the
clothes by centrifugal force. Then Martin began to alternate between the
dryer and the wringer, between times "shaking out" socks and stockings.
By the afternoon, one feeding and one, stacking up, they were running
socks and stockings through the mangle while the irons were heating. Then
it was hot irons and underclothes till six o'clock, at which time Joe
shook his head dubiously.

"Way behind," he said. "Got to work after supper." And after supper
they worked until ten o'clock, under the blazing electric lights, until
the last piece of under-clothing was ironed and folded away in the
distributing room. It was a hot California night, and though the windows
were thrown wide, the room, with its red-hot ironing-stove, was a
furnace. Martin and Joe, down to undershirts, bare armed, sweated and
panted for air.

"Like trimming cargo in the tropics," Martin said, when they went
upstairs.

"You'll do," Joe answered. "You take hold like a good fellow. If you
keep up the pace, you'll be on thirty dollars only one month. The second
month you'll be gettin' your forty. But don't tell me you never ironed
before. I know better."

"Never ironed a rag in my life, honestly, until to-day," Martin
protested.

He was surprised at his weariness when he act into his room, forgetful of
the fact that he had been on his feet and working without let up for
fourteen hours. He set the alarm clock at six, and measured back five
hours to one o'clock. He could read until then. Slipping off his shoes,
to ease his swollen feet, he sat down at the table with his books. He
opened Fiske, where he had left off to read. But he found trouble began
to read it through a second time. Then he awoke, in pain from his
stiffened muscles and chilled by the mountain wind that had begun to blow
in through the window. He looked at the clock. It marked two. He had
been asleep four hours. He pulled off his clothes and crawled into bed,
where he was asleep the moment after his head touched the pillow.

Tuesday was a day of similar unremitting toil. The speed with which Joe
worked won Martin's admiration. Joe was a dozen of demons for work. He
was keyed up to concert pitch, and there was never a moment in the long
day when he was not fighting for moments. He concentrated himself upon
his work and upon how to save time, pointing out to Martin where he did
in five motions what could be done in three, or in three motions what
could be don