CHAPTER III
ON TRACK OF A DEAL
“What's this?” asked the city editor.
“That story of amateur night,” replied Larry.
“Oh, yes, I'd forgotten all about it. I'm glad you have the copy in early, as I want you to make a quick trip out of town.”
“Any more floods?” asked Larry, thinking of the big one he had helped cover when he was a copy boy.
“Not this time; this is only to take a run over to New Jersey, to a little town called Cranford.”
“What's the matter out there?”
“I want you to see Professor Allen. He is to deliver a lecture at the dinner of the Engineers' Club to-night, and he has promised a copy of his remarks in advance.”
Larry was soon on his way, crossing the Hudson River on the ferry to the New Jersey side, where he took a train for Cranford. He found Professor Allen's house without much trouble, and inquired for the gentleman.
“I don't believe you can see him,” replied the girl who answered the door.
“Why not; isn't he at home?” asked Larry.
“Well, he is and he isn't,” replied the servant. “You see he's out in his laboratory making experiments, which is what he's most always up to, and he hasn't been in to his meals for a week.”
“Hasn't he eaten for a week?” asked Larry, in some surprise.
“Oh, bless your heart, of course he's eaten, but he will not come to the table. His wife has to go out to the laboratory with a plate of victuals and a cup of coffee, and fairly feed him.”
“What's the trouble?”
“Oh, you see he's working on a new invention.”
“What sort?” asked Larry, thinking he might get a story out of it.
“Don't ask me,” cried the servant, with a laugh, for she evidently took Larry for some boy on an errand. “It's all about wheels and levers and steam and electricity. As near as I can get at, it's a plan to make an automobile out of a tea kettle.”
“Don't you suppose I could see the professor?” asked the young reporter.
“Well, you can try,” said the girl. “The laboratory is that small white building down at the far end of the yard. Go down there, and walk right in. If you knock he'll never answer. Mrs. Allen has just fed him his breakfast, and perhaps he'll talk to you a little.”
Larry decided this was the only way of securing what he wanted, so he made his way to the laboratory, and, remembering the injunction, entered the door and walked in.
He found himself in a large room, fairly filled with machinery and appliances of all kinds. Overhead there were shafts and pulleys, while all about the sides were benches, lathes, wheels, levers, handles, and springs of various sorts.
Down in one corner was an elderly gentleman, in rather an old and ragged suit, at work over a bench. He did not look up as Larry entered, but called out:
“Come here and give me a hand with this. I'm in a hurry.”
Larry looked around to see if the professor could be speaking to anyone else, but, finding that he was the only one in the room besides the scientist, the lad concluded he was the one addressed.
“Hurry, please,” added Mr. Allen, looking straight at Larry. “I am in the midst of an important experiment.”
Thereupon Larry went to the bench. Mr. Allen was holding one end of a long steel tube from which radiated several smaller tubes of glass. At one end of the steel tube was a rubber pipe which was attached to a gas jet, and at the other end of the tube there was another pipe which was fastened to a water faucet.
“Turn on the gas a little more, and then help me hold this tube,” spoke the scientist. “I am generating steam.”
He spoke as though it was the most natural thing in the world for Larry to be there, and give him assistance. Larry recognized that Mr. Allen was too much absorbed in his experiment to care who helped him, so the boy lent a hand.
Larry turned the gas on, and then grasped one end of the tube. Mr. Allen held the other. There was a curious rumbling sound, followed by a roar.
“Duck! She's going to explode again!” cried Mr. Allen, dropping his end of the tube, and crawling under a table. Larry lost no time in following his example. The next instant there was a loud report, and pieces of the tube and rubber hose were flying in all directions.
“It's all over, you can come out now,” remarked the scientist, in a quiet voice, a few seconds later.
“Does it often act that way?” inquired Larry, earnestly.
“That's the twenty-seventh time it has blown up,” replied the professor. “I guess the glass is not strong enough for the steam.”
“Isn't it dangerous?” ventured Larry.
“Dangerous? Of course it is! That's what I expect in this business. But I have another tube here, and we'll try it again. Just take your coat off, and help me.”
“I'm afraid I haven't time,” replied the reporter. “I'm from the New York Daily Leader. I came to get a copy of your speech.”
“What's that?” inquired Mr. Allen, sharply.
Larry repeated his statement more fully.
“Bless my soul!” exclaimed the professor. “I took you for my assistant's son. He often helps me. I didn't get a good look at you, I was so busy thinking about this steam problem. I hope you were not hurt when the explosion came.”
“Not a bit,” replied Larry.
“Father! Father! Are you injured?” cried a voice, and a woman, much excited, hurried into the laboratory.
“Not a bit, my dear, not a bit,” replied the professor, as he brushed the dust from his clothes. “Another tube blew up, that's all,” and he seemed as cheerful as though the experiment had succeeded.
“Oh, those horrible, dangerous steam tubes!” exclaimed the lady. Then she saw Larry, and, observing he was a stranger, was about to withdraw.
“This is a reporter from the New York Leader,” explained the scientist. “He has come for a copy of my speech, and it's a good thing he did. I had forgotten all about delivering it to-night. I guess I'll go in the house, and get ready. Come with me,” he added to Larry, “and I'll get the copy for you.”
“Thank goodness something happened to make him come back to civilization,” remarked the lady to Larry, as they walked toward the house. “He has slept in that laboratory, and taken his meals there ever since he started on this latest idea. It's a good thing you came along, and awakened him to some realization that there's something in this world besides those terrible steam tubes.”
“Perhaps the explosion did,” ventured Larry.
“That? It would take more than an explosion,” the lady, who was Mr. Allen's daughter, replied. “He's used to them.”
Larry went into the house, where, after some search, Mr. Allen found a copy of his remarks, which he gave to the young reporter.
“Come out and see me again some day,” the scientist invited Larry. “We'll try that experiment again.”
“I'm afraid once is enough for me,” said Larry, with a smile.
He reached his office shortly after noon, and, handing in the copy of the speech, which had been gotten in advance, so as to be set up ready for the next day's paper. Then he reported at the desk, announcing to Mr. Emberg that he was ready for another assignment.
“Take a run down to City Hall,” said the city editor. “Mr. Newton is covering it to-day, but he is busy on a story, and he telephoned in he had no time to make all the rounds of the offices. Just see if there are any routine matters he had to overlook.”
It was the first time Larry had ever been assigned to the municipal building alone. He was familiar with most of the offices and knew some of the officials by sight, as Mr. Newton had frequently taken him around to “learn him the ropes,” as he said. So Larry felt not a little elated, and began to dream of the time when he might have important assignments, such as looking after city matters and politics, matters to which New York papers pay great attention.
Larry went into several offices at the hall, and found there was no news. It was rather a dull day along municipal and political lines, and there were few reporters around the building. Larry knew some of them, who nodded to him in a friendly way, and asked him whether there was “anything new,” a reporter's manner of inquiring for news.
As Larry had nothing he said so, it being a sort of unwritten law among newspaper men not to beat each other on routine assignments, unless there was some special story they were after.
It was almost closing hour at the hall, and within a few minutes of the time the Leader's last edition went to press, that Larry entered the anteroom of the City Comptroller's office. He hardly expected there would be any news, and he knew if there was it was almost too late for that day. However, he was tired, and, as there were comfortable chairs in the office, he resolved to have a few minutes' rest, while waiting to see the official or the chief clerk to ask if there was anything new.
It was while sitting there, with his chair tilted back against a thin partition, that Larry overheard voices in somewhat loud conversation. At first he paid little attention to the matter. But when one of the voices became quite loud he could not help hearing.
“I tell you I've got the whole plan outlined, and we can all make big money by it,” someone remarked. “I know the lay of the land. It's up in the Bronx.”
At that Larry began to take some notice, as he remembered he and his mother were interested in some Bronx property.
“The deal is going through, then?” asked another man.
“Sure.”
Now Larry had no intention of eavesdropping, and, if he had thought the conversation was of a private nature, he would have moved away. But it seemed the men had nothing to conceal, for they talked loudly. They were probably unaware that a transom over the door of the room where they were, was open.
“What makes you so sure the land will be valuable?” asked another voice.
“Because I know it,” came the answer from the one who had first spoken. “There's going to be an ordinance introduced in the Common Council soon. Now all we have to do is to buy up all the lots” What followed was in a low tone, and Larry could not hear. Then the voice went on: “It's a great game, for it will take our votes to pass the ordinance, see?”
“Won't there be some danger?” asked someone.
“Not a bit. There's only one hitch. I've been looking the thing up, and I find that the most valuable strip of land in the whole tract is owned by some man up New York State.”
“Who is he?”
“Something like Pexter or Wexter,” was the reply, whereat Larry felt his heart beating strongly. Suppose it should happen to be the land for which his mother held the deed?
“Can we put the deal through?” several asked of the man who was doing the most talking.
“Sure we can,” was the answer. “Alderman”
“Hush! Not so loud!” cautioned a voice.
“Close that transom,” ordered someone, and then Larry moved away, fearing the men might come out, and find him listening. He wanted to know more of the matter, for he felt sure some underhanded game was afoot.
That afternoon, on the way home, Larry told Mr. Newton of what he had heard.
“I'll bet there's some sort of a deal on,” said the older reporter. “Glad you happened to overhear that, Larry. I'll get busy on the tip, and maybe we can block the game.”