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Updated: July 12, 2025
He ran his hands distractedly through his hair. "What do you think of that?" he exclaimed. "He'll leave them there until he needs them, will he? What becomes of my reports? I've got to have those O. K.'s. You tell Deegan he ought to know better than that; he's been long enough on the road.
"I shouldn't wonder!" said Mrs. Monroe with a click of commiseration. "Lou told Flora that the night Joe was dying, Grandma broke out and said to Paul King that if Joe hadn't gone with him out to Deegan Point two weeks ago, he never would have had that chill. But Flora says ..."
He had made sketches of men and things at Speonk, and of Deegan and his gang on the road, and of Carlotta and Angela, but he felt that they were weak in their import lacking in the force and feeling which had once characterized his work.
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.
In the beginning I had argued, even remonstrated, but without effect. William only said, humbly: "It comes over me to be goin', and I have to do it. I'll be dacent ag'in, whin I get back." During one such period of absence there came a telephone call from the sheriff of the nearest town of size. "Do you know a man named William Deegan?" "We do." "He is in the calaboose here.
About this time the construction of a rather pretentious machine shop, two hundred by two hundred feet and four storeys high was assigned to Deegan, largely because of the efficiency which Eugene contributed to Deegan's work. Eugene handled his reports and accounts with rapidity and precision, and this so soothed the division management that they had an opportunity to see Deegan's real worth.
Deegan was nothing but a worker. There was no romance in him. He knew nothing about romance. Picks and shovels and mortar boards and concrete forms such was his life, and he never complained. Eugene remembered commiserating him once on having to get up at four A. M. in order to take a train which would get to work by seven. Darkness and cold made no difference to him, however.
"William William Deegan." "Well, William, you seem to understand work. Come up to dinner presently, and if you want to go on cutting this afternoon I'll pay you for it." He came, and there was nothing the matter with his appetite this time. Ham and eggs, potatoes, beans, corn-bread, pie whatever came went. William was the apostle of the clean plate. Coffee and a nap had restored him.
"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.
It impressed him and he decided to do likewise, abandoning the flowing tie and the rather indiscriminate manner he had of combing his hair, and thereafter affected severe simplicity. He still wore a soft hat because he thought it became him best, but otherwise he toned himself down greatly. His work with Deegan had given him a sharp impression of what hard, earnest labor meant.
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