Then, before Larry could answer, Peter shuffled down the hall. And that was the end of Peter on the _Leader_, though it was by no means the last Larry saw of him. Thus the first day of Larry’s life on a big newspaper came to a close and it was with considerable pride that he started for home. He felt he had done well, though he had made one or two mistakes. He was a little worried about what pay he was going to get, and he had a little fear lest he might be paid nothing while learning. His fears were set at rest, however, when, as he was going out of the door, Mr. Emberg called to him. “Well, Larry, how do you like it?” “First-rate,” said Larry heartily. “I forgot to tell you about your money,” the city editor went on. “You will get five dollars a week to start, and, as you improve, you will be paid more. Perhaps you’ll become a reporter some day.” “I’d like to, but I’m afraid I never can,” said the boy wistfully. “Why not?” “I haven’t a good enough education.” “It doesn’t always take education to make a good reporter,” said Mr. Emberg kindly. “Some of our best men would never take a prize at school. Yet they have a nose for news that makes them more valuable than the best college educated chaps.” “A nose for news?” asked Larry, wondering what sort of a nose that was. “Yes; to know a good story when they hear about it, and know how to go about getting it. That’s what counts. I hope you’ll have a nose for news, Larry.” “I hope so,” replied the boy, yet he did not have much anticipation. He was thinking more about the five dollars he was to earn every week than about his prospects as a reporter. He knew the money would be much needed, and he resolved to do all he could to merit a raise. There was much rejoicing in the humble home that night when Larry told about his salary. Mrs. Dexter also had good news, for the firm for which she sewed had given her a finer grade of work, at which she could earn more money. “We’ll get along fine, mother,” said Larry. “Ain’t you afraid that mean boy Peter will hurt you?” asked little James, who had listened to Larry’s recital of the discharge of the other office boy. “No, I guess I can take care of myself,” said Larry, feeling of the muscles of his arm, which were not small for a lad of his age. “And how are you, Lucy?” the boy went on, going over to where his sister was propped up in a big chair. “I think I’m a little better,” the girl said with a brave attempt at a smile. Yet a shadow of pain crossed her face, and Larry knew she was suffering but did not want to tell, so as to keep her mother from worrying. “You wait,” whispered Larry. “When I get money enough I’m going to get you a big chair that you can wheel yourself around in. Then I’m going to have some big doctor cure you. You just wait, Lucy,” and he gave her hand a gentle pat.