Everyone on board had hurried to the less exalted levels,
the many to hail their loved ones, the few to watch that first unique
demonstration of welcome to a new land which New York gives so
generously. Somehow, he had never felt himself more alone--not even by
night in the solemn plains of Manchuria--and he threw off the feeling,
almost with contempt. Was not this city his very own? Had he not a
birthright in every stone of it, from pavement to loftiest pinnacle?
This was _his_ home-coming, too, more real, more literally complete,
than in the case of any but the few born New Yorkers who might figure
among the two thousand passengers carried by the _Lusitania_.
Insistently claiming his share of recognition, he turned abruptly, and
made his way to the third deck. There he met a lady, a young bride,
who was returning to the States with her husband after a prolonged tour
through Europe. Her pretty face was wrung with emotion, but a second
glance revealed that her distress was due to the pleasant pain of
happiness.
"Have you seen your father and mother?" he asked sympathetically,
knowing that she had looked forward to this great hour with so much
longing.
"Y-yes," she sobbed. "They are there--somewhere. B-but, oh dear! I
cannot see them now for my tears.
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