Beginning to get a little exasperated, I led the way west into the Italian quarter, and we successively tried the Italian hotels,—Hotel di Campidoglio, Hotel di France, and one other. All refused us admittance. By this time there was not a member of the party who was not exhausted, so, gathering them together in the shelter of a building in the course of construction, and leaving my wife in charge, Antonio and I went hunting a roof for the heads of all of us. It was an hour later when we mounted the steps at the same house in which my wife and I had lived. It seemed ages since we had left the portal, but the good Signora Tonella was there, looking just the same, and when she found out who it was under the dirt and the Italian clothes she offered the three small rooms she had, and, having no other chance, we accepted. Going back to the Hotel di Campidoglio, I persuaded the proprietor to allow us to go into the rear of the dining-room and get something to eat. It took the sight of money to induce him. The waiter was angry at being requested to serve us, and slammed plates and things on the table. A little silver acted as a sedative to his nerves. Poor little Ina went to sleep with a spoon in her mouth, and every person at the two large tables was exhausted, it was plain to see. But, with full stomachs once more, we took up the last stage of the journey, and, shouldering our baggage, made our way the several blocks to 147 West Houston Street. Not one of the three rooms had a full-sized bed in it, and but one had space enough to spread a bed on the floor, yet after a distressing half hour I got the fifteen persons still with us parceled out into the three rooms, all except Giuseppe Rota, who was number sixteen. Try as I would, I was unable to find room for him to stretch his hulking frame unless he took to the doorsteps, so I escorted him over to the Branch of the Society for the Protection of Italian Immigrants, a few doors west, and put him up there. When he found he was to be left alone, he burst out crying and declared he would never see his uncle in Newark again. I reassured him, and told him I would come and get him on the morrow. I remember leaving the place, and it is a fact I was so worn that, going back to the house, settling the others for the night, and turning in myself, left no impression on my memory, and I cannot say what happened. We slept until after noon the next day, and then began the process of assembling all the baggage, clearing it from the customs, and of dispersing the remnant of our party to their various destinations. [Illustration: The Immigrants’ Track Through Ellis Island] _Explanation of the illustration entitled, “The Immigrants’ Track Through Ellis Island,” facing this page_: