"I dunno," replied Pep slowly. "Dad don't want no visitors. I was only going to get Mr. Dare. But I reckon you can come. Dad won't know de difference. He ain't right here."
And the street urchin tapped his forehead significantly.
Rushing upstairs, Frank got out a basket and filled it with a number of things that Mrs. Massanet and Mattie had prepared. He was down again in a moment, and then the three, guided by Pep, hurried off.
It was far down on the east side, through streets that are narrow, dirty and notorious for crimes of all kinds, that the boy led them.
"'Tain't no nice walk to take," he said, "and you're dressed too good to go through here after dark. If you come ag'in put on yer old clo'es; da won't notice you so much."
"I'm glad that your sister isn't along," said Richard to Frank, with a shudder. "I never dreamed of a place as wretched as this."
"Mattie knows how bad it is," returned Frank. "In her mission class she has several children from the Italian quarter, and that's every bit as bad as this."
"Here we are," remarked Pep, as they came to a narrow court. "Dis is my street. Da calls it de Fryin' Pan, 'cause one of de houses took fire last year and ten people were burnt up."
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.