Fred Spencer, reporter

Contents

Chapter Page

I The Chance of a Lifetime i

II Mr. Blake Appears 15

Chapter I

Fred Spencer sat listening in tense excitement to the instrument next to him as it ticked off its thrilling story. Youngest telegraph operator as he was, in the office of the Morning Call , he was yet skillful enough to follow the “ code ” that was being flashed like lightning to the veteran who sat at his typewriter with his nimble fingers printing upon the paper the complicated abbreviations of words and phrases that is known in newspaper offices as the “ Phillips code ” and that is mastered only by experts. But Fred Spencer, only seventeen and with unceasing ambition, had managed to master much of the code, so that he could now catch most of the message that was causing such excitement in the great newspaper office.

It was one o'clock in the morning. The first edition had just been issued from the rumbling presses in the basement below, and the whole

i force on the editorial floor was working like mad to get as much as possible into the 2.30 edition that was then being prepared.

The story to which Fred listened would be the sensation of the day. Nothing had yet been printed about it. A “ tip ” had been received by the city editor some time before that a young boy, heir to one of the greatest shipping firms in the country, was being quietly taken away by his uncle, the present manager of the concern, and that the uncle intended to keep him hidden until his own plans for obtaining control of the company had been matured.

Nothing had been printed about the “ tip ” because, so far, the city editor had been unable to confirm it, but now, from a thousand miles away, came this dispatch from a special correspondent, confirming the first rumors and giving further details.

“ Boy — is — almost — certainly — aboard — the — Manchester ,” Fred translated, as the dots and dashes tumbled over each other, as if they, too, knew that edition time was near and that haste was necessary.

“ Bo — o — oy,” bawled the operator, as he whipped the sheet of paper from the typewriter and deftly inserted another.

A grimy office boy dashed down the long room, seized the paper and hurried back with it to the circular table about which sat the “ copy readers/’ the men to whom all stories were brought for correction, condensation and for the writing of the headlines under which they would appear in the paper.

But the city editor himself seized the sheet from the table and hastily glanced over it. Then he dashed down the room and stood behind the operator, reading over his shoulder each word as it was imprinted by the deft fingers.

If he was excited, he showed it only by the eager gleam in his keen eyes as they read. Long training in newspaper work had taught Mr. Ball to hold his feelings well in hand no matter what was going on about him, and he had lived among scenes of excitement so long that it took something decidedly out of the ordinary to awaken even that gleam which his eyes now showed.

“ Martin,” he called, “ come here, quick.”

Martin, the “ star ” reporter, took his feet from his desk, put down the book he was reading and joined his superior.

“ This is great stuff,” said Mr. Ball. “ Young Desborough is on board the Man - 3

Chester. He will be here soon, and we shall be able to print that story — you know, the one I told you about the other day — the kidnapping of the Maritime Steamship Company’s future owner.”

“ Oh, yes,” nodded Martin. “ Great stuff, that — if we can land it.”

“ If,” exclaimed the city editor. “ There must n’t be any ‘ if ’ about this. We ’ve simply got to land it. And I guess you ’ll have to take care of the job.”

Fred looked at Martin enviously. During all the months in which the boy had worked at his telegraph key, he had regarded the star reporter with awe and veneration. In Fred’s estimation, nobody could possibly live so exciting a life in these modern days as did this man who now talked so coolly about this great sensation. Martin was the intimate of all the great men of the city and many of the leaders of the nation. The Mayor had once called in his automobile to take Martin somewhere, and Fred had heard the reporter address the Chief Executive by his first name. Endless were the stories that the younger men on the staff told about the prowess of this veteran of many years. He had been in hand-to-hand conflict with desperate men, he had trailed criminals 4

THE CHANCE OE A LIFETIME like the detectives of fiction and had brought them to justice when the regular police methods had failed, he had gone through two wars and bore the scar of a wound received on the field of battle, he had been sent by his paper to foreign countries, where he had lived like a prince among the famous men of Europe and his paper had borne all his expenses. No wonder that the young telegraph operator, sitting night after night listening as his instrument recorded the humdrum happenings of suburban towns, longed to live such a life.

Fred had determined from the first that he would work his way upward until he had gained his heart's desire — a position as reporter on the staff of the Morning Call. But there seemed little chance for the lad. He had once spoken of his ambition to Mr. Ball, and the city editor had smiled kindly and advised him to wait at least five years and to study hard in the meantime. But Fred, hearing day after day of the continued excitement of the star reporter's life and the endless narration of the interesting things that he had done, nursed his desires in secret and determined to grasp the first opportunity.

And now Martin was to be sent upon another thrilling “ assignment." There could be 5 no doubt that this story of the hiding of young Desborough would tax the abilities of the best man to the utmost, and Spencer longed for just such a task. He could picture to himself the honors that would be showered upon the reporter who could print the story before any other paper heard of it, and these honors and the excitement that would precede them in the search for the news were what Fred determined should some day be his lot.

“ Get the shipping reports and see when the Manchester is due here,” he heard the city; editor say.

In a few minutes Martin came back.

“ If she has a clear run, she may make the bay by to-morrow night,” the star reporter informed him. “That means she would dock some time the next day, probably late in the evening.”

The city editor bit his black moustache as he puzzled over the situation.

“ You ’ll have to get on board that ship before she comes into the river,” he decided finally. “We cannot run the risk of any other paper stumbling across the story.”

Martin grunted.

“ Not much chance of my doing that,” he said. “ The Maritime people send a tug to 6 meet all their ships, and you know they don’t like me since I exposed Blake for that mining deal he tried to put through on the public.”

“ Blake is this Desborough boy’s uncle, is n’t he?” asked Ball.

“ Yes. If this is a real kidnapping, he ’s the man responsible for it, and he ’s also the man who will profit by it if he gets it through. All his people know me, and I could n’t possibly; get on board their tug.”

Fred Spencer jumped from his chair in sudden excitement. His eyes were gleaming bright with hope, for a sudden daring scheme had entered his head. But the two veterans paid no attention.

“ Well,” said Ball, “ somebody has simply got to get down the bay on the Maritime tug and get to that Desborough boy on board the Manchester”

“ Nelson could do it,” said Martin. “ He knows all those people and they like him.”

Nelson was the reporter regularly assigned to get the shipping news of the port.

“ I know he could,” growled Ball. “ But he ’s sick. Taken to the hospital last night. No chance of getting out for Lord knows how long.”

Fred approached the city editor timidly. He 7 was almost dumbfounded by the daring of the scheme he had to propose, yet it was a perfectly feasible one.

“ Mr. Ball/' he said, “ I can get aboard the Maritime tug.”

Ball and Martin both wheeled upon the lad. The city editor looked angry at the interruption, but the star reporter gazed into the young operator's eyes keenly and he saw the deep earnestness of Fred's expression. Martin was the first to speak.

“ How can you manage it? ” he asked.

“Why,” said Fred eagerly, “my roommate, Paddy O’Day, works for his uncle, who is the fireman on board the tug Vixen. That 's the tug they always send down to meet their ships. Paddy has often taken me down with them, and I have never had the slightest trouble getting on board the ships with the rest. Would you let me try it?”

The two men glanced at each other and then again looked at the flushed and eager lad. Finally the city editor spoke.

“ How old are you, Spencer ? ” he asked.

“ Seventeen,” replied Fred.

Ball chewed savagely upon his black moustache.

“ I wish it were thirty-seven,” he muttered.

THE CHANGE OF A LIFETIME

“ Are you sure you can get aboard without question? ” asked Martin.

“ Easily,” said Fred. “ Even if they have reasons for concealing anything from reporters, they would never suspect me of being one. And, if Mr. Nelson were here, I doubt very much whether they would let him aboard this trip because they all know what he is. Please let me try it, Mr. Ball.”

The lad’s earnest words had evidently impressed both men. Martin kept his keen eyes bent upon the boy, and Ball seemed determined to chew his moustache entirely off.

“ Are you sure,” said the city editor at length, “ that you are n’t letting your anxiety to become a reporter get the better of your judgment? ”

“ Perfectly sure,” declared Fred. “ The whole thing seems absolutely simple to me, and, even were Mr. Nelson here, I think I should be the one to go.”

Martin turned to the city editor.

“ Pie might at least be able to get all the facts,” he suggested. “ He could come back and give them to me or put them on the wire somewhere down the river, and we could verify them and rewrite them here. It ’s worth thinking over, anyway.”

But Ball was evidently by no means convinced.

“ Come down to my office and we 'll talk the thing over,” he said to Martin. “ We will not print any of this stuff to-night. It would give the other papers the tip and they might beat us to it.”

He turned upon his heel and, without even another glance at the eager young operator, walked down the long room, followed by Martin, and the two disappeared behind the glass door of the city editor's private office.

Fred sat down again at his instrument. “V-G — V-G — V-G” it was ticking desperately. “ V-G ” was the signal for the office of the Morning Call.. Somebody at the other end of the wire wanted him. The lad opened the key and answered, “I-I, V-G,” which was a signal that he was ready to work, and the instrument began to pound out a most uninteresting account of a small robbery in a near-by town. Fred’s fingers flew automatically over his typewriter keys, but his mind was upon his great scheme and he made many mistakes, having to ask several times for a repetition of a word or a whole sentence. Finally, however, the task was done, and he took the sheet of paper himself up to the “ copy desk.” io

As he turned to go back to his seat, the city editor’s door opened, and Martin poked his head out.

“ Oh, Spencer,” he said, when he saw the lad, “ come in here a minute, will you?”

Fred’s heart jumped as he followed the star reporter into the room and took the seat that the city editor indicated to him by a wave of the hand. Ball sat with his elbows on the arms of his chair, his whole body hunched forward and his scowling eyes bent upon his desk, but focused upon no particular object. He was thinking hard, and it looked as though his thoughts were not very satisfactory ones. Finally he swung about and faced Fred.

“ Spencer,” he said, “ I ’m afraid that you are our only hope in this matter. Frankly, I am very doubtful of your ability to make anything out of it. But there is no other way that we can see, and I ’m going to give you a chance at it. If you fail, I shall not be disappointed. If you succeed, even partially, I shall be very pleasantly surprised, and I can assure you that the reporter’s job which you seem so anxious to get will be yours on the spot.”

Fred’s eyes danced with excitement.

“ I ’ll do it, sir,” he cried. “ I know I can ii do it. It ’s the chance I ’ve been waiting for, and I ’m going to make good.”

Ball and Martin both smiled at the young fellow’s enthusiasm.

“ I felt that way twenty years ago,” said the star reporter gently. “ I wish I could feel as enthusiastic now. You go on in, young fellow, and if you win, I ’ll take you under my wing and show you what little I know about the business.”

“Little,” exclaipied Fred. “Why, they say that you know all there is to know about it.”

“ Nobody knows it all,” said the reporter. “ Nobody can ever know all there is to be known about this business, for its interests are as wide as the world ; everything that has ever happened or that is happening now or that will ever happen is a part of it. Conditions are changing from day to day, and the methods that succeeded yesterday are going to be useless to-morrow. It ’s that constant change that makes it so fascinating that, once a man has got fairly into it, he finds it impossible to be happy out of it. But you ’ve got a job here that will be full of tight places for you, if I ’m a judge, and you must n’t look for any easy sailing. It ’s ticklish and it ’s going to require nerve and brains and quick thinking, 12 and even then you are apt to lose out on it. This man Blake, whom you will have to buck against, is one of the most conscienceless villains I ever had the pleasure of meeting, and he is shrewd enough to beat most men at any game he undertakes.”

“ And to think,” cried Ball, thumping the desk, “ that I 've got to fight him with a raw baby, a boy who scarcely knows his A B C's. I don't mean anything personal, Spencer, but you can see the position I am placed in. Why, it 's the biggest story we have had in years, and I can't put an experienced man on it.”

“ I 'll get the story for you, Mr. Ball,” said Fred determinedly. “ I 'll get it or there won't be much left of me after I have tried.”

“ That 's the way to talk,” said Martin approvingly. “ But don't you get too confident, Spencer. You 've got a hard knot to unravel, and if you succeed, you 'll deserve any reward Mr. Ball gives you.”

“ And you 'll get all you deserve,” cried Ball. “ Anything you ask — only bring me the story first. Now for your instructions.”

For half an hour or more Fred listened as the two men talked, asking questions now and then that brought approval from his superiors, r for they showed that he had the right ideas. Finally Ball said:

“ Well, it 's three o'clock. You 'd better go home now and sleep. I 'll meet you here in the morning and give you a few final words and some money. Go home now. Good night."

Chapter II

MR. BLAKE APPEARS

Fred entered as silently as possible the little bedroom which he shared in the boarding-house with Paddy O’Day. Red-headed and frecklefaced was Paddy, with a pair of Irish blue eyes that were as open and honest as the day is long and that were always sparkling with the good humor that is born of native wit and nurtured by good health and bright spirits. The boys had become boon companions since fate had thrown them together to share their lot in common three months before.

Paddy, as Fred had told Mr. Ball, helped his relative in the engine-room of the tug Vixen on her trips up and down the river and, when she was laid up at the dock, he made himself generally useful about the offices of the Maritime Steamship Company. Just as Fred was ambitious to do the work of the reporters he saw around him daily, so Paddy was ambitious to become a telegraph operator i5 like Fred and, under his friend’s careful and loving guidance, had become quite proficient in the making and receiving of the dots and dashes that make up the language of the wire. The boys had a small practice instrument in their room, and every night when Fred came home early and Paddy was not aboard the tug, they spent hour after hour talking to each other by means of the clicks of the metal bar.

Fred found Paddy curled up in bed, sound asleep when he entered. He hesitated some time before deciding whether to awaken the Irish lad, but his news was too big and exciting to be kept to himself, so he went over to the bed and shook the towsled mass of red hair that marked the spot where Paddy’s head rested among the pillows.

“ Belay there,” muttered Paddy, rolling over and preparing to sleep again.

“ Wake up, Paddy,” said Fred, shaking him again. “ I ’ve something very important to tell you and I must have your help at once.”

Paddy rolled over again and half rose on one elbow, blinking sleepily into the light.

“It must be important,” he growled, “to come waking up a decent, hard-working man in the middle of his sleep. And, begorrah, — ” 16

MR. BLAKE APPEARS he shook his fist at Fred, — “ if it ’s not important at all when you ’ve done telling it to me, I ’ll not bother to listen to a word of it.”

Fred sat at a little table by the window and opened the key of their practice telegraph instrument.

“ See if you can read it when I send it fast,” he said, and his nimble fingers began clicking off the words, — “ I ’m a reporter — I’m a reporter — I ’m a reporter.”

Paddy sat up in astonishment.

“ Have you got the job at last? ” he cried.

“ Bully for you,” said Fred. “ I sent that faster than anything you ’ve had before. (You ’ll be a good operator soon. Yes, I ’ve got the job — or, at least, I ’ve been given the chance of my life to get it. But I can’t do a thing without your help.”

“ Me,” cried Paddy. “ How could the likes of me be helping a real reporter ? ”

Fred told him of the events of the night that had led so rapidly and unexpectedly to his opportunity.

“ It ’s the biggest kind of a story,” he explained as he finished his narrative, “ and I don’t quite see how I am going to pull through, but if you can get me aboard the Vixen when she goes down the river to meet the Manches- 1 7 ter , that will be a beginning at least and we 'll have to trust to luck for the rest.”

“ I ’ll get you aboard, all right,” promised Paddy. “ We start to-morrow afternoon — or rather this afternoon, for it ’s near daylight now, and if you want to be in condition to keep your wits about you, you ? d better turn in and get some sleep.”

Fred undressed quickly, but Paddy was snoring before the light was turned out. Excitement kept the young telegraph operator awake for a long time, and when at last he did fall into a troubled sleep it seemed but a moment before Paddy was shaking him and bidding him get up and prepare for his difficult task.

Together the boys ate their breakfast and hurried to the river front where the Maritime Steamship Company had its great docks and offices. Here lay the tug Vixen , moored to a wharf, the steam puffing from her as though she were some giant monster, pulling at her leash in her impatience to be free. Paddy went aboard and disappeared into the engine-room. Soon his red head appeared again and he came running up to where Fred stood with the light of complete triumph in his Irish eyes.

“ It ’s all right,” he announced. “ We start at four thirty this afternoon, and Uncle Mike 18

MR. BLAKE APPEARS says you can come aboard and help me if you 'll keep out of sight and not bother the people going down with us.”

“ Who ’s going down with us? ” asked Fred.

“ Oh, I don’t know. There ’s always somebody or other. Come along, now. The Boss don’t like people hanging about the dock.”

“ Some day,” said Fred, “ some day, if I succeed, young Walter Desborough will be ‘ The Boss ’ here. It was his father who founded this company and, when he died, left it all to Walter. Now Walter has disappeared, and I shouldn’t be at all surprised if we find that some one who wants to get hold of the company’s affairs had a hand in his disappearance. It ’s all very mysterious, and, after all, it may turn out that there is nothing wrong about it and that the boy is safe and sound somewhere with his family. That would be much better for Walter Desborough and the Maritime Steamship Company, but it would spoil a mighty good story and ruin my chances of becoming famous besides. No, I ’m sorry to seem cruel, but I hope for my sake that Walter Desborough is in trouble and that I shall be the one to get him out of it.”

“ Here too,” echoed Paddy. “ And I wish besides that yours truly, Patrick O’Shea O’Day, i9 the same being me, shall be the means of making it possible for you. Then maybe there 'll be something nice in it for me. And now I 'd be much obliged if you 'd get out and leave me alone, as my great-uncle said to the warden when they came to take him away to hang him. I 've got to get to work, and if the Boss sees you here there 'll be trouble."

As Fred turned to go, he saw that they had been watched by a man who was now hurrying toward them. Fred instinctively disliked this man at first sight. Why this dislike should seem suddenly to grow into positive hate as their eyes met it would be hard to say, for neither could know what the future was to hold for them, how their paths were to cross and recross, and how bitter was to grow their enmity.

“ Begorrah, it 's the Boss himself," said Paddy. “ Now I 'm in for it, as my great-uncle said when they put the noose about his neck."

Charles Blake, vice-president and manager of the Maritime Steamship Company, walked up to the two boys with an angry scowl on his face. Pie was not an attractive man. His shaggy brows and heavy black moustache gave him a sinister and wicked expression that was 20

MR. BLAKE APPEARS

made more repulsive by the continual scowl that he wore, showing an ugly nature that promised anything but pleasant companionship.

“ O’Day,” he growled, “ you know the rules against bringing strangers on to the property of this company without permission.”

“ Yes, sir,” answered Paddy. “ Only I did n’t bring this gentleman on. He came on himself, sir, on the two legs of him.”

“ Don’t be impudent,” snarled the Boss. “ It may cost you your job and I imagine you need that. Or are you a millionaire working for your health ? ”

Blake’s tone was one of biting sarcasm, but it had no dampening effect on the good spirits of the Irish lad.

“ Well, sir,” answered Paddy, “ I ’m not a millionaire yet, but I expect I soon will be with the savings I ’m making out of the munificent salary they pay me here. But, meaning no harm, sir, my friend here just came down to bring me an important letter that came for me to-day from the old country and I would n’t be missing it for a good deal.”

This was, of course, not the truth, but Paddy knew better than to tell the surly Blake the real reason for Fred’s presence on the dock. It would have spoiled all their plans, for Blake 21 himself had made a stringent rule against any one not an employee being on board the company^ tugs when they went down the river to meet the steamers.

The Boss turned to Fred with an ugly leer on his face.

“ You get out of here and stay out,” he commanded. “ I don’t like your face anyway.”

“ Very well, sir,” said the boy. “ I ’m sorry to have displeased you, but I meant no harm.”

“ I ’m not so sure of that,” snarled Blake. “ Anyway you get out and stay out. If I see you again around here, I ’ll have you arrested for trespass. Remember that.”

As Fred turned to go, Paddy whispered:

“Be here at three and you can get aboard all right. He ’s never here that late.”

Fred nodded, and as he walked out of the gate he made up his mind that, if the chance ever came to him, he would teach Charles Blake to have better manners.

And the chance came much sooner than either expected.

Chapter III Off On The Great, Quest

Promptly at three o’clock Fred reached the river front. He was more than ever excited. Much had happened since he had left Paddy, and he was impatient to tell his friend of the new developments and to get the advice of the shrewd Irish lad.

Fred quickened his pace as the offices of the Maritime Steamship Company came in sight around the corner, and then he stopped. A big red automobile stood before the door, the man getting into it being easily recognizable as the vice-president and manager of the company. Blake stood with one foot on the steps at the opened door of the machine, talking in low tones to another man, evil of face and clad in rough and coarse clothes that denoted the waterman.

“ That ’s a pretty-looking pair,” thought Fred, as he watched them from a place where he could not be seen. “ I don’t know which one is the more repulsive looking. I should n’t like to meet either on a dark street after nightfall. I ’m glad Blake is going away in his auto. He would be an unpleasant customer to meet on board the tug, especially after his frank declaration of his dislike for me. Hello, he ’s off.”

With a loud sputtering of her engine, the big machine gave a jump and soon raced out of sight down the street, with Charles Blake leaning back luxuriously among the cushions, a black cigar held firmly between his teeth with much the same expression that an angry bulldog with a bone would have.

Fred waited until the other man had disappeared into the office. The boy saw that he limped decidedly with his left foot, but he was too far away for his features to be recognizable. A minute later, Fred stood at the side of the dock.

The tug Vixen was still puffing and pulling at her hawsers some distance out toward the end of the pier. There was no sign of life aboard except the escaping steam, and Fred wondered how long he should have to wait until Paddy appeared. He had hardly put the question to himself when he saw the familiar red head under the dock and Paddy’s 24

OFF ON THE GREAT QUEST

blue eyes peered out at him. The Irish boy made a warning signal for silence, withdrew his head, and a few moments later, Fred heard, almost at his feet, a clicking that took the form of the telegraph signal, “ V-G — V-G — ” This was Fred’s signal when at the office, and he had taught Paddy to use it on their instrument at home. He peered down now and saw that his friend was indeed calling to him in this unique way. Paddy was in a rowboat. He was clicking a small piece of stick between the prongs of an oar lock, and with these clicks had made the signal that attracted Fred’s attention.