BACK AT WORK
“Here’s a case for you, officer!” exclaimed Mr. Randall, for the old
gentleman had said that was his name.
“What sort of a case?” asked the policeman, continuing to munch some
peanuts, the shells of which were scattered about him.
“A most extraordinary case!”
“All cases are alike to me,” returned the blue coat calmly. “What is
it?”
“This boy is a burglar I just captured, only he isn’t a burglar at all,
but he’s kidnapped and I saved him!”
“What?” almost shouted the officer. “Are you crazy or am I?”
“I guess you and all the policemen in New York must be, to have such
goings-on,” said Mr. Randall. “This boy is kidnapped, I tell you.”
“Kidnapped, is it?” murmured the officer; “wait a minute, I have some
sort of a report about a kidnapped lad.”
From his helmet the policeman drew out a paper. He began reading over
a description of a number of missing persons whom the police had been
asked, by their relatives, to help locate. Larry’s case having been
reported by Mr. Newton, had, in the course of the routine, been related
to every officer in the city, from their different station houses.
“Here we are,” the policeman exclaimed. “Fox terrier, answers to the
name--no, that’s about a lost dog. Oh, this is it--Larry Dexter,
fifteen years old, rather tall, blue eyes, brown hair, etc.”
“That’s me!” cried Larry. “How can I get home quickest?”
“Come with me,” the officer said.
He led the way through a number of streets, until they came to a lonely
trolley car that had reached the end of its route. Into this the
officer, Larry, and the old gentleman got, and soon they were under
full speed.
“I’ll take you to the station house, so I can make a report of you
having been found,” said the officer, “and then you can go home. Well,
this is a good piece of work.”
“You don’t think I’m a burglar now, do you?” asked Larry of Mr. Randall.
“No, no,” said the old man hastily. “That was all a mistake.”
“What’s that about burglars?” asked the officer.
Whereupon Larry told how Mr. Randall had mistaken him for a robber as
he was escaping from the factory.
“We’ll raid that place,” said the policeman, “but I guess they’ll skip
out as soon as they find you’re gone.”
And this proved to be so. When, after Larry’s arrival at the station, a
note of his having been found was telephoned to police headquarters, a
squad of bluecoats started for the old factory. They found it deserted.
“I suppose I can go home now?” said Larry, when he had complied with
all formalities.
The sergeant behind the desk nodded and smiled at the lad.
“I’ll take you,” spoke Mr. Randall. “I don’t want to see you kidnapped
again before your mother has a chance to look at you.”
He insisted on going all the way with the boy, and into the Dexters’
rooms. Such excitement as there was when Larry burst in on them! Mrs.
Dexter was in despair, and Mr. Newton, who was trying to comfort her
with the hope that her son would soon be found, was not succeeding very
well.
Mrs. Dexter threw her arms about Larry, and hugged him and kissed him
as only a mother can. James and Mary capered about their brother and
Lucy fairly cried for joy.
“Bless my soul! What a cold I have!” Mr. Randall said, blowing his nose
with unnecessary violence, and, under pretense of it, wiping the tears
from his eyes, which flowed at the sight of Mrs. Dexter’s joy. “Most
extraordinary weather for colds I ever saw, isn’t it?” appealing to Mr.
Newton.
“It certainly is,” agreed the reporter.
Larry had to tell his story all over again, and then Mr. Randall had to
relate his share in it. Then Larry had to be told all that had happened
since he was kidnapped, and the clock was striking midnight when they
all got through.
“Do you think they’ll ever arrest those men?” asked Mr. Randall of Mr.
Newton.
“I hardly think so,” was the answer. “They are probably far enough off
now. Besides they were only tools in the hand of someone else. The real
criminal is the well-dressed man Larry describes. We may be able to
catch him.”
“Young man, you’re quite a hero,” the old gentleman exclaimed suddenly,
turning to Larry. “I wouldn’t have climbed across those window sills
for a pile of money.”
“I wouldn’t have done it for money, either,” said Larry. “But I wanted
to get away. Besides, it was dark and I couldn’t see how far it was to
fall if I had looked down, which I didn’t dare do.”
“I guess your picture’ll be in the papers to-morrow,” said Lucy to her
brother.
“I think it would be better to keep all mention of the details of the
matter out of the press,” said Mr. Newton. “That’s a strange thing
for a reporter to say, but this case is different, and concerns the
_Leader_ more than any other papers. The unions are fighting us, and
we must fight them. We can do it best by keeping quiet in this case.
I think I can manage so that little of this will get into the other
papers.
“The police station you went to is in a lonely part of the city, and
reporters are seldom sent there. The headquarters men will not bother
much with the story, and beyond the mere fact that Larry has been found
I think we will not go into details.”
This plan was followed and the next day small items appeared in all the
papers, to the effect that the missing boy was at home.
Larry went back to work that morning, and was warmly commended by Mr.
Emberg for the manner in which he had acted.
“You not only get news, but you do what is even harder,” said the city
editor, smiling, “you make it.”
Larry was a real hero in the eyes of the other copy boys, and he had
to tell the story over at least a dozen times before they would be
satisfied. The other reporters, also, were interested in hearing the
details from Mr. Newton.
Larry was glad enough to be chasing copy again, for he remembered how,
when shut up alone in the room, he had feared he might never more have
a chance at it.
The cab strike was over three days later, the strikers giving up. Mr.
Newton tried to learn who was back of them, hoping thus to discover the
man responsible for Larry’s kidnapping, but he could not, though he
got several clews that pointed to a certain person. However, proof was
lacking, and without this the reporter could not proceed and cause an
arrest.
Several days passed. Larry was kept busy, for there was plenty of news,
and there was no lack of copy to run with, proofs to get, and other
errands to do around the office. But Larry was getting to like it more
and more, and was counting on the day coming when he could write a
story.
He continued at night school. The first feeling of strangeness had worn
off, and the classes had settled down to study. The boys, after the
first night of fun and excitement, did not play any more tricks, and
Larry found them easy to get on with.
He feared he would have more trouble with Peter Manton, but the latter
did not come near him. He saw his old enemy occasionally, but, as they
were in different classes they did not meet inside the school, and only
once or twice outside, and in the company of crowds of other boys.
Larry was studying writing, arithmetic, reading, and spelling. He also
took history and geography, and these kept him busy enough. However, he
was bright and quick, and the teacher complimented him on the progress
he was making. He got permission to take his books to the office, and
at odd moments he conned his lessons.
One night, as Larry was returning from the school, and going up the
stairs that led to his home, he saw, standing in the hallway, beneath
the gas jet that illuminated it, a short man, rather roughly dressed.
The stranger started on seeing the boy, and went quickly into a room
the door of which someone on the inside opened.
“I wonder what that means,” Larry thought. “That apartment was vacant
yesterday. I wonder if it’s been rented. If it has I don’t like the
looks of the tenants. However, it’s on the floor below us, so I don’t
suppose it makes much difference.”
Larry asked his mother, before going to bed that night, if she knew
anything about the people in the rooms below.
“I did not know they had been rented,” said Mrs. Dexter.
“Maybe they are sneak thieves,” said Larry. There had been a number
of cases of late of men sneaking into tenement houses, and, while the
people were temporarily away from their apartments, ransacking the
places.
“I think I’ll speak to the janitor about it,” said Larry. “He’ll know
if they have rented the rooms or not.”
The janitor lived in rooms in the basement, and Larry, after cautioning
his mother to keep her door locked, went downstairs.
“Yes, I rented the rooms to three men, late this afternoon,” the
janitor told Larry. “They said they were bachelors and didn’t have much
furniture. I didn’t like the looks of the fellows, but I couldn’t say
anything, as they paid cash in advance.”
“Did they move their stuff in?” asked Larry.
“Not that I saw,” replied the janitor. “If they did they must have
brought it in hand satchels, for there have been no trucks bringing any
furniture.”
“Some of them are in the rooms now,” Larry went on.
“They are, eh!” spoke the janitor. “I don’t like that, but I s’pose
they’ve got a right to go in and out when they please, even if they
haven’t any furniture. Maybe they’re looking the rooms over. It looks
suspicious. I guess they’ll bear watching.”
“I think so myself,” replied Larry, as he went back upstairs.