“Yes, a lady on the floor above does sewing for a factory. It happened that one of the women who works in the place is sick, and our neighbor thought of me. I went to the shop, and I got something to do.”
“But I don’t like to have you work in a shop, mother,” objected Larry.
“I am to do the sewing at home,” went on Mrs. Dexter. “I cannot earn much, but it is better than nothing, and it may improve in time.”
“Maybe I can get a job diggin’ gold somewhere,” put in James. “If I do I’ll give you a million dollars, mommer.”
“I’m sure you will,” said his mother, giving him a hug.
“Maybe I could sew some,” spoke Lucy, from the chair where she was sitting, propped up in cushions.
“I’d like to see us let you!” exclaimed Larry. “You just wait, I’ll get a job somehow!”
But, though he spoke boldly, the boy was not so certain of his success. He was in a big city, where thousands are seeking work every hour, and where opportunities to labor do not go long unappropriated. But Larry was hopeful, and, though he worried somewhat over the prospect of the little family coming to grief in New York, he had not given up yet, by any means, for this was not his way.
Late that night Larry went out and bought a copy of the Leader. On the front page, set off by big headlines, was the story of the fire and explosion. The boy felt something of a part ownership in the account, and was proud to think he had helped, in some small measure, to provide such a thrilling tale.
For the fire proved a disastrous one, in which three men were killed and a number seriously hurt. The papers, for two days thereafter, had more stories about the blaze, and there was some talk of an investigation to see who was responsible for having so much oil and varnish stored in the place, which, it was decided by all, was the cause of the worst features of the accident.