She was surprised to learn that Whitey had not even heard of any of the people she had met there, he having been born in New York and having lived there the first fourteen years of his life.

Well, well; it was a queer world, anyway.
Perhaps you will get the best idea of how unhappy Whitey was by imagining yourself in the same position.
In his misery Whitey formed vague plans for escape.

Then a new horror awaited him.

He was to sleep in the Steeles' bedroom, in a cot at the foot of their bed! In vain he protested that the living-room floor was good enough for him.

Mrs.Steele wouldn't hear of it.