The fresh air children had gone their various ways and Tommy set off down the street toward his poor home, which, as he had said, was down near the "dumps."
"Wait a minute!" called Mr. Bobbsey after him. "Give me your address, Tommy. Mrs. Bobbsey wants to come and see your grandmother."
"Oh!" exclaimed Tommy, and he seemed rather surprised. "Well, I live on Lombard Street."
"What number?" asked Mr. Bobbsey, taking out a note book and pencil.
"There isn't any number on our house," said Tommy. "Maybe there was once, but it's gone now. But it's the last house on the street, the left hand side as you go toward the dumps."
"All right," said Mr. Bobbsey. "I guess we can find you. But that's a long way to walk from here. Aren't you going to take a car?"
"No—no, sir," answered Tommy. "I don't mind walking."
"Maybe he hasn't the car fare," whispered Mrs. Bobbsey.
"Just what I was thinking myself," answered her husband. "Here, Tommy," he went on. "Here's a quarter. Use it to ride home, and get yourself an ice cream soda. It's warmer here than out on the fresh air farm," and he held out the money. "The ice cream will cool you off."
"Oh, I—I don't want to take it," said Tommy. "I don't mind the walk."