Larry lived well uptown in New York, and it meant a big saving in time to go on an express, that made few stops until City Hall was reached. The office of the Leader, where Larry worked, was but a short distance away from the municipal building.
The passengers crowded toward the edge of the platform, in readiness to board the train, the lights of which could now be seen. Larry noticed that the “pusher,” as he mentally called him, was standing not far away.
“If he runs into me again,” thought the young reporter, “I’ll be tempted to punch him, and take what follows. He ought to be taught a lesson.”
There was quite a throng about Larry, including a number of young ladies, as the train pulled in, and stopped with a grinding and screeching of brakes. The passengers crowded toward the open doors of the cars.
There was a sudden rush, and Larry noted, with an anger that he could hardly hold back, that the “pusher” was elbowing his way through the press, without any regard for the rights of others. The fellow was just ahead of Larry.
A moment later there was a cry of pain—a girl’s cry—and a voice exclaimed:
“Oh! My ankle! You’ve stepped on it. Oh, dear!”
The young reporter saw a girl, just in front of him, stagger, and almost fall. Larry put out his arm and caught her. At the same time he saw that it was the chap who had previously collided with him who had stepped on the girl’s foot, with cruel force.
“What’s the matter with you?” demanded Larry, with righteous anger in his voice. “Can’t you get on a train without walking all over everybody? Now you take your time!”
Supporting the girl with his left arm, Larry shot out his right hand, caught the fellow by the shoulder, and whirled him about with considerable force. There was sufficient room on the wide platform of the car for Larry to pull the bully back, and, several passengers, seeing what the young reporter was going to do, moved to one side to give him space.