CHAPTER XXVII
JIMMY IS MISSED
“What's the matter, are you hurt?” asked one of the newspaper men.
“My foot is pinned down under a plank!” Larry exclaimed. “I don't believe I'm hurt much, unless it's a sprained ankle.”
By this time several men engaged by the contractor to help raze the big stack came running up.
“We'll get you out!” the foreman cried. “Heave away, boys!”
The laborers heaved away with right good will, and soon had tossed aside the planks that held Larry fast.
“Come on out now!” the foreman cried.
Larry endeavored to, but failed. He tried to take a few steps, but sank back with a groan.
“My ankle's broken!” he exclaimed.
“Let me look at it,” the foreman said, with rough sympathy in his tones. “I'm a sort of doctor. Have to be, with a lot of men getting hurt all the while.”
Entering the ruined shack he picked Larry up as easily as if the young reporter was a child, and carried him outside. Then he looked at the right foot, which was the one that pained the lad. The ankle was swollen, and the shoelaces were stretched tight across the instep. The foreman whipped out his knife, and cut the strings.
“That's better,” said Larry, with a sigh of relief.
“It's only sprained, not broken,” the foreman announced, after gently feeling of the injury. “You'll be laid up a week or so.”
“Can't I walk now; I mean in a little while?” asked Larry.
“Not unless you want to lame yourself permanently.”
“But I've got to!” the lad exclaimed. “I've got to send the story of this thing in.”
“Say, don't you worry about the story,” exclaimed one of the other reporters. “We'll look out for you, all right. Stanley will telephone it in for you, and tell how you got laid up. We're not after a beat on this. Don't worry.”
“But I'm afraid Mr. Emberg will want to hear from me,” said Larry, who, if he had developed any faults yet as a newspaper man, was blessed with that of being too conscientious.
“I'll drive you to the telephone station in my rig,” volunteered the foreman. “I guess your sprained ankle won't prevent you from talking, provided you feel you have to do it.”
“Thanks, I'll do that,” answered Larry, glad of the chance to send the story in himself, though he was grateful for the aid of the other reporters.
There was nothing more to be obtained in the way of a story, as the big stack was leveled, though the task had not been as well performed as had been hoped. So Larry was lifted into the carriage, and driven to the nearest telephone. There he explained matters to Mr. Emberg, who had a reporter take the account over the wire, as Larry explained all the details, including the smashing of the shack.
“Now you go home, and doctor yourself up,” said Mr. Emberg, coming in on the wire when Larry had finished his story. “Mr. Newton or I will be over to see you to-night. Take care of yourself, and don't worry. Your job will be here when you get ready to come back.”
This relieved Larry's mind for he was a little uncertain as to what happened to reporters who were not able to come to work. Then, again being helped into the foreman's carriage, Larry was driven to his home, and very much surprised Mrs. Dexter and Lucy were to see him brought to the house, unable to walk.
Matters were soon explained, however, and a doctor was sent for. He said the sprain, while a bad and painful one, was not likely to last long, and promised Larry that, if he was careful, he might be able to go out in a week or ten days.
“Can't you make it any sooner, doctor?” asked Larry.
“I'm afraid not, my boy. That's a short enough time to let the cords and sinews get into shape again.”
Larry made up his mind to bear it as best he could, and, with Lucy's help, he hobbled to an easy-chair, where he sat down, while his sister made him comfortable with cushions.
“Where's Jimmy?” asked Larry, suddenly, as he happened to think that he had not seen his little brother since coming home. His heart began to beat, almost, in fear.
“He and Mary went up on the top floor to call on a little girl who lives there,” answered Mrs. Dexter.
“Are you sure he's there?” asked Larry, in such a peculiar tone that Mrs. Dexter was startled.
“Of course, Larry. What makes you ask such a question? Do you want to see him?”
“Oh, nothing special,” replied the reporter. “I was just wondering where he was.” He did not dare to tell the real reason for his inquiry, which was prompted by a fear lest the kidnappers should have been at work.
But his mind was soon set at rest, for Jimmy came downstairs all excited over a new game he had learned. He came in on the jump, but stopped when he saw Larry propped up in his chair.
“Are you dead?” he asked, solemnly.
“Not quite,” replied Larry, with a laugh. “I was in an accident, that's all.”
“Tell me about it; every word,” demanded the little fellow.
So Larry had to go over it all again for the benefit of his brother, whose eyes grew big, as Larry told of the crash of the big stack and the smashing of the shanty.
In the evening Mr. Newton called, and congratulated Larry on his escape from possible injury, if not death.
“Mr. Emberg thinks a heap of you, Larry,” said the older reporter. “Your calling up on the 'phone, and giving the story, in spite of being hurt, shows, he says, that you're made of the right kind of stuff.”
“Oh, anybody would have done what I did,” said Larry, modestly.
It was pleasant to be praised, however, and he was glad that his efforts had been appreciated. Larry wanted to talk about the blue-handed man, and the threats the gang had made. He wanted to ask Mr. Newton if anything new had developed, but could get no chance, as Mrs. Dexter and Lucy were within hearing distance all the while. However, Mr. Newton must have guessed what was in Larry's wind, for he said, in a low tone, as he was leaving:
“I'll be over soon again, Larry, and I'll see if we can't think of some scheme to land the gang.”
Larry was laid up about a week and a half. He fretted over being kept in the house, when the weather was so fine out of doors, but the doctor said if his patient did not keep quiet, serious injury might follow using the ankle too soon. At length Larry was able to hobble about on crutches, and then, a couple of days later, ventured out on the sidewalk. He began to be more hopeful after that.
Meanwhile he heard every day from the office, and Mr. Emberg sent messages of encouragement. Larry was told to take as long as he wanted to get well, as his salary would go on just the same. When pay-night came Mr. Emberg brought the young reporter his envelope, for which Larry was very thankful.
At the end of two weeks Larry felt strong enough to go back to work, provided he did not have to run any races, or chase after cars. So, one bright morning, walking with a slight limp that was daily growing less, Larry went down to the office. On the way he wondered whether he would hear any more about the gang. They seemed to have ceased operations, or if they had not, they were biding their time. Larry received no more warning letters, though he often looked for them.
The young reporter was welcomed back to his desk with considerable enthusiasm among his colleagues. They said they had missed him, and were glad to see him at work once again.
There was not much to do that day, and Larry was told by Mr. Emberg to go home early.
“You ought to take in the circus,” said the city editor. “It will do you good after having been shut up in the house so long. I'll send for some complimentary tickets for you.”
“I have some,” put in Larry, telling about the passes the lion-tamer had given him.
“Then you'd better go, take someone with you, and enjoy the performance,” the city editor said.
Larry made up his mind he would take Jimmy, who had done nothing but talk circus for the last two weeks, and that evening, when the subject was broached, the youngster stood on his head in delight.
“Do you think you can keep awake?” asked Mrs. Dexter. “The show lasts a long time.”
“Well, if he can't keep awake at a circus, mother, he's not much of a boy,” spoke Larry, laughing.
“Sure I'll stay awake,” Jimmy replied.
Jimmy thought the circus performance was nothing short of fairyland. It was the first he had been to since he was old enough to remember things, and the one in New York had all the gorgeousness that can be dreamed of.
Larry, too, enjoyed himself. He was particularly interested in Nero, the lion, and pointed the ugly beast out to Jimmy. The brute kept in one corner of his cage, and growled.
“His toothache bothers him yet,” explained one of the men, who remembered Larry's performance. “I guess we'll have to pull it.”
“Pull a lion's tooth?” inquired Larry. “I never heard of such a thing.”
“Often done,” replied the trainer. “Much easier than yanking one from an elephant. If we decide to extract a molar from Nero's jaw, I'll send word down to the paper, if you leave me your name, and you can get a story out of it.”
Larry thanked the man, and handed over a business card. Then he and Jimmy went and sat down in the seats where they could see the performance. It was all fine and exciting, but the stunt where the man seemed to be falling from his trapeze seemed to make the biggest hit, and Larry felt that he had a sort of proprietary interest in it, from having seen it practiced.
However, as all good things must have an end, the circus had one also, and the performance was concluded shortly after eleven o'clock.
“Are you sleepy?” asked Larry of his brother.
“Not a bit,” replied the little chap, struggling to suppress a yawn. “My eyes hurt, that's all.”
“Oh!” said Larry, laughing, as he took hold of Jimmy's hand, and began leading him toward an exit. There was a big crowd, and Larry soon found himself and his brother in the midst of a dense throng. He was pushed this way and shoved that way. All the while he kept tight hold of Jimmy's hand.
Suddenly he felt the little fellow pulled away from him. Larry looked down. There was no trace of the boy.
“I must have been separated from him in the crush,” thought Larry. “I'll find him outside the door.”
He hurried out, and rapidly scanned the crowd for a glimpse of Jimmy. The boy was not in sight, and Larry's heart began to sink.