Into the main room of the police station came the two officers, their prisoner, the woman, and the Italian. Some of the crowd tried to follow, wild with excitement, but the doorman closed the heavy portal in their faces and several policemen on reserve duty came from the assembly room to aid in preserving order.  
“Now then,” said the sergeant briskly.
 
The officers lined their man up in front of the brass railing and the sergeant behind the desk began asking the prisoner’s name.
 
“Ain’t got none,” was the laconic remark.
 
“I know him,” put in one of the officers. “He’s Patsy Dolliver. Lives down at Mulberry Bend and he’s a bad egg, if ever I knew one. Ain’t you, Patsy?”
 
Finding that it was useless to try and hide his identity, Patsy admitted his name, and then his age, residence, and a few other facts were noted down concerning him. The officer told his story.
 
80 The woman also related how Patsy had grabbed her purse, and the Italian told in excited language about his lost peanuts.
 
All the while Larry was making notes of names and residences, including that of the woman whose purse had been so nearly lost.
 
“I’ll hold you for a hearing before the judge,” the sergeant announced to the prisoner. “You’ll have to come in the morning as witnesses,” he added to the woman and the peanut man. “Lock him up, Jim,” to the doorman, indicating Patsy; and the remarkable incident was closed for the time being.
 
But Larry, with the facts in his possession and a lively recollection of what had taken place, hurried to the Leader office.
 
“I just wish I could write it, but I don’t s’pose I can, yet,” he said. “But I can tell one of the reporters and he can fix it up.”
 
He found Mr. Newton there ahead of him, and to the reporter Larry in breathless tones told what had happened.
 
“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Newton. “You just tell that to Mr. Emberg himself. He’ll be glad to know you are so wide-awake. One of the men will write for you. Perhaps it will be a beat for us.”
 
“Oh, but some of the other papers will be sure to hear of it,” said Larry.
 
“They may get something about it, but not81 many reporters are around that early. The cops who made the arrest will go off duty and there will not be many to tell the details of the chase. That’s the best part of it. We may not get a beat in one sense of the word, but we’ll have the best story.”
 
When Mr. Emberg came in, Larry, after a few minutes of hesitation, got up courage enough to advance and tell the story.
 
“Well, you certainly had your eyes open,” said the city editor.
 
“I thought it would make a good story,” said Larry.
 
“So it will. You know what’s news all right, youngster!”
 
And that was the best praise Larry had that day.
 
“Here, Newton,” went on Mr. Emberg, “you fix Larry’s story up. Give it plenty of space and throw in lots of fun.”
 
Then Larry told his friend the story of the stolen pocketbook from beginning to end. Mr. Newton became infused with Larry’s enthusiasm at the description of the upsetting of the ash barrel and the peanut stand. He made many notes and then sat down at a typewriter and began to make his fingers fly as rapidly as he possibly could.
 
Larry could hardly wait for the paper to come out that afternoon, so anxious was he to see “his82 story,” as he called it. There it was, right on the front page, under a display head:
 
THIEF MEETS WITH MISHAP
 
Steals a Purse, Is Buried Beneath a
Shower of Ashes and Upsets a
Peanut Cart
 
Then came the story, almost as Larry had told it himself with all the energy he could throw into it, but dressed up in true reportorial style. Larry was as proud as if he had written it himself.
 
“Who got the thief story?” he heard several reporters ask, after the first edition came out.
 
“Our new member, Larry Dexter,” said Mr. Newton, pointing toward the copy boy. “Look out, fellows, or he’ll beat us at our own game.”
 
“Well, it’s a good yarn all right,” said one of the men. “Wish I had seen it.”
 
None of the other papers had anything like the story. They all had a mention of the occurrence, but most of them dismissed it with a few lines, embodying the mere police report of the matter, for unless there is the promise of something big in a police item some reporters content themselves with what the se............