moments before he would be leaving. He invariably had some cheery
remark to offer, for he was never sullen or gloomy. His affairs,
whatever they were, did not appear to oppress him. Mrs. Hibberdell would
talk to Eugene genially about his work, this small, social centre of
which they were a part and which was called Riverwood, the current
movements in politics, religion, science and so forth. There were
references sometimes to her one daughter, who was married and living in
New York. It appeared that she occasionally visited her mother here.
Eugene was delighted to think he had been so fortunate as to find this
place. He hoped to make himself so agreeable that there would be no
question as to his welcome, and he was not disappointed.

Between themselves Mrs. Hibberdell and Davis discussed him, agreeing
that he was entirely charming, a good fellow, and well worth having
about. At the factory where Eugene worked and where the conditions were
radically different, he made for himself an atmosphere which was almost
entirely agreeable to him, though he quarreled at times with specific
details. On the first morning, for instance, he was put to work with two
men, heavy clods of souls he thought at first, familiarly known about
the yard as John and Bill. These two, to his artistic eye, appeared
machines, more mechanical than humanly self-directive. They were of
medium height, not more than five feet, nine inches tall and weighed
about one hundred and eighty pounds each. One had a round, poorly
modeled face very much the shape of an egg, to which was attached a
heavy yellowish mustache. He had a glass eye, complicated in addition by
a pair of spectacles which were fastened over his large, protruding red
ears with steel hooks. He wore a battered brown hat, now a limp
shapeless mass. His name was Bill Jeffords and he responded sometimes to
the sobriquet of "One Eye."

The other man was John alias "Jack" Duncan, an individual of the same
height and build with but slightly more modeling to his face and with
little if any greater intelligence. He looked somewhat the
shrewder--Eugene fancied there might be lurking in him somewhere a spark
of humor, but he was mistaken. Unquestionably in Jeffords there was
none. Jack Stix, the foreman-carpenter, a tall, angular, ambling man
with red hair, a red mustache, shifty, uncertain blue eyes and
noticeably big hands and feet, had suggested to Eugene that he work with
these men for a little while