He lighted a cigar and putting on his hat tipped it a little
to one side. Puffing out his chest he marched up and down talking of money.
"Here's a ten-dollar cigar," he said, handing a long stogie to one of the
other workmen. "I buy them by the thousands to give away. I'm interested in
uplifting the lives of workmen in my home town. That's what takes all my
attention."
The other workmen laughed and the little man continued to prance up
and down and talk, but Hugh did not hear him. He stared moodily at the
people going along the road toward town. Darkness was coming but he could
still see dim figures striding along. Over at the foundry back of the
corn-cutting machine plant the night shift was pouring off, and a sudden
glare of light played across the heavy smoke cloud that lay over the town.
The bells of the churches began to call people to the Wednesday evening
prayer-meetings. Some enterprising citizen had begun to build workmen's
houses in a field beyond Hugh's shop and these were occupied by Italian
laborers. A crowd of them came past. What would some day be a tenement
district was growing in a field beside a cabbage patch belonging to Ezra
French who had said God would not permit men to change the field of their
labors.
An Italian passed under a lamp near the Wheeling station. He wore a bright
red handkerchief about his neck and was clad in a brightly colored shirt.
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