It was now noon, and Larry, who had a healthy boy’s appetite, began to feel hungry. He had never eaten in one of the big city restaurants, and he felt somewhat timid about going in. Besides, he had only a quarter, and he thought that he could get very little for that. He also felt that he had better save some of the money for car-fare, and so he made up his mind that fifteen cents was all he could afford for dinner.
 
He walked down several streets before he saw a restaurant that seemed quiet enough for him to venture in.
 
The place was kept by an old German, and while it was neat and clean did not seem to be very prosperous, as Larry was the only customer at that particular hour.
 
“Vat you want, boy?” asked the old man, as Larry entered. “I don’t have noddings to gif away to beggars. I ain’t buying noddings. You had better git out.”
 
“I’m not selling anything and I’m not a beggar,” said Larry sharply. “I came in here to27 buy a meal,—er—that is a small one,” he added as he thought of his limited finances.
 
“Ach! a meal, eh!” exclaimed the German, smiling instead of frowning. “Dot’s different alretty yet! Sid down! I have fine meals!”
 
“I guess I only want something plain,” spoke Larry. “A cup of coffee and some bread and butter.”
 
“We gif a plate of soup, a piece of meat, coffee und rolls yet by a meal,” said the restaurant keeper, and Larry wondered how much such a meal would cost. “It’s fifteen cents alretty,” the German went on, and Larry breathed a sigh of relief, for he was very hungry.
 
He had gone, by chance, into one of the cheap though good restaurants of New York, where a few cents buys plenty of food, though it is not served with as much style as in more expensive places.
 
The restaurant keeper motioned Larry to sit down at one of the oilcloth-covered tables, and then, having brought a glass of water, hurried away. Soon his voice was heard giving orders, and in a little while he came back, bringing a bowl of hot soup. Larry thought he had never tasted anything so fine.
 
By this time several other persons had come into the place and the German was kept busy filling orders. A young woman came out from the rear of the shop to help him and she served Larry28 with the rest of his meal. When he had finished he was given a red square of pasteboard, with the figures “15” on it, and he guessed that this was his meal check and that he was to pay at the desk, over which a fat woman presided. It was near the door, and walking up to it Larry laid down his quarter, getting his ten cents in change and going out.
 
He felt that he was getting on in the world, since he had eaten all by himself in a public restaurant, and he was encouraged now to go on with his search for work. A meal often puts a strong heart into a man, or boy either, for that matter.
 
“Now for a job!” exclaimed Larry as he started off briskly.
 
He consulted the paper which he still had and went to several places that had advertised. But that day must have brought forth an astonishing crop of boys out of work, or else all places were quickly filled, for at every establishment where Larry called he was told that there was no need for his services.
 
Signs of “Boy Wanted” became “as scarce as hen’s teeth,” Larry said afterward, which are very scarce indeed, as no one ever saw a hen with teeth. About four o’clock in the afternoon he found himself at the junction of Fifth Avenue and Broadway, where the big Flatiron Building, as it is called, stands. Larry had walked several miles and he was tired and discouraged.
 
29 The day, which had been pleasant when Larry started out, had become cloudy, and a dark bank of clouds rolling up in the west indicated that a thunderstorm was about to break. As Larry stood there, amid all the bustle and excitement of the biggest city in the United States, he felt so lonely and worried that he did not know what to do. He thought of his mother and the children at home, and wondered whether he would ever get work so that he could take care of them.
 
Suddenly, from out of the western sky, there came a dazzling flash of lightning. It was followed by a crashing peal of thunder, and then the storm, which had been gathering for some time, burst. There was a deluge of rain, and people began running for shelter.
 
Larry looked about, and, seeing that many were making for the open doorway of the Flatiron Building, on the Fifth Avenue side, ran in that direction. He had hardly reached the friendly shelter when there came a crash that sounded like the discharge of a thirteen-inch gun, and a shock that seemed to make the very ground tremble.
 
At the same time Larry felt a queer tingling in the ends of his fingers, and several persons near him jumped.
 
“That struck near here!” a man at his side exclaimed.
 
“Guess you’re right,” another man said. “Lucky we’re in out of the wet.”
 
30 By this time the rain was coming down in torrents, and several more persons crowded into the lobby of the big building. Larry stayed near the door, for he liked to watch the storm and was not afraid.
 
Suddenly, down the street, there sounded a shrill whistle, mingled with a rumbling and a clang of bells.
 
“It’s a fire!” cried several.
 
“Lightning struck!” exclaimed one or two.
 
“It was that last smash!” said the man Larry had noticed first. “I thought it did some damage. Here come the engines!”
 
Up Fifth Avenue dashed the steamers, hose carts, and hook-and-ladder wagons.
 
“There’s the fire! In that building across the street!” someone said.
 
Larry looked and saw, coming out of the top story of a big piano warehouse on the opposite side of Fifth Avenue, a volume of black smoke. A number of men, unmindful of the rain, ran out to see the firemen work, and after a little hesitation Larry, who did not mind a wetting, followed.
 
It was the first time he had ever seen a fire in a big city, and he did not want to miss it. He worked his way through the crowds that quickly gathered until he was almost in front. There he held his place, not minding the rain, which was still falling hard, though not as plentifully as at first.
 
31 He saw the firemen run out long lengths of hose, attach them to the steamers, which had already started to pump, and watched the ladder men run out the long runged affairs up which they swarmed to carry the hose to the top stories, where the lightning had started the fire.
 
Then the water tower was brought into play. Under the power of compressed air the long slender pole of latticed ironwork rose high, carrying several lengths of hose with it. Then the nozzle was pointed toward the top windows, and soon a powerful stream of water was being sent in on the flames, that were making great headway among wood and shavings in the piano place.
 
The street was filled with excited men who were running back and forth. Many of them were persons who had come from near-by buildings to see the fire. Some were from the burning building, trying to save their possessions. The firemen themselves were the coolest of the lot, and went about their tasks as if there was nothing unusual the matter. Soon the police patrol dashed up and the blue-coats piled out and began to establish fire lines. Larry, like many others, was forced to get back from the middle of the street.
 
The boy, however, managed to keep his position in the front rank. He watched with eager eyes the firemen at work, and never thought how wet he was.
 
32 “It’s going to be a bad blaze,” remarked a man near Larry. “The fire department’s going to have its hands full this time.”
 
It certainly seemed so, for flames were spouting from all the windows on the top story and the one below it. More engines dashed up, and the excitement, noise, and confusion grew.
 
In front of Larry a big policeman was standing, placed there by the sergeant in charge of the reserves to maintain the fire lines. The officer had his back toward the crowd, and enjoyed a good vantage point from which to watch the flames. A young fellow, with his coat collar and trousers turned up, and carrying an umbrella, worked his way through the crowd until he was beside Larry.
 
“Let me pass, please,” he said, and then, slipping under the rope which the police had stretched, he was about to pass the policeman and get closer to the fire.
 
“Here, come back, you!” the officer exclaimed.
 
“It’s all right; I’m a reporter from the Leader,” said the young fellow, and he turned, showing a big shining metal star on his coat.
 
“Go ahead,” spoke the policeman. “You’ll have a good story, I’m thinking.”
 
“Anybody hurt?” asked the reporter, pausing to ask the first question that a newspaper man puts when he gets to a fire.
 
“Wouldn’t wonder. Saw the Roosevelt Hospital33 ambulance taking a man away when we came up. Jumped from the roof, I heard.”
 
“Gee! I’ll have to get busy! Say, it ain’t doin’ a thing but rain, is it? I can’t take notes and hold my umbrella too, and I certainly hate to get wet. I wish I had a kid to manage the thing for me.”
 
“I’ll hold the umbrella for you,” volunteered Larry, quick to take advantage of the situation, and realizing that, by aiding the reporter, who seemed to be a sort of favored person at fires, he might see more of the blaze.
 
“All right, kid, come along,” spoke the newspaper man, and, at a nod from the policeman to show it was all right, Larry slipped under the rope and followed the reporter, who made off on a run toward the burning building. Many men wished they were in Larry’s place.
 
“Come on, youngster. What’s your name?” asked the reporter of Larry.
 
The boy told him.
 
“Mine’s Harvey Newton,” volunteered the newspaper man. “We’ll have to look lively. Here, you hold the umbrella over me, while I make a few notes.”
 
Larry did so, screening the paper which the reporter drew from his pocket as much as possible from the rain. Mr. Newton, who, as Larry looked at him more closely, appeared much older than he had at first, made what looked like the34 tracks of a hen, but which were in reality a few notes setting down the number of the building, the height, the size, the location of the fire. Then the reporter jotted down the number of engines present, a few facts about the crowd, the way the police were handling it, and something of how the firemen were fighting the blaze.
 
“This is better than getting wet through,” Mr. Newton said, as he returned his paper to his pocket and waited for new developments.
 
“Say, why don’t you bring the city editor out with you when you cover fires?” asked another reporter, from a different paper, addressing Mr. Newton, and noticing Larry’s occupation.
 
“I would if he’d come,” replied Mr. Newton. “Don’t you wish you had an umbrella and a rain-shield bearer?”
 
“Don’t know but what I do,” rejoined the other, who was soaking wet. “Say, this is a corker, ain’t it? Got much?”
 
“Not yet. Just arrived.”
 
Suddenly, with a report like that of a dynamite blast, the whole top of the building seemed to rise in the air. An explosion of oils and varnishes used on pianos had occurred. For an instant there was deep silence succeeding the report. Then came cries of fear and pain, mingled with the shouts of men in the fiercely burning structure.
 
“I’ll need help on this story!” exclaimed Mr.35 Newton. “I wonder—— Say, Larry,” he went on, turning to the boy, “can you use a telephone?”
 
“Yes,” replied Larry, who had used one several times at Campton.
 
“Then call up the Leader office. The number’s seventeen hundred and eighty-four. Ask for the city editor, and tell him Newton said to send down a couple of men to help cover the fire. Run as if you were in a race!”