"We don't pay for their keep," the official answered; "we make the steamship companies do that. They are expected to bring desirable, not undesirable immigrants here, and if they bring people whom we cannot accept, they must take the consequences and bear the expense of deporting them. Our deporting division looks after that, and it is one of the hardest parts of our work. We've a pathetic case there now."
"You mean that Bridget Mahoney case," said an inspector, who had just stepped up. "I beg your pardon for interrupting, but I was just going to ask you to come and see about that case. There are some new developments."
"I'll go right in," said Hamilton's guide interestedly. "I think you might come along, too," he added, turning to the boy.
"Who is Bridget Mahoney?" Hamilton asked. "That's a good old Irish name."
"And she's a good old Irish soul," the other answered. "She landed here about three weeks ago, fully expecting her son to meet her, but during the five days when she was in temporary detention he failed to show up."
"But why didn't you telegraph to the son?" asked Hamilton, who was beginning to feel as though he knew all the ropes.
"We couldn't find his right address."
"Was he a traveling man?"
"It wasn't that. The woman said she knew he lived in a town called Johnson, or Johnston, or something like that, but she didn't know in what State. Now there are nearly forty post-offices with that name in America, and we sent telegrams or letters to every one of these. But we never received a definite reply."
"Well, if she's all right, as you say she is," said Hamilton, "why can't she land and wait until her son is reached?"