ening up, nodding his head. "Yes, I've
finished."

"Well, just come in here and look at this."

Vandover followed her into the little parlour. Her sister was there,
very fat, smelling somehow of tallow candles and cooked cabbage; nearby
stood the little boy still eating his bread and butter.

"Look at that baseboard," exclaimed the burnisher's wife. "You never
touched that, I'll bet a hat." Vandover did not answer; he brought in
the pail of water, and soaping his scrubbing brush, went down again on
his hands and knees, washing the paint on the baseboard where the
burnisher's wife indicated. The two women stood by, looking on and
directing his movements. The little boy watched everything, never
speaking a word, slowly eating his bread and butter. Streaks of butter
and bread clung to his cheeks, stretching from the corners of his mouth
to his ears.

"I don't see how you come to overlook that," said the burnisher's wife
to Vandover. "That's the dirtiest baseboard I ever saw. Oh, my! I just
can't naturally stand _dirt_! There, you didn't get that stain off.
That's tobacco juice, I guess. Go back and wash that over again."
Vandover obeyed, holding the brush in one hand, crawling back along the
floor upon one palm and his two knees, a pool of soapy, dirty water very
cold gathered about him, soaking in through the old "blue pants" and
wetting him to the skin, but he slovened through it indifferently. "Put
a little more elbow grease to it," continued the burnisher's wife. "You
have to rub them spots pretty hard to get 'em out. Now scrub all along
here near the floor. You see that streak there--that's all gormed up
with something or other. Bugs get in there mighty quick. There, that'll
do, I guess. Now, is everything else all clean? Mister Geary said it was
to be done to my satisfaction, and that you were to stay here until
everything was all right."

All at once her voice was interrupted by the prolonged roar of the
factory's whistle, blowing as though it would never stop. It was
half-past five. In an instant the faint purring of the machinery
dwindled and ceased, leaving an abrupt silence in the air. A moment
later the army of operatives began to pour out of the main entrance; men
and girls and young boys, all in a great hurry, the men settling their
coat collars as they ran down the steps. The usually quiet street was
crowded in an instant.

The burnisher's wife stood on the steps of the vacant house with her
sister,