At last Ferris got tired of waiting, and he tried the door. It was unlocked, and, pushing it open, the tall boy entered.
Hal waited for a moment, and then, mounting the stoop, peered in at the door, which Ferris had left partly open.
As the youth had surmised, the hall-way was quite dark. He heard Ferris mounting the rickety stairs, and like a shadow he followed, fairly holding his breath, lest some sound might betray his presence.
Ferris mounted almost to the top of the tenement, and then hammered on a door in the rear.
"Come!" cried a voice from inside, and Ferris entered.
No sooner was the door closed than Hal approached it and applied his eye to the key-hole. He saw a small apartment, scantily furnished with a small cook-stove, a table, three chairs, and some kitchen utensils.
A man sat before the stove, smoking a short briar pipe. He was unshaved, but his face bore evidence of former gentility and manhood, in spite of the fact that it was now dissipated.
"Hullo, Ferris!" he exclaimed.
"How are you, Macklin?" returned the tall boy.
"Not very well, I can tell you," returned Macklin, removing his pipe and spitting into the stove. "I've got rheumatism, yer know."