It was rather hard to have to sit there all day, he explained to the doctor, but they were getting along.  Mrs. Mulhaus had got a job of cleaning that day; that would be fifty cents.  Ally—­she was twelve—­was learning to sew.  That was her afternoon to go to the College Settlement.  Jimmy, fourteen, had got a place in a store, and earned two dollars a week.

“And Vicky?” asked the doctor.

“Oh, Vicky,” piped up the eight-year-old boy.  “Vicky’s up to the ’stution”—­the hospital was probably the institution referred to—­“ever so long now.  I seen her there, me and Jim did.  Such a bootifer place!  ’Nd chicken!” he added.  “Sis got hurt by a cart.”

Vicky was seventeen, and had been in a fancy store.

“Yes,” said Mulhaus, in reply to a question, “it pays pretty well raising canaries, when they turn out singers.  I made fifteen dollars last year.  I hain’t sold much lately.  Seems ’s if people stopped wanting ’em such weather.  I guess it ’ll be better in the spring.”

“No doubt it will be better for the poor fellow himself before spring,” said the doctor as they made their way down the dirty stairways.  “Now I’ll show you one of my favorites.”

They turned into a broader street, one of the busy avenues, and passing under an archway between two tall buildings, entered a court of back buildings.  In the third story back lived Aunt Margaret.  The room was scarcely as big as a ship’s cabin, and its one window gave little light, for it opened upon a narrow well of high brick walls.  In the only chair Aunt Margaret was seated close to the window.  In front of her was a small work-table, with a kerosene lamp on it, but the side of the room towards which she looked was quite occupied by a narrow couch —­ridiculously narrow, for Aunt Margaret was very stout.  There was a thin chest of drawers on the other side, and the small coal stove that stood in the centre so nearly filled the remaining space that the two visitors were one too many.

“Oh, come in, come in,” said the old lady, cheerfully, when the door opened.  “I’m glad to see you.”

“And how goes it?” asked the doctor.

“First rate.  I’m coming on, doctor.  Work’s been pretty slack for two weeks now, but yesterday I got work for two days.  I guess it will be better now.”

The work was finishing pantaloons.  It used to be a good business before there was so much cutting in.

“I used to get fifteen cents a pair, then ten; now they don’t pay but five.  Yes, the shop furnishes the thread.”

“And how many pairs can you finish in a day?” asked Edith.

“Three—­three pairs, to do ’em nice—­and they are very particular—­if I work from six in the morning till twelve at night.  I could do more, but my sight ain’t what it used to be, and I’ve broken my specs.”

“So you earn fifteen cents a day?”

“When I’ve the luck to get work, my lady.  Sometimes there isn’t any.  And things cost so much.  The rent is the worst.”