THE DOWN TOWN BACK-ALLEYS.
45
hard lines of care in her face, is at the wash-tub. "I try to keep the childer clean," she says, apologetically, but
AN OLD REAR-TENEMENT IN ROOSEVELT STREET.
with a hopeless glance around. The spice of hot soap-suds is added to the air already tainted with the smell of boiling cabbage, of rags and uncleanliness all about. It makes an overpowering compound. It is Thursday, but
