“He went uptown to see the man at the printin’ office. He tol’ me all the tickets he had on hand were given out and he needed more. Why don’t yuh trot up and see the man yourself instead of hangin’ ’round waitin’ fer Ike?” ventured Skelly.
“Guess I will—where is it?”
Skelly thereupon dug down into the pockets of a ragged pair of trousers and finally brought to view a dirty scrap of paper. Upon it was scrawled: “Benjamin Talmage, Manager of Blue Bird Camp at Happy Hills, 354 Fourth Avenue, New York.”
“Dat’s up near 23rd Street, yuh know,” Skelly added, as Finn read aloud the address.
“I’ll git a hitch on a truck goin’ up, and try to see the boss right away,” said Finn, his face expressing relief at having some tangible plan to act upon.
Thanks and the verbal expression of gratitude were unknown to the street Arabs of New York, but Skelly knew from Finn’s face that he appreciated the information, and that was all that was required of a friend.
A large auto-truck sped past the boys, and Finn was soon perched on the tailboard, waving his old cap at Skelly. The truck turned in at 23rd Street to go its way to the East Side, so Finn jumped off and scanned the numbers of the tall office buildings as he started uptown.
“Hah! Here it is! Hully chee, what a swell shanty!” said he to himself as he stood wondering whether to enter the tiled hall. Would the elevator starter permit a boy so ragged and dirty to go up in one of those shiny lifts?
He still pondered this momentous question when Ike ran out and almost into him.
“Looka where yer goin’, why don’che?” grumbled Finn, then seeing that it was Ike, he clapped him soundly on the back.