lows of from twenty-five to fifty years of age,
who were busy bringing material from a car that had been pushed in on
the side-track next to the building. This was loaded with crushed stone,
cement, old boards, wheelbarrows, tools, and the like, all of which were
to be used in the labor that he was about to undertake. He himself was
standing in the doorway of the shop where the work was to be conducted,
coat off, sleeves rolled up, and shouting with true Irish insistence,
"Come, Matt! Come, Jimmie! Get the shovels, now! Get the picks! Bring
some sand here! Bring some stone! Where's the cement, now? Where's the
cement? Jasus Christ! I must have some cement! What arre ye all doin'?
What do ye think ye're up here fer? Hurry, now, hurry! Bring the
cement!" and then, having concluded this amazing fanfare, calmly turning
to gaze about as if he were the only one in the world who had the right
to stand still.

More or less oppressed with life myself at the time, I was against all
bosses, and particularly against so seemingly a vicious one as this.
"What a slave driver!" I thought. "What a brute!" And yet I remember
thinking that he was not exactly unpleasant to look at, either--quite
the contrary. He was medium in height, thick of body and neck, with
short gray hair and mustache, and bright, clear, twinkling Irish gray
eyes, and he carried himself with an air of unquestionable authority. It
was much as if he had said, "I am the boss here"; and, indeed, he was.
Is it this that sends the Irish to rule as captains of hundreds the
world over?

The job he was bossing was not very intricate or important, but it was
interesting. It consisted of digging a trench ten by twelve feet, and
shaping it up with boards into a "form," after which concrete was to be
mixed and poured in, and some iron rods set to fasten the engine to--an
engine bed, no less. It was not so urgent but that it might have been
conducted with far less excitement, but what are you to do when you are
naturally excitable, love to make a great noise, and feel that things
are going forward whether they are or not? Plainly this particular
individual loved noise and a great stir. So eager was he to have done
with it, no matter what it was or where, that he was constantly trotting
to and fro, shouting, "Come, Matt! Come, Jimmie! Hurry, now, bring the
shovels! Bring the picks!" and occasionally bursting forth with a
perfect avalanche of orders. "Up with it! Down with it! Fron