"It is a shame," snarled neighbor Bill. "Therefore I have always said," continued the man, with the red, hanging cheeks, "that we should do as they do in Philadelphia, where for the last thirty years they have levied a poll-tax of forty shillings on every imported Dutchman, just as they do on a nigger. But here a man may preach and preach, but it is to deaf ears. I will not stay out in the rain on account of these ragamuffins. Good day, gentlemen." The big man touched his three-cornered hat, but, instead of leaving the place, went with heavy strides to the edge of the quay and looked at the ship, which had by this time raised its anchor and was being slowly driven on by the tide. "It is a sin," said neighbor Flint. "It is a shame," snarled neighbor Bill. "That is--for Mr. Pitcher to speak so," cried one who now came up and had heard the last words of him who was just leaving. "What do you mean by that, Mr. Brown?" asked Samuel Squenz, respectfully lifting his cap. "Isn't it a shame, now," said Mr. Brown, a small, old, lean man, who spoke with much animation, and while speaking gesticulated violently with his lean little arms. "Isn't it a shame for one to speak so contemptuously about his own countrymen? Is not this Mr. Pitcher just as good, or as bad as the poor devils there on the ship? Did not his parents, in 1710, while Robert Hunter was governor, come to New York with the great immigration, from the Palatinate? They were good, respectable people, whom I knew well, who had a hard time of it, and who honestly and honorably worked up to their subsequent better condition. They do not deserve that this, their son, whom I have seen running about the streets barefoot, should so utterly forget them and slander their memory as to change his name from the German, Krug, into the English, Pitcher. Pitcher indeed! The old Krug was, I think, made out of better clay than this young English Pitcher, who reviles these immigrants and thereby creeps under the same cover with the Dutch who sell people for a term of years, and deal in human flesh as you do, neighbor Flint, with beef, and you, neighbor Bill, with cheese and butter." The old man thrust his bamboo cane angrily into the moist ground. "It is a sin," said neighbor Flint. "It is a shame," said neighbor Bill. "With your permission, neighbors," said Samuel Squenz, "I will not praise Mr. Pitcher, though he gives me work. One must, however, honor his father, though he was a miserable Dutchman. Nor will I have anything to do with those who deal in human flesh, or sell people for a term of years. May the Lord forgive Mr. Pitcher if he meddles with such a business. But I cannot blame those to whom this immigration is an open grief, and who declare it to be injurious to the commonwealth. These vagabonds take the bread from our mouths, and stuff it into their unwashed mouths, while they are too stupid or too lazy to earn a shilling."