"When you've been working in this section for twenty years," she said slowly, "you'll realize that nobody can ever understand. You'll realize that we all have animal traits—to a certain extent. And you'll realize that quarrelling isn't ever worth while."
"But"—Rose-Marie was inclined to argue the point—"but Dr. Blanchard talks as if the people down here are scarcely human! And it's not right to feel so about one's fellow-men. Dr. Blanchard acts as if the people down here haven't souls!"
The Young Doctor helped himself nonchalantly to a second roll.
"There's a certain sort of a little bug that lives in the water," he said, "and it drifts around aimlessly until it finds another little bug that it holds on to. And then another little bug takes hold, and another, and another. And pretty soon there are hundreds of little bugs, and then there are thousands, and then there are millions, and then billions, and then—"
The Superintendent interrupted wearily.
"I'd stop at the billions, if I were you," she said, "particularly as they haven't any special bearing on the subject."
"Oh, but they have" said the doctor, "for, after a while, the billions and trillions of little bugs, clinging together, make an island. They haven't souls, perhaps," he darted a triumphant glance at Rose-Marie, "but they make an island just the same!"
He paused for a moment, as if waiting for some sort of comment. When it did not come, he spoke again.
"The people of the slums," he said, "the people who drift into, and out of, and around this Settlement House, are not very unlike the little bugs. And, after all, they do help to make the city!"
There was a quaver in Rose-Marie's voice, and a hurt look in her eyes, as she answered.