LARRY AT A STRIKE
Larry’s desire to get a little study in during his spare moments was
the cause of some trouble between him and the office boy who had taken
Peter’s place. This lad’s name was Tom Mead, and he was much the same
type of a youngster as Peter was. Not that he was bad, but he was up to
sharp tricks, and he did not like to work when he could get out of it.
Bud Nelson was, by right of long service, the head office boy in the
city room. Larry came next, and then Tom.
Things had been pretty lively in the _Leader_ office for the past
week, as there was an election on and there were many stories for the
reporters. This made much more copy than usual, and, consequently, more
trips from the city room to the pneumatic tube.
The boys had fallen into the habit of taking turns with rushing the
copy, which went up in batches, so that the work would be more evenly
divided. At Larry’s suggestion there were three chairs in a row. When
one boy took some copy, to the tube he came back and took the end
seat. The boy who had been immediately behind him had, in the meanwhile
moved up one seat to be ready for the next batch. Thus they had to run
only a third as often as before, and the work was shared evenly.
When it came his turn to take the rear seat, which insured him several
minutes of quietness, Larry would take out his lesson book and study.
This did not seem to meet with the approval of Tom, who had a dislike
for “book-worms” as he called them.
“Regular sissy-boy,” he said of Larry, though he did not venture to
call our hero that to his face.
One afternoon, when Larry had hurried to the tube with a bunch of copy
he came back, expecting to take the last seat, which had been occupied
by Tom. He found the latter still in the end chair, and the boy showed
no signs of moving up.
“Move ahead,” said Larry, in a low tone.
“Move yourself!” exclaimed Tom. “I’ve got as good a right here as you.
I’m tired of chasing copy while you read books. I’m going to take a
rest.”
“I’m studying, not reading,” said Larry. “Besides I carry my share of
copy. It will be your turn in a minute.”
“Copy!” called Mr. Emberg, and Bud, who had moved to the first chair,
jumped up and ran for it.
“It’s your turn next,” said Larry to Tom.
“I don’t care if it is,” was the answer.
“Copy!” cried Mr. Emberg’s assistant.
Tom did not leave his seat.
“It’s your turn,” repeated Larry.
“I don’t care if it is!” exclaimed Tom. “Go with it yourself if you’re
in such a hurry.”
“Copy here!” was the cry. “Come, what’s the matter with you boys? Going
to sleep?”
Mr. Emberg, wondering at the delay, looked up. He saw Bud returning to
the room, and, being aware of the understanding among the boys about
their turns, looked to see what the hitch was between Larry and Tom.
“Whose turn is it?” asked the city editor. “Be quick about it. Don’t
stand there all day. The paper has to come out.”
“It’s his turn!” exclaimed Larry.
“Well, he’s always readin’,” growled Tom. “I’m tired of runnin’ with
his copy.”
“I’m not always reading!” declared Larry, determined to have justice
done. “It was my turn to take the last seat, but he wouldn’t move up
for me.”
“He’s always got a book in his pocket,” growled Tom.
“Whose turn is it?” demanded Mr. Emberg, coming over to where the boys
were and addressing Bud.
“I think it was Tom’s,” said Bud.
“Well, then I’ll go,” growled the newest office boy, with no very good
grace.
“What book are you reading?” asked Mr. Emberg of Larry.
“I wasn’t reading, I was studying,” was Larry’s answer as he produced
his speller and handed it to the city editor.
“Um!” remarked Mr. Emberg. “Spelling, eh? Well, you’ll need it in the
newspaper business. But don’t neglect your work to study, Larry.”
“No, sir,” replied the boy, yet he felt that Mr. Emberg was not
displeased with him. “And I want you boys to stop quarreling about this
carrying of copy,” the city editor said. “Each one must take his turn.”
“Squealer!” whispered Tom when he came back, and he slyly shook his
fist at Larry. “I’ll fix you!”
So Larry seemed to have made two enemies in a short time. But he knew
that he had done no wrong and he felt that it was not his fault. As for
being afraid of either Peter or Tom, such a thought never entered his
head.
Larry was beginning to be of much service around the _Leader_ office.
He was quick to understand what was wanted, and none of the other boys
could go to the composing room and get a proof as rapidly as he could.
He took a pleasure in his work, and never shirked the carrying of copy.
Occasionally he was sent out with the reporters who had to go some
distance away to cover stories, to bring back their copy. He liked this
sort of work. Best of all he liked to go with Mr. Newton, for this
reporter, being one of the oldest and most valuable men, had important
assignments, and usually went to some interesting place.
It happened that there was a strike on one of the lines of electric
cabs operated by a private company in the upper part of the city. From
a small affair the matter grew to be a large one, since the strikers
would not work themselves, nor did they want to let men called in to
fill their places take out the vehicles.
The result was a war between the union and non-union factions. Matters
grew so hot that the police had to be called out several times, for
a cab operated by a “scab,” as the non-unionists were called by the
strikers, was likely to be stoned, upset, and the occupants injured.
The strike grew in size until the whole electric cab system was
involved.
Most of the trouble centered around the headquarters of the cab
concern, pretty well uptown, and there were several rows between the
strikers, the non-unionists, and the police.
“I think you had better cover that strike,” said Mr. Emberg to Mr.
Newton one day. “You’ll have to remain on the scene all day. I’ll
send a boy up with you and you can send your copy down. Telephone if
anything big happens, otherwise write the story as it goes along and
send it in. Make it interesting, for the people like to read about such
things. What boy do you want?”
“I’ll take Larry,” said Mr. Newton. “He’s quick and smart.”
“That’s the reason I like to have him in the office,” said the city
editor. “But go ahead, take him with you. And you’ll have to keep an
eye out for him and yourself too. The strikers are in an ugly mood, and
they have little use for the papers.”
“I’ll look out,” said Mr. Newton.
Larry went uptown to the office of the cab concern. In order to have a
headquarters near the scene of battle Mr. Newton arranged to have the
use of a little store near the cab stables. There was a telephone in
it, and a small table where the reporter could write.
Larry and Mr. Newton reached the place about nine o’clock in the
morning. No sooner had they arrived than there was a fight between the
union and non-union forces. Several of the former attacked a cab taken
out by a new man. They pulled him from the seat and then, turning on
the power full, allowed the motor vehicle to run wild about the streets.
Several persons had narrow escapes from being injured and two horses
were knocked down by the big cab with no one to guide it. Another horse
ran away from fright. The police reserves were sent for, and altogether
there was considerable excitement.
Mr. Newton wrote a lively story of the happening, and sent Larry
back to the office with it. Then he sat down in the store to await
developments. They were not long in coming, for, pretty soon, the
strikers upset a cab. So, when Larry got back, there was another batch
of copy waiting for him.
“Plenty of stories!” cried Mr. Emberg.
Newsboys brought several copies of the _Leader_ around to the
headquarters of the cab firm that afternoon, and the story of the
morning’s happenings was eagerly read by the strikers.
They did not seem to like the frank manner in which Mr. Newton had
described their doings and there were several murmurs against the
“capitalistic press.”
“There’s the reporter what done it!” exclaimed a big striker, pointing
to Mr. Newton, who had stepped from the store to see how matters were
coming on.
“Let’s soak him!” cried several.
There was a movement in the crowd, but the police were on the lookout
for trouble and made the men disperse, at which there was more
grumbling.
“Aren’t you afraid?” asked Larry of the reporter.
“Not a bit,” was the reply. “I’m used to having trouble. I’m not afraid
of them.”
The strike was worse the next day, and so many violent acts
were committed that extra policemen had to be sent for. Several
strike-breakers were attacked as they tried to run the electric cabs
and were quite badly hurt. Mr. Newton wrote vivid stories about the
occurrences, and the _Leader_ had a strong editorial, condemning the
strikers.
This made the union men more angry than ever at the _Leader_, and they
seemed to think Mr. Newton was the chief one on whom they could vent
their ill feeling. They shook their fists at him whenever he appeared,
and once a stone was hurled through the air at him, narrowly missing
his head.
“You’d better look out,” some of the policemen advised him.
Larry had plenty of copy to take down that day, and made three trips.
The last two times he noticed as he was going up the stairs of the
elevated road, where he took a train that brought him close to the
_Leader_ office, three men regarding him closely. Once he heard one of
the trio say:
“That’s him!”
However, he did not think they meant him, and so he gave the matter
no more consideration. He took the story to the office and came back
for more. There was quite a bunch of copy waiting, as several incidents
had occurred that Mr. Newton had preferred writing about instead of
telephoning.
As Larry was going up the stairs to the train with this last batch of
copy he saw the three men again.
“Now’s our chance!” one of them cried.
Two of them made a grab for the boy, for the stairs were screened in
from observation, and no one was in sight.