Larry tried to follow, but his legs became entangled in the oilskin
coat and he fell. He was up again in an instant, only to see Peter
entering the office. Larry's heart seemed like lead. Had he worked
so hard only to be beaten at the last?

Something spurred him on. He stumbled into the office in time to
hear Peter saying:

"I want to hold a wire for a long despatch to the New York
_Scorcher_. I've got a big account of the wreck."

"Where's your copy?" asked the young man in charge of the clicking
instruments.

"I'll have it ready for you in a minute," replied Peter, sitting
down to a table, and beginning to dash off words and sentences as
fast as his pencil could fly.

"I can't hold any wire for you," said the operator. "If you have any
press stuff to file let me have it. That's the only way you can keep
a wire."

"I'll have it for you in a second," Peter replied as he looked
anxiously at the door.

"That will not answer. I must have copy in order to keep the wire
busy."

"Here it is!" cried Larry, as he entered at that moment and pulled