the river. Peewee sighed deeply and stood up to find himself confronted by a larger boy.
"Hungry kid?" the boy inquired.
The question wrung a forced reply. "Sure."
"I know where we can eat."
Peewee doubtfully surveyed the boy. He could not, he decided, be an emissary of his father or of Lampert. "All right," he said.
He followed as the boy crossed the railroad tracks to Kinzie Street and there turned east. They were, it seemed likely, headed toward a neighborhood where he would have preferred not to go; his father lived to north and east of them. But the boy's indifference as to whether Peewee followed him or not appeared additional testimony that he could not have anything to do with Peewee's father. Having traveled a half-dozen blocks east on Kinzie Street, they turned north on Rush.
Peewee looked inquiringly at the numerous small restaurants on this street, but he comprehended that if any of these had been their destination they would have been traveling in the alleys; he was not welcome at restaurant front
