During those two days Larry made a vain search for work. But there never seemed to be such a small number of positions and so many boys to fill them.
The third day, after a fruitless tramp about the city, Larry found himself down on Park Row, near the Post Office. He looked at one of the many tall buildings in that locality, and there staring him in the face, from the tenth story of one, were the words:
New York Leader.
“That’s my paper,” Larry thought with a sense of pride. Then the idea came to him to go up and see Mr. Newton, the reporter. It was nearly five o’clock, and this was the hour Mr. Newton had mentioned. Larry did not exactly know why he was going in to see the reporter. He had some dim notion of asking if there was not some work he might get to do.
At any rate, he reasoned, it would do no harm to try. Accordingly he entered the elevator, and asked the attendant on what floor the reporters of the Leader might be found.
“Twelfth,” was the reply, and then, before Larry could get his breath, he was shot upward, and the man called out:
“Twelfth floor. This express makes no stop until the twenty-first now.”
Larry managed to get out, somewhat dizzy by the rapid flight.
Before him the boy saw a door, marked in gilt letters:
City Room.