"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.

"Yes, they are like the little bugs," she said, "in the blind way that
they hold together! But please, Dr. Blanchard, don't say they are
soulless. Don't--"

All at once the Young Doctor's hand was banging upon the table. All at
once his voice was vehemently raised.

"It's the difference in our point of view, Miss Thompson," he told
Rose-Marie, "and I'm afraid that I'm right and that you're--not right.
You've come from a pretty little country town where every one was fairly
comfortable and fairly prosperous. You've always been a part of a