He was a
thick-set, pimply-faced person whom Dan called Mr. Bean. He swept an
appraising eye over the applicant, submitted a few blunt questions to Dan
in an undertone, ignored Mrs. Snawdor's voluble comments, and ended by
telling Nance to report for work the following week.
As Mrs. Snawdor and Nance took their departure, the former, whose
thoughts seldom traveled on a single track, said tentatively:
"Dan Lewis has got to be real nice lookin' sence you seen him, ain't he?"
"Nothin' to brag on," said Nance, still smarting at his indifference. But
as she turned the corner of the building, she stole a last look through
the window to where Dan was standing at his fiery post, his strong,
serious face and broad, bare chest lighted up by the radiance from the
glory-hole.
It was with little enthusiasm that Nance presented herself at the factory
on Monday morning, ready to enlist in what Bishop Bland called "the noble
service of industry." Her work was in the finishing room where a number
of girls were crowded at machines and tables, filing, clipping, and
packing bottles. Her task was to take the screw-neck bottles that came
from the leer, and chip and file their jagged necks and shoulders until
all the roughness was removed. It was dirty work, and dangerous for
unskilled hands, and she found it difficult to learn.
"Say, kid," said the ugly, hollow-chested girl beside her, "if I'm goin'
to be your learner, I want you to be more particular. Between you an'
this here other girl, you're fixin' to put my good eye out.
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