oorse."

"But they're not negroes."

"Will, begad, they're naat white. Any man kin tell that be lookin' at
thim."

Eugene smiled. He understood at once the solid Irish temperament which
could draw this hearty conclusion. There was no malice in it. Deegan did
not underestimate these Italians. He liked his men, but they weren't
white. He didn't know what they were exactly, but they weren't white. He
was standing over them a moment later shouting, "Up with it! Up with it!
Down with it! Down with it!" as though his whole soul were intent on
driving the last scrap of strength out of these poor underlings, when as
a matter of fact they were not working very hard at all. His glance was
roving about in a general way as he yelled and they paid little
attention to him. Once in a while he would interpolate a "Come, Matt!"
in a softer key--a key so soft that it was entirely out of keeping with
his other voice. Eugene saw it all clearly. He understood Deegan.

"I think I'll get Mr. Haverford to transfer me to you, if you'll let me
come," he said at the close of the day when Deegan was taking off his
overalls and the "Eyetalians," as he called them, were putting the
things back in the car.

"Shewer!" said Deegan, impressed by the great name of Haverford. If
Eugene could accomplish that through such a far-off, wondrous
personality, he must be a remarkable man himself. "Come along. I'll be
glad to have ye. Ye can just make out the O. K. blanks and the repoarts
and watch over the min sich times as I'll naat be there and--well--all
told, ye'll have enough to keep ye busy."

Eugene smiled. This was a pleasant prospect. Big John had told him
during the morning that Deegan went up and down the road from Peekskill
on the main line, Chatham on the Midland Division, and Mt. Kisco on a
third branch to New York City. He built wells, culverts, coal bins,
building piers--small brick buildings--anything and everything, in
short, which a capable foreman-mason ought to be able to build, and in
addition he was fairly content and happy in his task. Eugene could see
it. The atmosphere of the man was wholesome. He was like a tonic--a
revivifying dynamo to this sickly overwrought sentimentalist.

That night he went home to Angela full of the humor and romance of his
new situation. He liked the idea of it. He wanted to tell her about
Deegan--to make her laugh. He was destined unfortunately to another kind
of reception.

For Angela, by this time,