Several squares were covered, and Huskin took Robert around a corner into a street which was little better than an alleyway.
"This is a short cut," he said. "The street is all torn up a bit further on, and unless we go this way we will have to walk several blocks out of our way."
"Any way will suit me," answered Robert. "Only I may have some difficulty in finding my way back."
"Not if you take the street two blocks to our left."
As they entered the alleyway Jim Huskin began to whistle a lively air. It was the signal for Andy Cross to draw closer.
"I always whistle when I get here," explained the sharper, glibly, as he stopped for a second. "I was born and brought up in this neighborhood, and the scene takes me back to my boyhood days."
Robert was not favorably impressed by the surroundings. On one side of the alleyway were a number of deserted tenement houses, and on the other the high brick wall surrounding a factory yard. "He must have been pretty poor to have lived in one of those shanties," thought the boy.
"In those days these houses were well kept, and where the factory stands was a pretty open lot," said Huskin, as if reading his thoughts. "Everything is changed now. Will you mind my stopping at one of the houses for a minute? An old negro lives here, and I want to see if he is sick."
"All right."