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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.

“Aw, I say, Ikey! Gim’me a ticket fer me sister?”

“Look out what’che crackin’, Finny! Dat’s my back lung what sounds so holler when you beat it,” grinned Ike, the good-natured boy from Rivington Street who had won fame as a ticket-distributor for Happy Hills.

“Got one to spare?” anxiously continued Finn.