart. Right into the midst of the pile of peanuts he
went, upsetting the vehicle and landing with it on top of him in the
middle of the street.
With a shrill cry the Italian threw himself upon the man he supposed
had purposely brought his wares to grief, and thief and peanut vendor
were in the midst of a fight when the policeman came rushing up, and
grabbed his prisoner. The youth still held the purse, an odd-shaped
affair, in his hand.
Illustration: “I’VE GOT YOU! COME TO THE STATION HOUSE”
_From Office Boy to Reporter_ Page 77
“I’ve got you!” exclaimed the officer. “Come to the station house.”
“Not without a fight!” exclaimed the youth, aiming a blow at the
officer.
The policeman drew his club, and it looked as if there would be a
battle royal, when another officer came up and the two bluecoats soon
subdued the youth. As they started to march him to the station house,
in the basement of the city hall, which was near by, the Italian
demanded to know who was going to pay for his peanuts.
“You can come to the sergeant and make a complaint against him if you
like,” spoke the officer who had made the capture.
The Italian, leaving his cart in charge of a friend who happened along,
trailed after the policemen and their captive. A big crowd gathered,
and the woman whose purse had been stolen, and who was almost in
hysterics over her loss, was located and invited to go to the police
station to tell her story and make a charge against the thief.
Larry had been in the van the whole time, as had a score of other boys
determined to see the thing through.
“This will make a good story or I’m mistaken,” he thought. “I’ll get
all the particulars I can and tell Mr. Emberg. It’s something out of
the ordinary too,” and though the affair might have been tragic, he
could not help laughing as he thought of the fleeing youth covered
first with ashes and then with peanuts.
A big throng trooped after the officers, and Larry was beginning to
wonder how he was going to get into the police station to learn the
names of the prisoner and the woman, for he knew the crowd would not be
allowed to enter.
“I’ll run ahead and get in before they do,” thought Larry. “Then I’ll
be there when they come in.”
So, taking a short cut, he reached the station house ahead of the
throng.
“Well, what is it, boy?” asked the sergeant, looking over the desk.
“I’m from the _Leader_,” announced Larry boldly as he had heard Mr.
Newton tell the policeman that day at the fire. “A thief has just been
arrested down the street. The officers are bringing him here, and I
want to get the story.”
“Pretty young to be a police reporter, aren’t you?” asked the sergeant
with a smile.
“Oh, I’m not a regular reporter yet,” said Larry, not wishing to sail
under false colors. “I’m just learning.”
“I knew it,” replied the sergeant with a smile, for he was acquainted
with most of the _Leader’s_ police reporters. “But make yourself at
home, and get all the story you want.”
Then came a confusion of sound as the throng approached the outer doors
of the station house.