LARRY ON THE WATCH
As he passed the door of the room which he had seen the stranger enter
Larry paused. He saw a light under the portal where there was a crack
between the sill and the edge of the door. He also heard voices in low
conversation.
“I’d like to know what you’re up to,” thought the boy. “I’ll bet it’s
no good, from the looks of that one chap.”
Larry noticed that the room occupied by the men was directly under his
own bedroom.
“Maybe I can hear something from my room,” Larry thought.
He returned to his mother’s apartments to tell her what the janitor
had said. He did not mention his own suspicions, for he did not want
to cause any unnecessary alarm. When the others had retired that night
Larry got out of bed, lay down on the floor of his room, and pressed
his ear to the boards. At first he could distinguish nothing.
Then he heard a low, curious humming sound, like the roar of a railroad
train going through a tunnel, only much fainter. Now and then he could
hear blows struck as though the men were pounding a hammer on a block
of wood. Occasionally he could distinguish the sound of voices, though
the words were a mere jumble.
“They’re not ordinary lodgers, at any rate,” the boy thought.
He decided it was useless to listen any more, so he got into bed. He
wished he had a hole or opening from his room to the one below, that
he might see what was going on, and he fell into a doze with half a
determination to make an aperture.
Larry’s duties at the office the next day kept him very busy. There
was a big fire uptown and several murders and suicides. In fact it was
a “great day for news,” as Mr. Emberg put it. Everyone was busy, from
the reporters to the managing editor. There was much copy to carry,
scores of extra proofs to bring from the composing room, and enough to
keep Larry running so often that by the time afternoon came he was very
tired.
He did not feel very much like going to night school when evening came,
but he thought that if he did not he might fall behind in his studies,
and this he did not want to do. So he made up his mind he would go to
his class.
Coming home, as Larry was passing through the almost deserted streets
in the neighborhood of the school, he heard loud shouts. He thought
someone might be chasing a thief, but a few seconds later he heard the
cry:
“Fire! Fire! Fire!”
Larry looked around. He saw a man running toward him. Back of him there
was a lurid glow in the sky and a cloud of black smoke was rising.
“Pull the box!” the man cried to Larry, at the same time pointing to a
red one halfway down the block.
“All right!” shouted Larry. “I will!”
He saw that the man, who was quite fat, was hardly able to run any
further. The boy speeded off to the box. The key was in the door, and
the next instant Larry had yanked it open and pulled down the hook.
This was sufficient to set the mechanism inside the box at work, and
send the signal to fire headquarters. Thence it was repeated to every
engine and hook-and-ladder apparatus that was to answer, and, almost
before Larry could run back to where he had seen the blaze, he heard
the rattle of the steamers as they dashed up, the clanging of bells,
the tooting of whistles, the ringing of the horses’ iron-shod feet on
the stones, and the hoarse shouts of men.
The blaze proved to be a bad one in a big warehouse. Quite a crowd
gathered and Larry stayed to watch the sights. He felt that his mother
would not worry if he did not come right home from school, as she had
often told him he could remain out until ten o’clock if he so desired.
Soon the streets were filled with trucks and steamers and several
streams of water were spouting out on the blaze. With fascinated eyes
Larry watched the men at work. He saw a number of reporters for the
morning papers chasing here and there.
Though the blaze was a bad one it had been taken in time, thanks to the
prompt pulling of the box, and so the firemen after considerable hard
work succeeded in getting control of the fire. Thinking he had seen
enough, though he would have liked to remain until the finish, Larry
started for home.
Pretty soon he left the crowd behind him, and entered a quiet street.
In fact it was so quiet that Larry soon became aware that some person
was walking behind him. He could hear the echo of the footsteps after
his own, and, naturally, he turned to see who was following him. He
could just make out the dark figure of a man.
At first the boy was a little nervous, fearing someone might be dogging
him for no good purpose. He had heard that men would commit robbery for
a small sum, and, though he only had a little change in his pockets, he
was a little afraid that the man had an object in keeping so closely
behind him.
“I wish I’d meet a policeman,” thought Larry.
But, like many other things, officers are not on hand when you want one
most.
“I wish I could see who it is,” murmured the boy.
He turned around again, and caught sight of the man just as the latter
came under a street lamp. Larry gave a start.
“It’s the man who has the rooms under us!” said Larry. “He isn’t
following me; he’s just going home, the same as I am.”
He felt a sense of relief at this and quickened his pace. He turned a
corner, near a dark building, where the shadows were gloomy, and, as he
did so, a man stepped from the doorway.
“Is that you?” the stranger asked in a low tone. Larry did not know
what to reply. At that moment the man caught a glimpse of him, and
muttering a hasty “Beg pardon,” he slunk back into the darkness. Larry
hurried on, and, a few seconds later, looking back, he saw the man
again come from the shadows and join the fellow who lived below the
Dexter apartments, and who had been following our hero.
“Two of ’em,” murmured the boy. “I think they must be up to something,
but I hope they’re not after me.”
Almost unconsciously Larry quickened his pace, and a little later he
found himself at the apartment house where he lived. The men were
nowhere in sight, and Larry concluded they had either delayed on the
road or else that he had walked much faster than they had.
No one was up as he let himself into the small flat with his latchkey.
His mother called to him from her bedroom to tell him there were some
crackers and milk in the cupboard, as Larry was often hungry when he
came in.
“And look out for tacks in your room, Larry,” his mother went on. “I
took the carpet up in there to-day to clean it.”
“All right, mother,” replied the boy.
He ate a light lunch, and prepared for bed. He heard the persons living
on the floor below enter their apartment, and then began that curious
roaring sound again.
“I’d like to know what that is,” Larry murmured to himself. “It’s queer
they should be carrying on some sort of business and only at night.”
He went on into his bedroom, thinking over the problem. He was recalled
to earth very suddenly as, in his bare feet, he stepped on a loose tack.
“Ouch!” the boy exclaimed in a whisper as he grabbed his wounded toe in
his hand. “I forgot about the carpet being up. Hello! What’s that?”
His attention was attracted from the pain of his foot to a streak of
light on the floor of the room. It showed plainly, now that the carpet
was up and the room in darkness, for Larry did not need a lamp to
undress by.
“That comes from the room below--the room where the strange men are,”
thought Larry. “There must be a hole in the plaster of the ceiling
right under where the hole in my floor is. That’s the reason the light
shines through. I wonder if I can see down.”
For an instant Larry hesitated. He did not like the idea of spying
on people, but, in this case, he felt that he was justified. There
was something suspicious about the men. The janitor had said they had
brought no furniture, yet they were constantly in the place at night,
and often during the day.
True, their business might be legitimate and honest, but the
indications were to the contrary, and Larry felt that he owed it to his
mother and himself to see that there was no harm in what the men were
doing.
So the boy kneeled down on the bare floor, and put his eye to the
crack. At first he could make out nothing, as the space between the
boards in the floor of his room was so small that little of what
was going on in the room down below showed. Larry soon fixed this,
however, by softly cutting away a portion of the board. The hole in the
plaster of the ceiling on the room below was big enough to disclose
considerable.
When he had the hole made larger, Larry again applied his eye. This
time what he saw startled him.
There, just below him, and seeming quite close, by reason of a bright
light, were three men. One of them Larry recognized as the man he had
so frequently seen, and the same one who had followed him that evening.
All three were in their shirt sleeves and seemed to be working hard.
They hurried back and forth, carrying something in small pots over to a
long table. All the while came that curious roaring sound.
Larry wiggled around until he had found a spot where he could get the
best view of all that was going on in the apartment below. Suddenly
there came the sound of a slight explosion.
“Turn off the gas! It’s getting too hot!” Larry heard one of the men
exclaim.
He kept a close watch. He saw one of the men dart forward. Then the
fellow came to a stop in front of a small gray object. He seemed to
pull open a little door and, all at once, the room was flooded with a
golden glow of a small gas furnace, the brick lining of which was at
white heat.
The men pulled something from the interior of the furnace with a
long-handled affair like a rake.
“Get ready to pour,” he heard one man say.
“I guess they’re nothing but chemists,” thought Larry. “They probably
have a new invention, and want to get it in working order secretly to
keep it from other people. I guess there’s no mystery about this.” But
Larry did not know what the next development was to be.