“You’re doing very well,” said Mrs. Dexter. “I shall not worry now.”
“I’m goin’ to work to-morrow,” spoke1 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 propped2 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, turning71 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 spinal3 disease you have.”
“But it costs an awful lot of money,” sighed Lucy.
“I’ll earn it!” said Larry determinedly4.
During those days came a letter for Mrs. Dexter which had been sent to Campton from New York and then returned to the metropolis6. The communication was from her sister and told about Mrs. Ralston’s bereavement7 and stated that the widow had decided8 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 destined9 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. There72 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 standing10 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 conscientious11 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.
73 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.”
74 “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 instructor12, 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 applied13 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,75 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 breakdown14 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 throng15, a handsomely dressed woman. In her hand she carried a large silver purse, through the open meshes16 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 savage17 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!”
76 “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 cinders18. 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 tilt19, 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 shrill20 cry the Italian threw himself upon the man he supposed had purposely brought his wares21 to grief, and thief and peanut vendor22 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.
“I’VE GOT YOU! COME TO THE STATION HOUSE”
From Office Boy to ReporterPage 77
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 subdued23 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 sergeant24 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 determined5 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 tragic25, he could not help laughing as he78 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.
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1
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spinal
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| adj.针的，尖刺的，尖刺状突起的；adj.脊骨的，脊髓的 | |
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determinedly
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| adv.决意地；坚决地，坚定地 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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bereavement
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| n.亲人丧亡，丧失亲人，丧亲之痛 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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meshes
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| 网孔( mesh的名词复数 )； 网状物； 陷阱； 困境 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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cinders
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| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
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tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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vendor
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| n.卖主；小贩 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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