* Since destroyed by fire, and rebuilt farther up Broadway, and again burned down in February.

“I’ll go if I get time,” said Frank.  “There is a boy at home who came to New York a month ago, and went to Barnum’s, and has been talking about it ever since, so I suppose it must be worth seeing.”

“They’ve got a great play at the Old Bowery now,” pursued Dick.  “’Tis called the ‘Demon of the Danube.’  The Demon falls in love with a young woman, and drags her by the hair up to the top of a steep rock where his castle stands.”

“That’s a queer way of showing his love,” said Frank, laughing.

“She didn’t want to go with him, you know, but was in love with another chap.  When he heard about his girl bein’ carried off, he felt awful, and swore an oath not to rest till he had got her free.  Well, at last he got into the castle by some underground passage, and he and the Demon had a fight.  Oh, it was bully seein’ ’em roll round on the stage, cuttin’ and slashin’ at each other.”

“And which got the best of it?”

“At first the Demon seemed to be ahead, but at last the young Baron got him down, and struck a dagger into his heart, sayin’, ’Die, false and perjured villain!  The dogs shall feast upon thy carcass!’ and then the Demon give an awful howl and died.  Then the Baron seized his body, and threw it over the precipice.”

“It seems to me the actor who plays the Demon ought to get extra pay, if he has to be treated that way.”

“That’s so,” said Dick; “but I guess he’s used to it.  It seems to agree with his constitution.”

“What building is that?” asked Frank, pointing to a structure several rods back from the street, with a large yard in front.  It was an unusual sight for Broadway, all the other buildings in that neighborhood being even with the street.

“That is the New York Hospital,” said Dick.  “They’re a rich institution, and take care of sick people on very reasonable terms.”

“Did you ever go in there?”

“Yes,” said Dick; “there was a friend of mine, Johnny Mullen, he was a newsboy, got run over by a omnibus as he was crossin’ Broadway down near Park Place.  He was carried to the Hospital, and me and some of his friends paid his board while he was there.  It was only three dollars a week, which was very cheap, considerin’ all the care they took of him.  I got leave to come and see him while he was here.  Everything looked so nice and comfortable, that I thought a little of coaxin’ a omnibus driver to run over me, so I might go there too.”

“Did your friend have to have his leg cut off?” asked Frank, interested.

“No,” said Dick; “though there was a young student there that was very anxious to have it cut off; but it wasn’t done, and Johnny is around the streets as well as ever.”

While this conversation was going on they reached No. 365, at the corner of Franklin Street.*

* Now the office of the Merchants’ Union Express Company.