In a few minutes they were down on the Bowery, and passing Park Row, the only lively spot in lower New York on Sunday, they crossed Fulton Street and so on down to West.
As Richard had anticipated, the Watch Below was closed. Doc Linyard did not keep his place open on Sunday, excepting for an hour or two early in the morning.
"I'll have to see if I can knock him up," he said to Pep.
And raising his foot he kicked several times on the lower portion of the door.
"Something like the first night, when I got lost," he thought to himself. "What changes have occurred since then!"
Richard repeated his kicking, and presently there were sounds of footsteps within, the turning of a key in the lock, and then the door opened cautiously, revealing Mrs. Linyard.
"Oh, it's you!" she exclaimed. "Come in! I was afraid it might be some drunken man; there's so many here of a Sunday, trying to get in."
"Aunt Betty, don't you know me!" piped up Pep's voice, all in a tremble.
Mrs. Linyard turned and surveyed the street urchin eagerly.
"Mercy me! if it hain't Tom's boy!" she ejaculated. "Where in the world did you come from?"