Larry Dexter, Reporter/Chapter 18

no idea,” the chemist continued, “how many people there were in New York who had stains that they desired removed from their hands or faces. It's astonishing, that's what it is. Men and women came here, covered with ink, or else marked with acids and chemicals, and wanted me to make 'em look nice again so they could go to a dance, or appear in public. Mothers brought their sons and daughters, all marked up from playing with paint or something else, and wanted me to make 'em right again.”

“But did Noddy come?” insisted Mr. Newton.

“Wait, I'm coming to that,” replied Mr. Hosfer, “but I have to tell it in my own way. After about a hundred ordinary people had called on me, I began to think our trap was a failure, since the bird we wanted did not come. In the meanwhile I had used up about ten dollars' worth of chemicals removing stains.”

“Didn't any of them offer to pay you?” asked Larry.

“Not a one,” replied the chemist, sadly. “I guess they thought this was a dispensary for the poor. Well, never mind that. But last evening, just as I was about to close up the shop, there came a ring at the bell, and in came a man, who, the minute I set eyes on him, I knew to be the person we wanted.”

“It was Noddy, eh?” asked Mr. Newton.

“That's who it was. He had on a pair of gloves, and he seemed quite nervous. He wanted to know if it was all straight about the advertisement, and I told him it was. That I wouldn't ask any questions, but would remove any stains he might have, and only charge him a small sum.”

“What did he say?” asked Mr. Newton.

“Said he didn't care what it cost. Then he pulled off his gloves, and showed me the bluest pair of hands you ever saw. The moment I saw 'em I knew he was our man. But I didn't say anything.”

“Is he coming again?” asked Mr. Newton, anxiously.

“This very evening,” replied Mr. Hosfer. “I used a weak solution of acid, and only took part of the stain off. I told him he would have to come back for three evenings, and he promised to be here about nine o'clock to-night!”

“It's almost that now,” observed Larry. “We'd better get out of the way.”

“That's so,” remarked Mr. Newton. “Now this is my plan. Have you some place where you can hide us, Mr. Hosfer?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, I want to follow Noddy when he goes from here. I think I can do it with better success than I did in the case of Peter. I must find out where he lives, since I am convinced he has the deed in his possession.”

“You and Larry can go into the next room,” said the chemist. “You can hear everything that goes on in here, and when Noddy starts to leave, after I have treated him, you can be all ready to follow. He'll never see you.”

“That's a good idea,” spoke Mr. Newton. “We'd better go in now. He may be along at any moment.”

They had hardly entered the room opening off from the laboratory when there came a knock at the door, and Noddy entered.

Through a crack in the portal Mr. Newton watched the blue-handed man. Noddy seemed ill at ease. He still wore his gloves, but he took them off soon after entering the laboratory.

“Now we'll try the second application,” Larry and Mr. Newton heard Mr. Hosfer say. “This will almost do the trick.”

“I hope you'll soon be done,” Noddy said. “I'm getting tired of wearing these gloves around. You see,” he volunteered, “I spilled some bluing on my hands as I was helping my wife with the wash, and it looks rather bad; that's the reason I want to get rid of it.”

“I'll soon fix you,” remarked Mr. Hosfer, paying no attention to the explanation Noddy offered.

The chemist applied several solutions to Noddy's hands, and, under his treatment, the blue color faded somewhat. The chemist knew it could not be taken out entirely, but he did not consider it his place to tell the man so. It was a case of wits being matched against wits, and the chemist favored the side of justice.

“That's all I can do for you to-night,” Mr. Hosfer remarked at length, speaking in loud tones, so Mr. Newton, in the next room, could hear him. “Come to-morrow or next day.”

“I wish you could finish with me,” remarked Noddy. “I want to get rid of this stain, and go away.”

“I'm doing the best I can,” replied Mr. Hosfer. “Yours is a bad case.”

“It's a good deal worse than you think,” muttered the man.

A few minutes later Noddy left the house. Mr. Newton was close after him, trailing him along the half-deserted streets. Larry had been left behind, with instructions to await the older reporter's return.

For a number of blocks Mr. Newton had no trouble in keeping after Noddy. The suspected safe-robber wore a light hat, which was conspicuous among the throng of people on the thoroughfares, most of whom had on dark headgear.

“I think I'll land him this time,” murmured Mr. Newton. “I'll not run my head into a Chinese den again, though. He seems to be heading for a respectable part of town. I guess our trick's going to work.”

It was now about ten o'clock. Noddy had reached Union Square, and was crossing the small park near Broadway. Close behind him, taking care not to be seen, was Mr. Newton. There was quite a throng in the streets, and many vehicles.

Suddenly an automobile, the driver of which seemed to lose his head, rammed a trolley car. The crash was heard for some distance, and, though no one was hurt in the accident, it caused a blockade. Noddy halted to see what the trouble was, and Mr. Newton found himself on the outskirts of quite a crowd that was collecting.

Just then Noddy turned, and, by some chance, looked straight at the reporter who was trailing him. One glance was enough for Noddy. He seemed to sink down amid the throng. Mr. Newton made his way farther into the midst of the crowd, but all traces of Noddy were lost. There was no sign of the light hat.

“Well, that's bad luck!” exclaimed Mr. Newton. “I guess our plan's knocked in the head.”

Nor was he mistaken, for Noddy did not come back to the chemist's the next night. The trap had proved a failure.

“I guess we'll have to let the thing go for a while,” said Mr. Newton to Larry, on the afternoon following the unsuccessful trailing of Noddy. “Election's coming on now, and we'll both be pretty busy. I don't believe the gang will dare to do anything, now that they know we're after them. I think we can let things rest for a while.”

Larry agreed with this idea. As Mr. Newton had said, there was plenty of work about the Leader office now. There was a three-sided campaign on that year. The Democrats had their candidates, as did the Republicans. Then there was an Independent ticket in the field. These men had a number of issues which they wanted to see win. Altogether it was what politicians call a “hot” campaign.

It was drawing to a close, however. In another week there would come the election, when all questions would be settled.

Larry had his first experience in a big newspaper office during the most exciting time; that is, on an election night.

For several days the older reporters had been making up tables on which the returns were to be set down as they came in from each district.

Mr. Emberg and his assistants were working early and late to get things into shape.

Election day passed itself off quietly enough. The political writers were kept busy, telling how things seemed to look according to early information, but as for forecasting who was elected no one could do that. All day the battle of the ballots continued.

The Leader, being an afternoon paper, was going to issue a morning extra. To get this out the men would have to work all night, in addition to being on duty all day. It was hard on them, but they didn't mind it once a year.

No sooner had the last edition gone to press in the afternoon than preparations were made for getting out the next morning's extra. The men in charge of the tables got them ready, spreading them out on large boards. The tables looked like big-sized war maps, with little blocks and spaces for each election district, a place devoted to each candidate, and squares where the total vote might be cast up.

In the different polling places the last ballots were being put into boxes. The clerks and judges, with their eye on the clock, stood ready to call “time,” when the hour of sunset should be marked. The last voters were being corraled. In a few minutes the big contest would be over, all excepting the counting of the tickets.

At each polling place policemen were stationed. It was the duty of the bluecoats to take charge of the ballot box, after the tickets had been counted. The officers had blanks, prepared by the different papers, and these were brought to City Hall, where the tally was taken.

The newspapers had men at this point to make a record of the votes each candidate received. This record was quickly transmitted to the office, either by messenger or telephone.

As he had had no experience at this work Larry was only a sort of reserve man, being held in readiness to be sent out on ordinary news. As the night was dull, except for election, he had a chance to see how the paper got the returns.

At the big tables half a dozen men were stationed, anxiously waiting. With pencils poised they stood ready to jot down the figures under each candidate's name. It was very quiet, and there was no excitement. Each man knew what he had to do, and was ready to do it.

In rushed a messenger. He carried a long slip. This he handed to the man at the first table, the “caller-off.” “Seventeenth assembly district,” cried the reporter, and then in low but distinct tones he read each candidate's name, and gave his vote. In the proper squares the markers set the figures down. There were several sets of tables, and, as soon as one was filled, the slip was passed to the set of men at the next one.

In this way hundreds of districts were recorded. Through the night the work went on. As soon as a district was completed the talliers would cut it out from the sheet, and call off the figures to another man, who sat at an adding machine. This man quickly computed the total vote, and it was set down.

Then the section of table was rushed upstairs to the composing room, where the printers quickly, on their type-setting machines, made a duplicate of it.

Toward the end the work became hard and tiring. The returns came piling in, and the nerve tension under which the men worked was tremendous. But there was little excitement.

Finally the returns were all in. Then came the tedious task of figuring the totals, for on this depended the result of the election, and finding out which party had won.

“Click! Click! Click!” went the adding machines. Number after number the reporters called off. Upstairs in the composing room the type-machines were working overtime.

Everyone was under a great strain. Seconds seemed like minutes. At times, during a lull, the ticking of the clock sounded like the firing of a rifle. In corners of the room experts were figuring pluralities and majorities. Other reporters were writing interviews with winning or losing candidates. Still others were describing the scenes on the streets, the torchlight processions, the happenings at the political headquarters, and telling what the effect of the Board of Aldermen changing from one party to the other would be.

There was not an idle person in the room. The city editor was here, there, everywhere. He seemed to be carrying the responsibility of a dozen men. He was telling everyone to hurry, as it was time for the morning extra to be out on the street.

At last the final additions were made. The last computations were completed.

“The Independents have won!” was the cry.

“Hurrah!” came the shouts from outside.

The last form was sent down. The stereotypers were working like mad. The hungry presses were waiting. The engine was at full steam.

Out from the casting machine came the half-curved plates of type from which the papers were to be printed. Half-naked men clamped them upon the cylinders. They contained the thousands of figures that told the story of the battle of the ballots. The last plate was slapped into place.

“All ready!” cried the foreman.

A bell rang. The engine started. There was a subdued roar. There was a rattle, a bang, a throb of the basement floor. Then came a shrill screech as the belts gripped the wheels, and the machinery started. In another instant the roar became a steady thunder, and hundreds of papers a minute began falling from the presses.

The election extra was out.