CHAPTER XAN UNEXPECTED MEETING
Larry Dexter’stask was not an easy one. In the first place there were nearly a hundred of the bank employees, about whose houses he had to circle, in order to determine if there were any of the million-dollar bricks in the vicinity. This in itself was tedious work, but Larry was eager on the trail, for he could not tell at what moment he might make an unexpected discovery.
A week went by, however, with no result. Larry had “covered” many of the residences of the employees, but near none of them were buildings in the course of erection, where the bricks in question could be found.
The young reporter had his own troubles, too, for in several cases, after locating a new building near some bank employee’s house, and inquiring whether the pressed bricks were being used, he was regarded with suspicion.
More than once he was looked upon as a sort of drummer for the bricks, and told to be off about his own affairs. Again, he was suspected of being a walking delegate, trying to bring abouta strike, on account of the use of non-union material, and the foremen were on the point of escorting him off the premises with force.
For, on this search, Larry did not describe himself as a reporter looking for clews in the great bank mystery. He did not want it known who he was, for he realized that if the other papers learned about his efforts they would put reporters on the same scent, and Larry would lose all chance of securing a “beat.” And, while he was doing his best to solve the mystery for the bank, his first duty was to his own paper, and he realized that. He must get the “story” if everything else failed. But he hoped he could do both.
It was a warm Sunday in May. All the week Larry had worked hard on the bank mystery, and, now that he had a day of rest, he felt that he wanted to get far away, where he could see nothing to remind him of it, where he could not smell printer’s ink, or hear the thunder of the presses, and the rustle of paper.
For, though the young reporter was loyal to his assignment, he realized that sometimes to get away from a case you are hard at work on, and take in new ideas and scenes, helps to bring results when the loose threads of clews are again taken up.
“I think I’ll go for a walk in Central Park,” he said to his mother, when they had come back from church. “It will do me good. I’ll take Mary and James with me.”
“No, Larry,” suggested his mother. “You just go off by yourself. Lucy will take the little ones. You want to be free to think, and, if you see anything that will help you, you want to be in a position to go after it. Go off by yourself, and maybe you will discover something that will help you.”
“All right,” he agreed, and so he went for the walk, a walk differing from his usual weekday one, when he was continuously on the lookout for a house where a bank clerk lived, which house might be near a pile of the “million-dollar” bricks.
It was beautiful in the park. As Larry walked along the big gray squirrels scampered about over the green grass, for they are allowed to run free in the big enclosure.
Larry bought a bag of peanuts, and, as he crossed over a roadway, and reached the other side, a big squirrel sat up with tail erect, and eyed him hungrily.
“Peanuts, eh? Want some peanuts?” asked Larry, and, holding out one in his hand toward the squirrel, he was rather surprised when the nimble little creature scrambled up his leg, as though it was the trunk of a tree, thence to his shoulder and along his arm to his outstretched hand, and took the peanut in its paws. Then, as fearless as a kitten, the squirrel sat up on Larry’s shoulder, and ate the nut.
“Well, well!” he laughed. “This is a new one on me. I never knew the squirrels were so tame.”
They are, as a matter of fact, for kind treatment, and the way the New York boys and girls feed them, has made them so.
Suddenly there was a movement on the path back of Larry. With a frisk of its tail the squirrel scampered down Larry’s leg, and ran across the grass, with part of the peanut in its paws. Then there came a girlish laugh, and a voice exclaimed:
“Oh, this is a new part for a reporter to play! Are you getting a story about the tameness of squirrels, Mr. Dexter?”
Larry wheeled about, and saw the girl to whom he had been of service in the subway—the girl who had helped him on the satchel clew—Miss Molly Mason.
“Oh, good afternoon!” he greeted her. “This is an unexpected pleasure. I didn’t know you walked in such a prosaic place as Central Park.”
“There, or Bronx Park, every pleasant Sunday,” she replied, her brown eyes dancing with the joy of the beautiful day. “I am kept in the store so much that I take every chance I get to see the trees, and the green grass.”
“So do I,” said Larry, walking along at her side. “Are you going anywhere in particular?”
“I am—yes,” she answered, and there was a smile on her lips.
“Oh, then don’t let me keep you,” spoke Larry, a bit stiffly.
“I am going to feed the elephants peanuts,”she answered, with a laugh. “I do it every Sunday.”
“Oh, then, perhaps you won’t mind if I come along,” went on the young reporter. “I have some peanuts left, and—well, I am fond of elephants.”
“Come on,” she challenged. “There is one big fellow that seems to know me. Or else it’s the peanuts I bring him.”
“I should prefer to think it was yourself,” said Larry boldly. “Well, we’ll see what the elephant thinks of my peanuts,” and they walked along together, laughing and chatting like two children.
Larry felt light-hearted and care-free. He had almost forgotten about the bank mystery, and how much depended on him to solve it, until Miss Mason asked him:
“Have you found the black-bearded man, who bought the valise of me?”
“No, and I’m afraid I never shall,” was his answer. “It is a strange mystery. I can’t seem to get anywhere with it.”
“I wish I could help you,” she said earnestly, “but I can’t seem to.”
“You gave me a good story, at any rate,” retorted Larry. “By the way, the art department sent me up your picture to return to you, but—er—do you mind if I keep it for myself?”
She looked at him a moment and answered:
“No—not very much.”
“Then I will,” exclaimed Larry. “Here weare at the elephant house. Let’s see who can feed the big fellows the most peanuts,” and, still like children, they entered.
The question of who was the greatest favorite of the pachyderms was not settled. Certain it was that the biggest elephant seemed to like Miss Mason’s peanuts better than Larry’s, but perhaps that was because she fed them to him by the half-bagful. Soon the two had handed over all the dainties they had purchased.
As they walked up a path Larry saw two figures approaching them. Both were vaguely familiar to him, and he was just wondering who they were, when, suddenly, he came face to face with them.
Even in the waning light he had no trouble in recognizing them. They were Miss Grace Potter, the daughter of the millionaire whom Larry had located after such a search, and Harrison Witherby, the clerk in the Consolidated National Bank, which had been robbed of a million dollars.
“Oh, good evening, Mr. Dexter,” greeted Miss Potter, in some surprise, as she noted Larry’s companion.
“Good evening,” replied the young reporter, and though he glanced at her escort, and nodded, Witherby did not respond, but looked at our hero almost with a sneer.
A moment later and the two couples had passed each other, but Larry’s heart was still beating over the unexpected meeting.