In that book was related how Larry, with the aid of Mr. Newton, waged war against a gang of swindlers who were trying to rob the city, and, incidentally, Larry himself, for, as it developed, his mother had a deed to certain valuable property in the Bronx Park section of New York, and the swindlers desired to get possession of the land.  They wanted to hold it and sell it to the city at a high price, but Larry got ahead of them.

To further their ends the bad men took away Jimmie, Larry’s little brother, but the young reporter, and his friend Mr. Newton, traced the boy and found him.  Peter Manton had a hand in the kidnapping scheme.

By the sale of the Bronx land Mrs. Dexter became possessed of enough money to put her beyond the fear of immediate want; Larry decided to continue on in the newspaper field, and when this story opens he was regarded as one of the best workers on the staff of the Leader.  His assignment to get the story of the wreck was his first big one since the incidents told of in the second volume.

At Larry and the coast-guard trudged down the beach the guns from the doomed steamer were fired more frequently, and the rockets lighted up the darkness with a weird glare.

“Not much farther now,” remarked George, as he peered ahead through the blackness, whitened here and there with masses of flying spray.

A little later they were at the life-saving station.  The place was in seeming confusion, yet every man was at his post.  Most of them were hauling out the long wagon frame, on which the life-boat rested.  They were bringing the craft down to the beach to try to launch it.

“Lend a hand!” cried Captain Needam, as Larry and the coast-guard came in.  “We need every man we can get.”

Larry grasped a rope.  No one paid any attention to him, and they seemed to think it was natural that he should be there.  Perhaps they took him for Bailey.

The boat was taken down to the edge of the surf.  An effort was made to launch it, but, struggle as the men did, they could not get it beyond the line of breakers.

“It’s no use!” exclaimed the captain.  “We’ll have to haul her to Johnson’s Cove.  Maybe it isn’t so rough there.”

The wagon, with the boat on it, was pulled back, and then began a journey about two miles farther down the coast, to a small inlet, protected by a curving point of land.  There the breakers were likely to be less high, and the boat might be launched.

Larry pulled with the rest.  He did not see how he was going to get his story telegraphed to the paper, but he was consoled by the reflection that there were no other reporters on hand, and that there was no immediate likelihood of being “beaten.”  When morning came he could decide what to do.

So, for the time being, he became a life saver, and pulled on the long rope attached to the wagon until his arms ached.  It was heavy hauling through the sand, and his feet seemed like lead.