Larry thought he would never get home that evening to tell the good news. He fairly burst into the room where his mother was sewing and cried out: “Hurrah, mother! I’ve got a job!” “Good, Larry!” exclaimed Mrs. Dexter. “I’m so glad. What is it?” Talking so rapidly he could hardly be understood, Larry narrated all that had occurred on his visit to the newspaper office. “I’m to go to work to-morrow morning,” he finished. “Will they give you a thousand dollars, Larry?” asked little James, coming up to his brother. “I’m afraid not, Jimmy. I really forgot to ask how much they pay, but it will be something for a start, anyhow.” “Maybe they’ll let you write stories for the paper,” went on James, who was a great reader of fairy tales. “Oh, wouldn’t that be fine!” spoke Lucy. “They don’t have many stories in newspapers,” said Larry, who had begun to consider himself somewhat of an authority in the matter. “At least they call the things they print stories, for I heard Mr. Newton say he had a good story of the fire, but they’re not what we call stories. I wish I could get to writing, though; but I’m afraid I don’t know enough.” “Why don’t you study nights?” suggested Lucy. “I’ll help you.” “I believe I will,” replied Larry, for his sister had been very bright in her studies before the spinal trouble took her from school. “But first I want to see what sort of work I have to do. My, but I’m hungry!” “We were waiting with supper for you,” said Larry’s mother. “I’ll get it right away.” Then, while Mrs. Dexter set the table and started to serve the meal, Larry took little Mary on his knee and told her over again the story of the big fire he had seen, a tale which James also listened to with great delight. The little boy declared it was better than the best fairy story he had ever read. Half an hour before the appointed time next morning Larry was at the office of the _Leader_. Neither the city editor, the copy readers, nor any of the reporters were on hand yet, but there were two boys in the room. At first they paid no attention to Larry, but stood in one corner, conversing. One of the boys, a rather thin chap, with a face that seemed older than it should have on a boy of his size, took out a cigarette and lighted it. “If Mr. Emberg catches you, Peter, you’ll get fired,” cautioned the other fellow, who had a shock of light hair, blue eyes, and seemed a good-natured sort of chap. “A heap I care for Emberg,” was Peter Manton’s reply. “I can get another job easy. The _Rocket_ needs a good copy boy. Besides Emberg won’t be here for an hour,” and he began to puff on his cigarette. Larry advanced further into the room, and, at the sound of his steps, the other boys turned quickly. Peter was the first to speak. “Hello, kid,” he said rather familiarly, considering Larry was as old and about as large as himself. “What do you want?” “I’m waiting for Mr. Emberg,” replied Larry.