In about half an hour, when most of the men had gone out to various places, some to hospitals, some to police stations, some to the courts, and some to fire headquarters, the room was comparatively quiet.
“Now then, you new boy—what’s your name?” began Mr. Emberg, motioning to Larry. “Oh yes, I remember it now, it’s Harry.”
“No, sir, it’s Larry,” corrected the new boy.
“Oh yes, Larry. Well, I’ll tell you what you are to do.”
Thereupon the city editor instructed Larry how, whenever he heard “Copy!” called, to hurry to the desk, get the sheets of paper on which the articles for the paper were written, and carry them to a room down the hall. There he was to put them in a sort of brass tube, or carrier, drop the carrier into a pipe, and pull a lever, which sent compressed air into the pipe and shot the tube of copy to the composing room. There it would be taken out and set up into type. But Larry’s duties, for the time, ended when he had put the copy in the tube.
There were many other little things to do, and errands to run, Mr. Emberg said, but Larry would pick them up in time.
“Now then, Peter,” called Mr. Emberg—“or never mind, I guess you had better do it, Bud,” to the tow-headed office boy. “You show Larry around a bit, so he’ll know where to go when I send him.”
“Come ahead,” said Bud with a smile.
As they passed Peter, who seemed to be sulking in a corner, Larry heard him utter:
“You wait, Larry, or whatever your name is, I’ll fix you for buttin’ in here. You’ll wish you’d never come.”