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Little Jim, sitting with his long legs dangling over the derrick pit, watched his father and 'Masso tease the derrick into swinging the great blocks to the flat car for the rush order. The thing happened very quickly, so quickly that Little Jim could not jump to his feet and start madly down into the pit before it was all over.
In the plateau of the Sette Comuni, southwest of Asiago, Italian advanced detachments, after passing the Canaglia Valley, progressed toward the southeastern slopes of Monte Cengio, Monte Barco, and Monte Busibello. In the Sugana Valley detachments progressed toward the Masso torrent, repulsing two Austrian counterattacks near Sucrelle.
Big Jim and 'Masso, as he was called, working shoulder to shoulder, day by day, had developed a sort of liking for each other in spite of the fact that Big Jim held foreigners in utter contempt. "Why did you come to America, anyhow, 'Masso?" drawled Big Jim, waiting for his soup to cool. 'Masso gnawed his onion and bread thoughtfully. "Maka da mon' quick, here; go backa da old countra rich."
He only sobbed dryly and clung desperately to the inert hand. At last Big Jim and 'Masso were laid side by side upon the brown grass at the quarry edge. 'Masso's chest was broken. The priest got to him before the doctor. Had 'Masso known enough, before he choked, he might have said: "It doesn't matter. I have done a real man's part.
"Tell Mama that was a good dinner, Jimmy," he said. "I haven't got anything personal against you, 'Masso," he went on. "You're a human being like me, trying to take care of your family. I suppose you can't help it that Italians as a class are a lawless lot of cut-throats. You certainly are willing workers.
"What else?" urged Big Jim. 'Masso looked blank. "I mean," said Big Jim, "did you like our laws better'n yours? Did you like our ways better?" 'Masso shrugged his shoulders. "Don' care 'bout countra if maka da mon'. Why you come desa countra?" Big Jim's drawl seemed to bite like the slow gouge of a stone chisel. "I was born here, you Wop! This very dirt made the food that made me, understand?
I'm a part of this country, same as the trees are. My forefathers left comfort and friends behind them and came to this country when it was full of Indians to be free. Free! Can you get that? And what good did it do them? They larded the soil with their good sweat to make a place for fellows like you. And what do you care?" 'Masso, who was quick and eager, shook his head. "I work all da time.
I have worked to the limit of my strength and I shall survive for America through my fertility. What I have done to America, no one knows." But 'Masso was no thinker. Before he slipped away, he only said some futile word to the priest who knelt beside him. 'Masso never had gotten very far from the thought of his Maker.
That break set us back on a rush order. The boss was crazy. I told him as I told him forty times before that he'd have to get a new derrick, but he won't. Not so long as he's got me to piece and contrive and make things do. "I tried to talk 'Masso and the rest into striking for it today, but they don't care anything about the equipment. It's something bigger than I can get at.
I maka da mon. I go home to old countra. That 'nough. Work alla da time." Big Jim ate his beef sandwich slowly. Little Jim, chin in palm, sat listening, turning the matter over in his mind. His father tried another angle. "What started you over here, 'Masso? How'd you happen to think of coming?" 'Masso understood this. "Homa, mucha talk 'bout desa landa. How ever'boda getta da mon over here.
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