“There’s your bed,” he said to Larry.
It was getting dusk, but Larry had no desire to go to sleep. He was too worried and anxious over his position and too full of wonder at what his mother and those on the Leader might think about him.
The two men left the room, locking the door after them, and Larry was left alone. He was more frightened than he cared to admit. He half wished the men would remain with him.
He went to the window and looked out again. There was nothing to be seen except a wide expanse of open lots, and there was not a house within hailing distance. The glass in the windows seemed unusually thick, and Larry thought that if he tried to break it he might be badly cut. Besides, smashing the pane would give as loud an alarm as the ringing of the electric bell.
Then, tired with his work, and worn out with anxiety, Larry threw himself down on the blankets, wondering what would happen on the morrow.
Meanwhile, Mr. Newton was waiting in vain for Larry’s return. He had quite a bunch of copy ready for the last edition, and, when he knew it was nearly time to go to press, he went to a telephone and asked what had become of the boy.
“Why, he hasn’t been here since the third batch of stuff brought in,” replied Mr. Emberg. “We thought you might have him up there. What’s the trouble?”
Then Mr. Newton told how he had started Larry for the office with an important part of the story.
“He’s been hurt in an accident,” said Mr. Newton, “that’s what’s happened.”
“Maybe be got tired of the work and left without notice,” suggested the city editor over the wire.