LARRY MEETS HIS ENEMY
Into the main room of the police station came the two officers, their
prisoner, the woman, and the Italian. Some of the crowd tried to
follow, wild with excitement, but the doorman closed the heavy portal
in their faces and several policemen on reserve duty came from the
assembly room to aid in preserving order.
“Now then,” said the sergeant briskly.
The officers lined their man up in front of the brass railing and the
sergeant behind the desk began asking the prisoner’s name.
“Ain’t got none,” was the laconic remark.
“I know him,” put in one of the officers. “He’s Patsy Dolliver. Lives
down at Mulberry Bend and he’s a bad egg, if ever I knew one. Ain’t
you, Patsy?”
Finding that it was useless to try and hide his identity, Patsy
admitted his name, and then his age, residence, and a few other facts
were noted down concerning him. The officer told his story.
The woman also related how Patsy had grabbed her purse, and the Italian
told in excited language about his lost peanuts.
All the while Larry was making notes of names and residences, including
that of the woman whose purse had been so nearly lost.
“I’ll hold you for a hearing before the judge,” the sergeant announced
to the prisoner. “You’ll have to come in the morning as witnesses,”
he added to the woman and the peanut man. “Lock him up, Jim,” to the
doorman, indicating Patsy; and the remarkable incident was closed for
the time being.
But Larry, with the facts in his possession and a lively recollection
of what had taken place, hurried to the _Leader_ office.
“I just wish I could write it, but I don’t s’pose I can, yet,” he said.
“But I can tell one of the reporters and he can fix it up.”
He found Mr. Newton there ahead of him, and to the reporter Larry in
breathless tones told what had happened.
“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Newton. “You just tell that to Mr. Emberg
himself. He’ll be glad to know you are so wide-awake. One of the men
will write for you. Perhaps it will be a beat for us.”
“Oh, but some of the other papers will be sure to hear of it,” said
Larry.
“They may get something about it, but not many reporters are around
that early. The cops who made the arrest will go off duty and there
will not be many to tell the details of the chase. That’s the best part
of it. We may not get a beat in one sense of the word, but we’ll have
the best story.”
When Mr. Emberg came in, Larry, after a few minutes of hesitation, got
up courage enough to advance and tell the story.
“Well, you certainly had your eyes open,” said the city editor.
“I thought it would make a good story,” said Larry.
“So it will. You know what’s news all right, youngster!”
And that was the best praise Larry had that day.
“Here, Newton,” went on Mr. Emberg, “you fix Larry’s story up. Give it
plenty of space and throw in lots of fun.”
Then Larry told his friend the story of the stolen pocketbook from
beginning to end. Mr. Newton became infused with Larry’s enthusiasm
at the description of the upsetting of the ash barrel and the peanut
stand. He made many notes and then sat down at a typewriter and began
to make his fingers fly as rapidly as he possibly could.
Larry could hardly wait for the paper to come out that afternoon, so
anxious was he to see “his story,” as he called it. There it was,
right on the front page, under a display head:
THIEF MEETS WITH MISHAP
Steals a Purse, Is Buried Beneath a
Shower of Ashes and Upsets a
Peanut Cart
Then came the story, almost as Larry had told it himself with all the
energy he could throw into it, but dressed up in true reportorial
style. Larry was as proud as if he had written it himself.
“Who got the thief story?” he heard several reporters ask, after the
first edition came out.
“Our new member, Larry Dexter,” said Mr. Newton, pointing toward the
copy boy. “Look out, fellows, or he’ll beat us at our own game.”
“Well, it’s a good yarn all right,” said one of the men. “Wish I had
seen it.”
None of the other papers had anything like the story. They all had a
mention of the occurrence, but most of them dismissed it with a few
lines, embodying the mere police report of the matter, for unless there
is the promise of something big in a police item some reporters content
themselves with what the sergeant gives them. This time Larry had been
instrumental in securing what was almost as good as an exclusive item.
At the end of that week Larry found an extra dollar in his pay
envelope. He went to Mr. Emberg, thinking a mistake had been made and
that he had been given too much.
“That’s for bringing in that story,” said the city editor. “It was
worth that and more to us. You’ll get six dollars a week now instead of
five dollars. You’ll find it pays to keep your eyes and ears open in
this business.”
“I’m going to be a reporter some day,” said Larry. “I’m studying nights
now.”
“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Emberg. “I’ll help you all I can, and if there’s
a chance you shall have it. You have proved that you have a nose for
news, which is something a number who think they are real reporters
have not,” and Larry felt prouder than ever.
It was several days after this that Mr. Emberg called Larry to him.
At first the boy feared he had made some blunder and was about to be
censured, but the smile on the city editor’s face soon reassured him.
“I am going to give you a new line of work for to-day,” said Mr.
Emberg. “I hope you will make out as well as you did with your story.”
“I’ll try,” said Larry.
“And I think you’ll succeed,” said Mr. Emberg. “I want you to go over
to the Aldermanic Chamber in the City Hall. There’s an important
hearing being held there to-day by the Legislative Committee on life
insurance matters. Mr. Newton is covering it for us. You’ll find him
there at the reporters’ table, and as fast as he has any copy ready you
are to bring it over.”
Larry thought this was rather easy work and wondered why the city
editor laid so much stress on it.
“You’ll have to be very quick,” went on Mr. Emberg, “for we want to get
as much in the regular editions as possible. You must be very careful,
too, about the copy. There will probably be a number of boys from other
papers there, and sometimes they play tricks. If they could make you
lose your copy, or get it away from you so as to delay us, they would
do it and their papers would be glad of it. So be careful of the copy
Mr. Newton gives you.”
“I will,” said Larry, and he made up his mind that if any rival tried
to interfere with him he would have a fight on his hands that would
make him wish he had not bothered our hero.
The Aldermanic Chamber was filled with men when Larry reached it. He
could hardly wiggle his way to the door, and was stopped by several
policemen on guard who wanted to know what right he had to enter. But
Larry had but to mention that he was from the _Leader_, and show a card
with his name on, signed by Mr. Emberg, to gain admittance. Whereat
Larry felt that newspapers were of much importance, as far as gaining
entrance into public place was concerned.
He saw a number of men with pencils and paper in front of them
seated around a big table, and rightly guessed that they must be the
reporters. Then he caught a glimpse of Mr. Newton and managed to make
his way to a place behind his friend’s chair.
“I’m glad you are going to chase copy to-day,” said Mr. Newton.
“There’s going to be a hot time, and I need a boy I can depend on.”
Larry sat down on the steps which surrounded the platform where the
committee members were to take their places. The room was noisy with
talk and full of bustle and excitement. Men were coming and going,
their arms filled with books and papers. Uniformed messengers were
entering and leaving.
Larry looked on either side of him and saw that he was not the only
boy present. There were scores of lads from other papers, each one
in attendance on some reporter and waiting to carry copy. The crowd
increased, and Larry was beginning to wonder how he could get in and
out of the doorway, which was choked with the throng.
Just then he looked down at the end of the room near the entrance. He
saw someone regarding him with a malicious grin. It was Peter Manton,
the former copy boy of the _Leader_.
Larry saw Peter lean over and whisper to a boy who stood near him, and
then the two gazed at Larry. In a few minutes Larry saw Peter beginning
to work his way up toward him.
“I wonder if he’s going to make trouble?” thought Larry. He found out a
second later.
“Wait till I git you outside!” exclaimed Peter. “I’ll fix you for
having me discharged!”
Larry was about to make reply when someone shouted “Silence!” The
meeting was about to start.