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Updated: June 24, 2025
Shewer, they're no crapin' Eyetalians, that'll let ye taalk to thim as ye pl'ase. Indade not. Ye'll have to fight with them fellies." "Well, that's a queer state of affairs," I remarked, and then added, "Do you think you can handle them, Rourke?" "Handle thim!" he exclaimed, his glorious wrath kindling in anticipation of a possible conflict. "Handle thim, an' the likes av a thousand av thim!
They're aall pore, crapin' creatures. If it wasn't fer the railroad bein' against the union I wouldn't have thim at aall, and besides," he added thoughtfully, and with a keen show of feeling for their point of view, "they have a right to do as they pl'ase. Shewer, it's no common workmen they arre. They can lay their eight hundred bricks a day, if they will, an' no advice from any waan.
"There'll be plenty av work fer ye to do without ever yer layin' a hand to a pick er shovel," he replied comfortingly. "Shewer, that's no work fer white min. Let the nagurs do it. Look at their backs an' arrms, an' then look at yers." I was ready to blush for shame. These poor Italians whom I was so ready to contemn were immeasurably my physical superiors.
"Shewer, I have to be there," he observed once with his quizzical, elusive Irish grin. "They're not payin' me wages fer lyin' in bed. If ye was to get up that way yerself every day fer a year, me b'y," he added, eyeing my spare and none too well articulated frame, "it'd make a man av ye." "Yes?" I said tolerantly. "And how much do you get, Rourke?" "Two an' a half a day." "You don't say!"
The company was ushered in to a table covered with the most elegant art and the greatest profusion; all that the silver-smith, the shewer, the confectioner, or the cook could produce. While the company was examining and admiring this delicate display, the viands of course grew cold, and unfit for such choice palates.
I know them aall, every waan av thim, an' their thricks. It's naht foolin' me they'll be. But, me b'y," he added instructively, "it's a fine job ye'll have runnin' down to the ahffice gettin' their time." "You don't mean to say that you're going to discharge them, Rourke, do you?" I asked. "Shewer!" he exclaimed authoritatively. "Why shouldn't I? They're jist the same as other min.
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.
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.
"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.
"But why do you call them negroes, Rourke?" I asked after a time. "They're not black." "Well, bedad, they're not white, that's waan thing shewer," he added. "Aany man can tell that be lookin' at thim." I had to smile. It was so dogmatic and unreasoning. "Very well, then, they're black," I said, and we left the matter.
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