Somehow, instead of being frightened at receiving the ominous message thrust into his pocket in that mysterious manner, Larry felt a sense of relief.
“Well, I’m glad they’re at the end of this warning business,” he remarked to himself. “It was getting annoying. I’d rather do some real fighting, than all this sparring in the dark. If they’re going to do something let ’em do it, and not be hinting at it all the time. The suspense is worse than anything else.”
As Larry hurried toward his home he could not help feeling a little bit worried lest something had befallen Jimmy. The message seemed to indicate that the patience of the gang was exhausted, and that they would now proceed to act.
Consequently Larry felt much relieved when he reached home, and found his brother and all the others safe. He was tired with his day’s work, and went to bed early.
As next day was Sunday Larry decided he would take Jimmy for a trip to Central Park, to see the animals, and find some shady nook where he could take a rest, and make believe he was back in the country again.
Larry thought that it might also serve a good purpose in foiling any ideas the gang might have of kidnapping Jimmy on that day. On Sundays the children generally went for a walk alone, and Larry was afraid that if they did so on this occasion, advantage might be taken of the chance.
After breakfast Larry proposed the trip to Mary and Jimmy. Mrs. Dexter agreed to it, saying that if Larry would look after the younger children she and Lucy would go and visit a friend in Jersey City. Preparations for the trip were soon made, and Larry, with his brother and sister, started off, Mrs. Dexter and Lucy taking an opposite direction.
It was very fine in the park. The birds were singing in the trees, the sky was blue, and the grass was almost as nice as in the meadow in Campton, Larry thought.
“It’s jest like the country!” exclaimed Jimmy, running, and turning a somersault on the turf, while Mary gave chase to a gray squirrel that seemed quite tame, and frisked about on the low branches of a tree.
With the children Larry wandered about in various shady places, now and then sitting down to rest. There was a large crowd in the park, for the day was warm.
“Let’s go and see the elephants an’ tigers,” suggested Mary, her eyes growing big with wonderment in anticipation of the delights of viewing the wild animals.
“All right,” assented Larry, who, though he would not admit it, had a keen desire himself to see the beasts.
They amused themselves by throwing peanuts to the elephant, and Jimmy insisted on giving a share of his to the hippopotamus. The nuts were so small, and the animal’s mouth so large, that it is doubtful if he even tasted them.
It was while standing watching the elephants that Larry became conscious that someone was observing him and the children rather closely. A little behind him, as he turned, he could see a short, stout man, who seemed to be much interested in the pachyderms.
Larry was sure this man had been staring at him, but, try as he did, the young reporter could not remember where he had seen him before. As he turned back to look once more at the elephants, Larry noticed that the man’s eyes were turned toward Jimmy, who, in a new suit, was an attractive-looking little chap.
“I wonder if he’s a kidnapper?” mused Larry, half inclined to laugh at his foolish fancies. “I must keep watch, and see if he follows us when we leave.”
Larry gradually drew the children away from the elephant inclosure, and over to where the monkeys were housed. The reporter watched, but, though he was sure the man looked after them, and noted where they went, he did not leave the spot where he was.
Mary and Jimmy found much to amuse them in the house of the primates. The funny antics of the monkeys kept the crowd in roars of laughter. Even Larry forgot about keeping his eye on Jimmy, and watched the odd contortions of the queer, half-human-looking beasts.
Once again, however, he became aware of that strange feeling of being under observation. Looking around, he saw the same man behind them. Larry had no doubt now but that the fellow was following them.
“Well, if he thinks that he’s going to kidnap Jimmy right from under my nose, he’ll find he’s barking up the wrong tree!” exclaimed Larry, as he put his arm around his brother. “All the same, I guess we’d better get out of here. Some others of the blue-handed man’s gang may be on the lookout for us, and I don’t care to have a fight.”
They walked about the park a little while longer, and then, as they were getting hungry, decided to start for home. When they boarded a car Larry looked all about to see if he had been followed. There was quite a throng of people, and the reporter, though he was not quite sure, thought he saw the man who had stood near him in the elephants’ inclosure, and also in the monkey house. The man, if he was the same one, was accompanied by a boy about Larry’s age.
“I’m almost sure that lad was Peter Manton,” thought Larry. “There’s something underhanded about this whole thing. I wish I could find out what it is, and break up the gang.”
Larry, with the children, reached home before Mrs. Dexter and Lucy returned. As Mary and Jimmy were hungry, Larry began foraging in the cupboard to find something to give the youngsters.
As he took the cover off a dish in the pantry, to see what the receptacle contained, Larry saw a paper in it.
“That don’t look good to eat,” he remarked, as he unfolded it. He gave a start, as he saw a big blue cross on it, while, in bold characters, was printed:
DO NOT THINK WE HAVE FORGOTTEN.
“They’ve been here since we went away this morning,” thought Larry. “They entered the rooms, and left this note. They must be keeping a close watch on the house, to know when we all go out, or else they would not venture to come in.”
That night Larry called on Mr. Newton. He told the reporter all about the Sunday adventures, including that part about the man, and the finding of the note.
“Don’t lose your courage,” advised Mr. Newton. “It begins to look now as if they were only bluffing. Maybe it was all a bluff. Still, don’t be too careless.”
“Then there’s nothing we can do?” asked Larry, on whom the strain was beginning to tell.
“No, I think not.”
Rather encouraged by the sensible view Mr. Newton took of it, Larry went home, and slept soundly—so soundly, in fact, that he did not get up in time, and was a little late at the office.
“Here’s an assignment for you, Larry,” called Mr. Emberg. “They’re pulling down a big brick chimney at the old electric light power-station to-day. Going to loosen the base by dynamite, I understand. I want you to get a good story of it. I’ll send a photographer with you to get a picture of it as it topples over.”
Larry was soon on his way to the scene of the demolition, accompanied by the photographer. The chimney was a very tall one, and was considered unsafe, as part of the power-house had been destroyed by fire some time before.
Quite a crowd of persons were on hand to witness the operations, as word of what was intended had spread through the neighborhood. There were also several other reporters there, and one or two photographers. Larry found the foreman in charge of the work, and asked him to explain the plan, so as to get a good understanding of it when he should write the story. The foreman went into details about putting a small charge of dynamite under one corner of the stack.
“The force of dynamite is mainly downward,” he stated. “But we think there will be enough upward power to the blast to gently tilt the chimney over to the east, where it will fall without doing any damage.”
“What if it falls the other way, and crashes down on top of those low buildings?” asked Larry.
“We have it guyed up with ropes to prevent that,” was the answer. “I guess there’s no danger.”
The preliminary work was almost finished, when a man, carrying a red flag, came out of a small shanty.
“There goes the dynamite,” said Larry, to the picture man. “Now you’ll see some fun, I am thinking.”
The foreman made everyone move back out of harm’s way. Most persons were glad enough to obey the request, but the reporters, including Larry, said if they had to stay so far back they could see nothing.
“But think of the risk you run,” objected the foreman. “Some of you may be killed.”
“We’ll take the chance,” replied several. “We want to be close by when the stack hits the ground, and so do the photographers.”
The foreman interposed no more objections, but ordered the work to go on.
The reporters were gathered in a little group, and after talking matters over decided to move toward a small tool shanty, that stood well to the left of the stack.
“There’ll be no danger then,” agreed Larry.
So the scribes went to the hut. The man with the red flag had placed the explosive at the bottom of the stack, and, seeing that everything was in readiness, waved his flag at a signal that he was about to touch off the fuse. At this sign of danger the crowd pressed farther back.
A thin spiral of smoke arose from the fuse. The man with the red flag ran off at top speed. From a window of the shanty the whole affair could be seen.
Suddenly there came a dull, rumbling sound, and the earth shook. Then a little cloud of bricks, mortar, and dust shot upward. Next the tall stack, the foundation of which had been weakened, began slowly to tilt over. As the foreman had desired, it was falling to the left.
Then all at once the stack seemed to hesitate. It appeared to be poised, like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Next, as though the direction had been changed by a giant’s hand, the chimney began falling toward the shanty.
“Those reporters will all be killed!” cried the foreman. “I warned them of the danger. Come out of that!” he yelled, as if they had a chance to obey. Swiftly the tower was coming nearer the earth.
Then, as suddenly as before, the direction of the fall was changed. The chimney, that had been seemingly in one solid piece, broke in the center.
Down on top of the shack crashed the bricks and mortar. The corner of the shanty crumpled up like paper, just after most of the reporters had fled.
Larry, however, was not so fortunate. When the crash came he was in the far corner of the hut. The breaking and rending of timbers had formed a sort of archway above his head, and the blows from the bricks had been somewhat warded off. Larry had a most narrow escape from sudden death.
“Come on out!” called the other reporters to him, as the dust settled.
“I can’t!” cried Larry, faintly.
“What’s the matter, are you hurt?” asked one of the newspaper men.
“My foot is pinned down under a plank!” Larry exclaimed. “I don’t believe I’m hurt much, unless it’s a sprained ankle.”
By this time several men engaged by the contractor to help raze the big stack came running up.
“We’ll get you out!” the foreman cried. “Heave away, boys!”
The laborers heaved away with right good will, and soon had tossed aside the planks that held Larry fast.
“Come on out now!” the foreman cried.
Larry endeavored to, but failed. He tried to take a few steps, but sank back with a groan.
“My ankle’s broken!” he exclaimed.
“Let me look at it,” the foreman said, with rough sympathy in his tones. “I’m a sort of doctor. Have to be, with a lot of men getting hurt all the while.”
Entering the ruined shack he picked Larry up as easily as if the young reporter was a child, and carried him outside. Then he looked at the right foot, which was the one that pained the lad. The ankle was swollen, and the shoelaces were stretched tight across the instep. The foreman whipped out his knife, and cut the strings.
“That’s better,” said Larry, with a sigh of relief.
“It’s only sprained, not broken,” the foreman announced, after gently feeling of the injury. “You’ll be laid up a week or so.”
“Can’t I walk now; I mean in a little while?” asked Larry.
“Not unless you want to lame yourself permanently.”
“But I’ve got to!” the lad exclaimed. “I’ve got to send the story of this thing in.”
“Say, don’t you worry about the story,” exclaimed one of the other reporters. “We’ll look out for you, all right. Stanley will telephone it in for you, and tell how you got laid up. We’re not after a beat on this. Don’t worry.”
“But I’m afraid Mr. Emberg will want to hear from me,” said Larry, who, if he had developed any faults yet as a newspaper man, was blessed with that of being too conscientious.
“I’ll drive you to the telephone station in my rig,” volunteered the foreman. “I guess your sprained ankle won’t prevent you from talking, provided you feel you have to do it.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that,” answered Larry, glad of the chance to send the story in himself, though he was grateful for the aid of the other reporters.
There was nothing more to be obtained in the way of a story, as the big stack was leveled, though the task had not been as well performed as had been hoped. So Larry was lifted into the carriage, and driven to the nearest telephone. There he explained matters to Mr. Emberg, who had a reporter take the account over the wire, as Larry explained all the details, including the smashing of the shack.
“Now you go home, and doctor yourself up,” said Mr. Emberg, coming in on the wire when Larry had finished his story. “Mr. Newton or I will be over to see you to-night. Take care of yourself, and don’t worry. Your job will be here when you get ready to come back.”
This relieved Larry’s mind for he was a little uncertain as to what happened to reporters who were not able to come to work. Then, again being helped into the foreman’s carriage, Larry was driven to his home, and very much surprised Mrs. Dexter and Lucy were to see him brought to the house, unable to walk.
Matters were soon explained, however, and a doctor was sent for. He said the sprain, while a bad and painful one, was not likely to last long, and promised Larry that, if he was careful, he might be able to go out in a week or ten days.
“Can’t you make it any sooner, doctor?” asked Larry.
“I’m afraid not, my boy. That’s a short enough time to let the cords and sinews get into shape again.”
Larry made up his mind to bear it as best he could, and, with Lucy’s help, he hobbled to an easy-chair, where he sat down, while his sister made him comfortable with cushions.
“Where’s Jimmy?” asked Larry, suddenly, as he happened to think that he had not seen his little brother since coming home. His heart began to beat, almost, in fear.
“He and Mary went up on the top floor to call on a little girl who lives there,” answered Mrs. Dexter.
“Are you sure he’s there?” asked Larry, in such a peculiar tone that Mrs. Dexter was startled.
“Of course, Larry. What makes you ask such a question? Do you want to see him?”
“Oh, nothing special,” replied the reporter. “I was just wondering where he was.” He did not dare to tell the real reason for his inquiry, which was prompted by a fear lest the kidnappers should have been at work.
But his mind was soon set at rest, for Jimmy came downstairs all excited over a new game he had learned. He came in on the jump, but stopped when he saw Larry propped up in his chair.
“Are you dead?” he asked, solemnly.
“Not quite,” replied Larry, with a laugh. “I was in an accident, that’s all.”
“Tell me about it; every word,” demanded the little fellow.
So Larry had to go over it all again for the benefit of his brother, whose eyes grew big, as Larry told of the crash of the big stack and the smashing of the shanty.
In the evening Mr. Newton called, and congratulated Larry on his escape from possible injury, if not death.
“Mr. Emberg thinks a heap of you, Larry,” said the older reporter. “Your calling up on the ’phone, and giving the story, in spite of being hurt, shows, he says, that you’re made of the right kind of stuff.”
“Oh, anybody would have done what I did,” said Larry, modestly.
It was pleasant to be praised, however, and he was glad that his efforts had been appreciated. Larry wanted to talk about the blue-handed man, and the threats the gang had made. He wanted to ask Mr. Newton if anything new had developed, but could get no chance, as Mrs. Dexter and Lucy were within hearing distance all the while. However, Mr. Newton must have guessed what was in Larry’s mind, for he said, in a low tone, as he was leaving:
“I’ll be over soon again, Larry, and I’ll see if we can’t think of some scheme to land the gang.”
Larry was laid up about a week and a half. He fretted over being kept in the house, when the weather was so fine out of doors, but the doctor said if his patient did not keep quiet, serious injury might follow using the ankle too soon. At length Larry was able to hobble about on crutches, and then, a couple of days later, ventured out on the sidewalk. He began to be more hopeful after that.
Meanwhile he heard every day from the office, and Mr. Emberg sent messages of encouragement. Larry was told to take as long as he wanted to get well, as his salary would go on just the same. When pay-night came Mr. Emberg brought the young reporter his envelope, for which Larry was very thankful.
At the end of two weeks Larry felt strong enough to go back to work, provided he did not have to run any races, or chase after cars. So, one bright morning, walking with a slight limp that was daily growing less, Larry went down to the office. On the way he wondered whether he would hear any more about the gang. They seemed to have ceased operations, or if they had not, they were biding their time. Larry received no more warning letters, though he often looked for them.
The young reporter was welcomed back to his desk with considerable enthusiasm among his colleagues. They said they had missed him, and were glad to see him at work once again.
There was not much to do that day, and Larry was told by Mr. Emberg to go home early.
“You ought to take in the circus,” said the city editor. “It will do you good after having been shut up in the house so long. I’ll send for some complimentary tickets for you.”
“I have some,” put in Larry, telling about the passes the lion-tamer had given him.
“Then you’d better go, take someone with you, and enjoy the performance,” the city editor said.
Larry made up his mind he would take Jimmy, who had done nothing but talk circus for the last two weeks, and that evening, when the subject was broached, the youngster stood on his head in delight.
“Do you think you can keep awake?” asked Mrs. Dexter. “The show lasts a long time.”
“Well, if he can’t keep awake at a circus, mother, he’s not much of a boy,” spoke Larry, laughing.
“Sure I’ll stay awake,” Jimmy replied.
Jimmy thought the circus performance was nothing short of fairyland. It was the first he had been to since he was old enough to remember things, and the one in New York had all the gorgeousness that can be dreamed of.
Larry, too, enjoyed himself. He was particularly interested in Nero, the lion, and pointed the ugly beast out to Jimmy. The brute kept in one corner of his cage, and growled.
“His toothache bothers him yet,” explained one of the men, who remembered Larry’s performance. “I guess we’ll have to pull it.”
“Pull a lion’s tooth?” inquired Larry. “I never heard of such a thing.”
“Often done,” replied the trainer. “Much easier than yanking one from an elephant. If we decide to extract a molar from Nero’s jaw, I’ll send word down to the paper, if you leave me your name, and you can get a story out of it.”
Larry thanked the man, and handed over a business card. Then he and Jimmy went and sat down in the seats where they could see the performance. It was all fine and exciting, but the stunt where the man seemed to be falling from his trapeze seemed to make the biggest hit, and Larry felt that he had a sort of proprietary interest in it, from having seen it practiced.
However, as all good things must have an end, the circus had one also, and the performance was concluded shortly after eleven o’clock.
“Are you sleepy?” asked Larry of his brother.
“Not a bit,” replied the little chap, struggling to suppress a yawn. “My eyes hurt, that’s all.”
“Oh!” said Larry, laughing, as he took hold of Jimmy’s hand, and began leading him toward an exit. There was a big crowd, and Larry soon found himself and his brother in the midst of a dense throng. He was pushed this way and shoved that way. All the while he kept tight hold of Jimmy’s hand.
Suddenly he felt the little fellow pulled away from him. Larry looked down. There was no trace of the boy.
“I must have been separated from him in the crush,” thought Larry. “I’ll find him outside the door.”
He hurried out, and rapidly scanned the crowd for a glimpse of Jimmy. The boy was not in sight, and Larry’s heart began to sink.
“I guess he’s just mixed up in the crowd,” murmured Larry, trying to make himself believe nothing harmful had befallen Jimmy. “He’s so little that I can’t see him. I’ll soon find him, though.”
Then Larry caught sight of a policeman he knew, and hurried up to the officer.
“I’ve lost my little brother, Mr. Sullivan,” he said. “Where had I better start to look for him?”
“Hello, Larry, me boy!” the officer exclaimed good-naturedly, for he had taken quite a fancy to the young reporter since Larry had given him a little puff in the paper about stopping a runaway horse. “In trouble, eh? Well, I’ll show you what we do with lost children. We have a regular place for ’em here in the Garden. They’re always gettin’ lost, and their fathers an’ mothers is half crazy. Come with me.”
Officer Sullivan led the way to a small room off the main offices of those in charge of the show. It was an apartment fitted up for the care of lost children. The management had found that scores of tots whom their parents brought to the circus got lost every day, and the policemen on duty at the show had orders to bring them to the “nursery,” as it was called. There were two nurses and a matron in charge to look after the little folk.
“Here’s a lad to claim one of your lost children, Mrs. Weston,” said Mr. Sullivan, as he took Larry to the matron. “His little brother is missing.”
“What is he like?” asked the matron.
Larry described Jimmy as well as he could.
“Let me see,” mused Mrs. Weston. “No, I don’t believe I have your brother in here yet, though I may get him at any moment. Now if he was a year or two younger I’m sure I could fix you up, as I have some that answer his description perfectly, except for age. You’re sure you can’t be mistaken?”
“I’m sure,” replied Larry, who was beginning to become more worried.
“Because, you know, if you were not positive, you might be mistaken,” went on the matron. “I wish you could find your brother among those I have. I’d like to get rid of some of them. The crop is unusually heavy to-night.”
By this time the big Garden was beginning to be pretty well cleared of the crowd. Mothers and fathers who missed their children had begun to drift in and claim them, being directed to the “nursery,” by policemen in different parts of the amusement place. One after another of the children were taken away, until there was none left. Little Jimmy had not been found.
Larry’s heart was like lead. He hardly dared to go home, and tell his mother what had happened. That the blue-handed gang had kidnapped the boy Larry had no doubt. That was why they had been following him around for the last few weeks. Yet, even though he knew this must be true, Larry hated to give in to the belief.
He stayed around the Garden for a long time, until the men began to put the lights out, hoping against hope that Jimmy would turn up somewhere. But, at last, when it came time to close the place, Larry could remain no longer.
“What shall I do?” he thought. “I’m afraid the shock will make mother sick. I’m sure he’ll not be harmed by the gang, and they’ll give him back to us as soon as mother and I agree to sign the deed. I will put an advertisement in the papers to-morrow—no! I’ll do it to-night! There’s time enough yet. I must find Mr. Newton, and tell him. He’ll help me!”
Now that he had decided on a plan of action, Larry felt a little better. There’s nothing so bad for worry or grief as thinking of it. As soon as one can get busy at something the spirits improve.
So it was in Larry’s case. He started for Mr. Newton’s house, intending to ask his advice about the wording of the notice to be put in the morning papers. He had about an hour yet before the time for taking advertisements would be up.
As he was hurrying away he was hailed by Officer Sullivan.
“Did ye find him, Larry?”
“No, he wasn’t brought into the nursery.”
“Well, don’t worry. Probably some policeman farther down the street picked him up, and took him to the nearest station-house. I’ll turn in an alarm for him, and you can inquire at headquarters whether any lost children have been picked up. Give me a description of him.”
Larry did so, and then resumed his trip. He made up his mind to stop at police headquarters on his way back from Mr. Newton’s, and then to go home and tell his mother the sad news, provided there was none better to relate.
Mr. Newton was much shocked when Larry told what had happened. He made the youth go over every incident.
“Of course, there’s a bare possibility that the gang has not kidnapped him,” spoke the older reporter, “but it looks suspicious.”
“What had I better do?” asked Larry. “I’m afraid to go home and tell my mother.”
“I’ll go with you,” replied Mr. Newton. “But before we go we’ll get an advertisement ready. We’ll insert it in several papers. I don’t believe in giving in to these blackmailers, but I think in this case we can set a trap for them by this advertisement. I have been doing some work on the case, and I think there’ll be some developments shortly.”
“If I only knew that Jimmy was safe, I’d not worry so much,” said Larry, with something like a sob in his throat.
“I think he will be treated all right by the gang,” replied Mr. Newton. “It would not be their policy to hurt him. They are only trying to scare you.”
“Well, they’re succeeding pretty well.”
Mr. Newton got his hat, and, having written several advertisements stating that a certain person was ready to do what a certain blue-handed man desired, provided a certain person was restored to his home, he and Larry went out. They headed for several newspaper offices on Park Row, and soon the advertisement had been accepted, and paid for. It was to appear under the head of “Personals.”
“Now we’ll see what good that will do,” observed Mr. Newton, as he reached the last office just in time to have the notice taken for the next day’s paper. “I think you had better be getting home, too. Your mother will be worried at your absence. I’ll go along.”
“She’ll be more worried when I do get home,” remarked Larry, dubiously. “But I suppose there’s no help for it.”
Frightened enough was Mrs. Dexter when Mr. Newton broke the news to her as gently as possible. She grew pale, and then almost fainted, while Mary and Lucy, when they heard the bad tidings, began to cry, though Mary hardly knew what for, save that something had happened to make her mother sad.
“Now don’t you get down-hearted,” advised Mr. Newton. “We’ll find Jimmy for you just as soon as we can. Maybe we’ll have him for you before morning. He may have been picked up by some persons who saw he was lost, and they may have taken him home. There are hundreds of things that might have happened. You’ll be laughing at this scare in a few days.”
“I’m sure I hope so,” replied Mrs. Dexter, with a sigh.
Leaving Larry to comfort his mother as best he could, Mr. Newton set off to make a trip to police headquarters. He wanted to be sure that Jimmy was not lost in the usual manner in which hundreds of New York children are lost every week. From the sergeant in charge Mr. Newton learned that the usual number of little ones had been picked up. They were at the various precinct station-houses, awaiting owners. Some had been there since early morning, their mothers either having forgotten all about them, or else thinking they were safe at some relative’s or neighbor’s house.
None of the unclaimed ones, however, answered the description of Larry’s brother. They were too young or too old, too large or too small, or had some other feature about them that precluded any chance of one being Jimmy.
“Do your best on this case, Tom,” Mr. Newton said to the sergeant behind the desk, as he was leaving. “Send out a general alarm. The child’s a little brother of a reporter on the Leader, and a friend of mine. If you hear anything during the night from any of the precincts, call me up. I have a ’phone in the house, now.”
“I will,” promised the sergeant. “I hope they find the little lad.”
Rather tired, but not discouraged, Mr. Newton went home. He knew the police would do their best, as many of them were friends of his, and, besides, the bluecoats had a very good feeling toward the Leader, as it had advocated higher pay for the police and firemen, and the measure had passed the Legislature, so there was in line with his duty nothing a bluecoat would not do for the Leader.
But the night wore on, and there came no word to Mr. Newton concerning Jimmy. The reporter went to bed about two o’clock, leaving word for the elevator attendant to awaken him in time to get to work at the usual hour.
In their rooms, waiting, and hoping against hope, sat Mrs. Dexter, Larry, and Lucy. Mary had fallen asleep. It was a sad household, though Larry tried hard to make his mother feel that there was no danger to Jimmy.
“I can’t help crying,” replied Mrs. Dexter. “My little boy has never been away from me a night in his life. He’ll cry so hard, and be so frightened at those rough men! Oh, Larry! Why did they do it? Let them have all they ask, only get Jimmy back!”
“Maybe the men who are after the property have not got Jimmy,” suggested Larry, hoping to cheer up his mother.
“Oh, I’m sure he’s been kidnapped!” she exclaimed. “I feel that he has. I only hope they will not harm him,” and the poor woman began to cry softly again, in spite of the efforts Lucy and Larry made to comfort her.
Thus the long night wore on; none in the Dexter household, save little Mary, sleeping more than a few minutes at a time. Every now and then one of them would awaken, thinking they heard someone coming, bringing what might prove joyful news, but each time it was a false alarm.
When Jimmy, holding tightly to Larry’s hand, started away from the bench in the Garden where he had watched the wonderful show, the little fellow’s mind was in a tumult at what he had seen. It was one endless round of delight for him, and he was sorry that it was over, that the people were going home, and that the performers had disappeared.
“Let’s go and see the animals again,” begged Jimmy, but Larry was too intent on getting out of the crowd to pay any attention to the request.
Just at that moment a lad, who seemed to be about the same age as Larry, stepped up behind Jimmy, who was lagging in the rear. He cast a sharp look at the young reporter and his little brother, and, when the small chap asked to be taken once more to the animals, the youth seemed to be much excited.
He leaned over and whispered to Jimmy, taking good care that Larry did not see him.
“If you come with me I’ll take you to the animals,” the youth said. “We’ll see the elephants, the tigers, the lions, the zebras, and the horses. Come on, Jimmy, and we’ll have a good time!”
It was done in an instant, but, swift and low as the voice was, the little boy heard and understood. Still he remembered what his mother had said to him about keeping tight hold of Larry’s hand. The strange youth seemed to understand this, for he went on:
“After we see the animals we’ll come back to Larry. Don’t let him know about this, for the animals might all run away, and we wouldn’t see them again.”
That settled it for Jimmy. He was ready to do anything to see the wild beasts again, and was willing to keep quiet for fear of scaring them away.
So, almost before he knew what he was doing, Jimmy had released his hold of Larry’s hand, and clasped that of the strange youth who promised such delights as unlimited quantities of wild animals.
Once he had hold of Jimmy, the youth made his way rapidly through the crowd. He dodged this way and that, pulling the little chap along, half dragging him at times, until Jimmy, from very weariness, cried out:
“Please show me the wild animals. I’m awful tired!”
“We’ll soon be there,” the lad went on. “It’s just around the next corner, and down a little ways. Oh, but you’ll see the finest lot of animals that ever got into a circus!”
That satisfied Jimmy for a while, and he trudged on, not noticing that the crowd was thinning out, that his leader had left the Garden, and was walking along the street.
“Where are the animals?” asked the little boy, who was beginning to feel that all was not right.
“It’s a little further now,” was the answer. “They are feeding the polar bear, and the lion is mad because they didn’t give him his supper first, so we’ll have to wait a while.”
This seemed reasonable to Jimmy, who knew that bears and lions were fierce beasts, and had to be humored. So he said nothing, only he wondered more and more why he had been taken away from the music and lights, and the companionship of his brother. But he was so small that he had no suspicions.
On and on the two trudged. They had left the well-lighted streets, and were in a dark section of the city, where only an occasional gas lamp gave a fitful gleam that illuminated a small circle, and seemed to leave the rest in denser blackness than if there had been no light.
“I’m afraid!” Jimmy said, after a while. “I want to go home!”
“All right; we’ll go home after we see the animals!” said the youth, who seemed much elated over something.
“Don’t want to see any animals! Want to go home!” Jimmy cried. “I want Larry! Take me to Larry!” and he began to sob.
“Now wait a minute!” the lad leading him exclaimed. “I’m going to show you the finest steam engine you ever saw, and I’ll let you turn on the steam!”
“Honest and truly?” asked Jimmy, his mind suddenly turned from the idea of tears.
“Sure,” replied the youth. “It’s just around the corner. Come on, now, before it gets away.”
Thereupon Jimmy hurried, full of glee at what had always been one of his childish ambitions—to run a steam-engine. The youth leading him went down many streets, until it seemed to the little fellow they must have traversed several miles. But Jimmy did not think of complaining, though he was very tired. His feet lagged behind now and again, however, and the youth leading him noticed this.
“Poor kid, I sort of hate to do this,” he said, “but I have to, or lose my job, and I never could get another after what I’ve done. I wish I could take a car, but someone might see us, and then the jig would be up. It isn’t much farther, that’s one good thing.”
He had been talking to himself in a low tone, and now and then he looked down on Jimmy to see how the little boy was standing the journey.
“Is it much farther?” asked the small lad.
“Not much. Just you think about the steam-engine, and you’ll not notice how tired you are.”
“I’m trying to,” replied Jimmy, blinking to keep back the tears.
The youth chose the darkest and least-frequented streets, and seemed anxious to escape observation, as he led Jimmy along. Once he saw a policeman standing under a gas-lamp, and, at the sight of the bluecoat, the youth darted across the street, and slunk along in the shadow, keeping Jimmy on the side farthest away from the officer, at the same time cautioning the little boy to remain quiet, and not speak.
Down a side street that was more gloomy and lonesome than any they had yet traversed, the youth led his captive. There was, here and there, a gas-lamp, but it seemed to make the darkness only more intense. Strange-looking figures flitted here and there out of the shadows, apparently afraid of what little light there was.
Figures there were with loosely-fitting clothes, wide sleeves to the jackets, and wide trousers. On their feet were shoes with thick soles, and some of them had long braids of hair hanging down their backs. Jimmy caught sight of one, and huddled closer to the youth.
“There’s a Chinaman!” the little fellow exclaimed. “I’m afraid of him!”
“Sure he’s a Chinaman,” the youth agreed. “I call ’em Chinks. Nobody here calls ’em Chinamen.”
“I’m afraid,” repeated Jimmy. He always had had a sort of horror of the almond-eyed Celestials.
“They won’t hurt you,” the youth assured him. “This is where they live. This is Chinatown. You’ll have lots of fun. I know a Chink that’ll make you a fine kite that’ll sail away up in the air.”
“Honest?” asked the little boy, his fear temporarily gone at the mention of the kite.
“Sure, if you’re a good boy.”
“You get the kite, and give it to me,” pleaded Jimmy. “I’m a-skeered to have a Chinaman come near me.”
“All right, I will,” agreed the youth. Then in a lower tone he added. “It’s a good thing he is afraid. It will keep him from trying to escape. The house is full of Chinks, and he’ll not try to leave the room after I get him in. I’ll have an easier time than I thought I would.”
They went on past several dark houses. Now and then a door would open, letting a glimmer of light out from the hall. The portal would close quickly again, and the figure that had come out would slink along as though afraid of being seen.
“Here we are!” the youth exclaimed, coming to a halt in front of a three-storied building that was darker and more gloomy-looking than any they had yet passed.
“Is the steam-engine here?” asked Jimmy.
“Sure, come on in.”
“And the kite?”
“Yep. Come along, now, kid, and don’t make any noise.”