Larry was able to put a little money in the bank, to add to the nest-egg of one thousand dollars which he received as a reward for finding the Reynolds jewels, though the thieves were not apprehended.
Larry had been acting in his new position as reporter about eight months when, on the morning that our story opens, he was sent to get the obituary of the aged man. In this time he had learned much that he never knew before, and which would not have come to him in his capacity as copy boy. He had, as yet, been given only easy work, for though he had shown “a nose for news,” as it is called, which means an ability to know a story when it comes one’s way, Mr. Emberg felt the “cub” had better go a bit slow.
The young reporter managed to get what information he wanted without much trouble. He came back to the office, and wrote it up by hand, for he had not learned yet to use a typewriter. While he was engaged on the “obit,” as death accounts are called for brevity, he had his eyes opened to something which stood him in good stead the rest of his life.
The first editions of other New York afternoon papers, all rivals of the Leader, had come into the Leader office. Mr. Emberg was glancing over them to see if his sheet had been beaten on any stories; that is, whether any of the other journals had stories which the Leader did not have, or better ones than those on similar subjects that appeared in the Leader.
“Hello! What’s this?” the city editor exclaimed, suddenly. “Here’s a big story of a fight at that Eleventh Ward political meeting, in the Scorcher. Who covered that meeting for us?”
“I did,” replied a tall, thin youth.
“Did you have anything good in your story?” the editor asked.
“No—no, sir,” stammered the youth, as he saw the angry look on the editor’s face.
“Why not?”
“Because there wasn’t any meeting,” replied the luckless scribe. “It broke up in a free fight!”