To himself Eugene observed, hearing only the calls at first, "the Irish brute." Later he discovered a subtle twinkle in Deegan's eyes as he stood brazenly in the door, looking defiantly about. There was no brutality in it, only self-confidence and a hearty Irish insistence on the necessity of the hour. "Well, you're a dandy!" commented Eugene boldly after a time, and laughed. "Ha! ha! ha!" mocked Deegan in return. "If you had to work as harred as these men you wouldn't laugh." "I'm not laughing at them. I'm laughing at you," explained Eugene. "Laugh," said Deegan. "Shure you're as funny to me as I am to you." Eugene laughed again. The Irishman agreed with himself that there was humor in it. He laughed too. Eugene patted his big rough shoulder with his hands and they were friends immediately. It did not take Deegan long to find out from Big John why he was there and what he was doing. "An arrtist!" he commented. "Shewer he'd better be outside than in. The loikes of him packin' shavin's and him laughin' at me." Big John smiled. "I believe he wants to get outside," he said. "Why don't he come with me, then? He'd have a foine time workin' with the guineas. Shewer 'twould make a man av him--a few months of that"--and he pointed to Angelo Esposito shoveling clay. Big John thought this worth reporting to Eugene. He did not think that he wanted to work with the guineas, but he might like to be with Deegan. Eugene saw his opportunity. He liked Deegan. "Would you like to have an artist who's looking for health come and work for you, Deegan?" Eugene asked genially. He thought Deegan might refuse, but it didn't matter. It was worth the trial. "Shewer!" replied the latter. "Will I have to work with the Italians?" "There'll be plenty av work for ye to do without ever layin' yer hand to pick or shovel unless ye want to. Shewer that's no work fer a white man to do." "And what do you call them, Deegan? Aren't they white?" "Shewer they're naat." "What are they, then? They're not black." "Nagurs, of coorse." "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.