Two or three blocks brought him to another tenement house, more shabby and dilapidated than the one he had left.
"I think it is No. 17, rear house," he said.
He passed through a narrow passage, and emerged into a dark court about fifteen feet square, swarming with little children, and inquired of the first one that attracted his attention, "Does Mrs. Flaherty live here?"
"Yes, sir," said the little girl addressed, "she's my mother."
"Will you show me her room?"
Little Bridget Flaherty led the way upstairs, a little surprised at the appearance of her mother's visitor, and opened the door of a dirty room without a carpet.
Mrs. Flaherty rose in surprise, recognizing her visitor.
"It's Mr. Marden, shure," she said. "And how did you find the way, sir?"
"I happened to remember the street and number, Mrs. Flaherty."
"I hope there's nothing wrong about the clothes, sir?"