"
On this Sunday morning the Frying Pan was alive with people, Jewish
tailors and cloakmakers, who were enjoying a bit of needed rest. They
filled the doorways and the steps, and down on the pavement the children
ran around, shouting and playing games.
Picking their way among the latter and the heaps of dirt and streams
of filthy water on all sides, the two boys followed Pep to the end of
the court. Curious eyes gazed after them, and open remarks concerning
their presence in that locality were not wanting.
But to these the two paid no attention, though both were glad enough
to escape into the hallway of the tenement to which the street boy led
them.
"Look out for de stairway," cautioned Pep, as they ascended the first
flight. "It's mighty rotten, and you kin break a leg widout half
tryin'."
Up and up they went, until finally they stopped at the door of a room
on the top floor and in the rear.
"Here we are," whispered Pep. "Let me go in alone first, and see how
he is."
The street urchin opened the door and went inside. In a moment he
reappeared.
"He's asleep," he said. "You can come in."
The room was part of a garret, with a sloping side and a dormer window.
Opposite was a large brick chimney with an open fireplace. Near it lay
a mattress on the floor, and upon this rested a man.
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