“Twelfth,” was the reply, and then, before Larry could get his breath, he was shot upward, and the man called out: “Twelfth floor. This express makes no stop until the twenty-first now.” Larry managed to get out, somewhat dizzy by the rapid flight. Before him the boy saw a door, marked in gilt letters: _City Room._ “I wonder where the country room is,” mused Larry. “I guess I’d feel more at home in a country room than I would in a city one.” Then the door opened and several young men came out. “Did you get any good stories to-day?” asked one. “Pretty fair suicide,” was the answer. “How’d you make out?” “Pretty decent murder, but they cleared it up too soon. No mystery in it.” Rightly guessing that they were reporters, Larry approached them and asked for Mr. Newton. He was directed to walk into the city room, and there he saw his friend, with his feet perched upon a desk, smoking a pipe. “Hello, youngster!” greeted Mr. Newton. “Been to any more fires?” “No,” said Larry with a smile. “That one was enough.” “I should say so. Well, you helped me considerable on that. We beat the other papers.” “Beat them?” asked Larry. “Yes, got out quicker, and had a heap better story, if I do say it myself. You helped some. Want to go down and see the presses run?” “I came in to see if there was any chance of getting work,” answered Larry, determined to plunge at once into the matter that most interested him. “My mother and I and the rest of the family came to New York a few days ago, and I need work. Is there any chance at all of a job here?” “Well, if that isn’t luck!” exclaimed Mr. Newton, without any apparent reference to Larry’s question. “Say,” he called to someone in the next room, “weren’t you asking me if I knew of someone who wanted to run copy, Mr. Emberg?” he asked. “Yes,” replied the city editor, coming out into the reporter’s room. “Why?” “Nothing, only here’s a friend of mine who wants the job, that’s all,” said Mr. Newton, as if such coincidences happened every day. “Ever run copy?” asked the city editor, after a pause. “I--I don’t know,” replied Larry, wondering what sort of work it was. “It’s like being an office boy in any other establishment,” said Mr. Newton. “You carry the stuff from the reporters’ desks to the editors’ and copy readers’, and you carry it from them,--that is, what’s left of it--to the tube that shoots it to the composing room.” “I guess I could do it, I’m pretty strong,” replied Larry, whereat the two men laughed, though Larry could not see why. “You’ll do,” said the city editor pleasantly. “I’ll give you a trial, anyhow. When can you come in?” “Right now!” exclaimed Larry, hardly believing the good news was true. “To-morrow will do,” said the editor with a smile. “We’re all through for to-day. Come in at eight o’clock to-morrow morning.” “I will!” almost gasped Larry, and then, as the two men nodded a kind good-night, he sped from the room. CHAPTER VI LARRY MAKES AN ENEMY