"Then come in to dinner."
"I wasted the whole afternoon trying to find a boy down on the East Side, but when at last I reached the house I was told he had moved from that neighborhood. He is a soloist at St. Hyacinth's, and I had promised him a booklet."
"Leighton Dane?"
"Yes. What do you know of him?"
"That he will sing no more at St. Hyacinth's. Henceforth his solos belong to choirs beyond the stars. The boy is slowly dying of consumption."
"When did you see him?"
"A few days ago. He is at No. 980 —— Street, Brooklyn. Your cousin Eglah asked me to keep an eye on him. Poor little lad! His battle with pain and loneliness is pathetic, and I rather think the end is not far off."
"Loneliness? Who takes care of him?"
"His mother is away all day at her work, but an old German and his wife living on the same floor of the tenement look after him as best they can."
"Could you deliver the book to him?"