Larry ran after his new friend, and found him getting the name of the injured piano worker, who was badly burned. The poor fellow was being swathed in cotton and oil by the ambulance surgeon, but the reporter did not seem to think of this. He asked the man for his name and address, got them, and jotted them down on his paper, which was now quite wet, since he had furled the umbrella.
“Back on the job, eh?” questioned Mr. Newton, stopping a moment in his rush to notice Larry. “Did Mr. Emberg say he’d send me some help?”
“Mr. Emberg?” asked Larry.
“Yes. The city editor you telephoned to?”
“Oh yes, I heard him tell someone to ‘jump out on the fire.’”
“Then they’ll come. Now, youngster, let’s see—what’s your name? Oh yes,—Larry. Well, I’m going to have my hands full now. Never mind about holding the umbrella. But drop in the Leader office and see me some day, say about five o’clock in the afternoon, after we go to press.”
“All right,” said Larry, dimly wondering how he was to get home, since he had spent his last ten cents for the telephone. But Mr. Newton was thoughtful to remember that item, and taking a quarter from his pocket he handed it to Larry.
“That’s for the message and your trouble,” he said.
Larry was glad enough to take it, though he would have been satisfied with ten cents.
“Don’t forget to call and see me!” said Mr. Newton.