It was the merchant from the West who said that he noticed how much American clothing these immigrants carried back. That the men had celluloid collars, watches and brass-bound trunks. It was the man from Boston who said that they carried themselves so differently from those who came over, and it was he who began to calculate how much money they carried back, impoverishing our country and enriching theirs. "One thing," I ventured in reply, "you have not counted and cannot count. How much of that which is better than money they are carrying back. Ideals filtered into their minds, new aspirations dominating their lives, and all found in the humblest places in America. "The steerage, as I have said before, and now say again with still more emphasis, carries into Europe more saving ideas than the cabin. What we bring we have borrowed from Europe and bring back in exaggerated forms. Neither Paris nor Berlin, nor Vienna nor Monte Carlo is being blessed by our coming or cares for us at all, but only for our dollars." No one contradicted me and I do not think I shall be contradicted. "Neither Europe nor America is the better for our coming or our going," I continued. "And you," turning to the man from Boston, "you who say that the immigrants are to blame for our social and religious deterioration, ask yourself what you and your class bring back to America after a season spent on the frayed edges of the so-called social life of Europe, with which the average American comes in contact. As for the money the immigrants carry back, they have earned every cent of it, and I have no doubt that we in the cabin carry more money over to Europe than they do, and we will spend it there; and I am not so sure that we have earned it. "Moreover," waving aside the man from Boston who was about to interrupt me, but I was wound up and could not run down, "they have paid a terrible price for the money they carry home. Shall I tell you what that price is?" And I told the story of the Slavic widow and her orphaned brood. Then my good neighbour, the Puritan rebel, who had heartlessly talked of her deserted home, stretched out her hand and touching mine said: "Please don't tell us any more. You have already made me think, and I don't want to." Then came four bells from the bridge, and the lonely sailor watching from the crow's nest called out: "All's well on board!" With a sigh my Puritan rebel rose, murmuring what I alone heard: "Sailor, that isn't so!" Then she said: "Good-night." After that there were more cigarettes and cocktails in the smoking-room; but one woman wasn't there. II THE PRICE THEY PAY