"It's Tom Brady's mother," answered our hero.
"Is it Tom, the telegraph boy?"
"Yes."
"I'll show you then. Tom's been sick for some time."
"I know it. I have come to see him."
"Do you know Tom?" asked the girl, in some surprise; for Frank, having laid aside his uniform, was handsomely dressed, and looked like the son of a rich man.
"Yes, Tom is a friend of mine. I am sorry he's sick."
Up two flights of rickety stairs Frank followed the girl, who halted before a door.
"That's the place," said his young guide, and disappeared down the stairs, sliding down the banisters. Young ladies in the best society do not often indulge in this amusement, but Mary Murphy knew little of etiquette or conventionality.
In answer to Frank's knock, the door was opened by Mrs. Brady, a poorly clad and care-worn woman.