We did five stoves, taking the wheelbarrow with us, and carrying it up the steps, when we passed from one level to another. After the five came a lull. Two of the men rolled cigarettes, the rest reinforced a chew that already looked as big as an apple in the cheek. For both these comforting acts "Honest Scrap" was used, a tobacco that is stringy and dark, and is carried in great bulk, in a paper package.
The men sat on steps or leaned against girders. A short Italian near me, with quick movements, and full of unending talk, looked up and asked the familiar question, "What job you work at last time?"
"Open-hearth," I said.
"How much pay?"
"Forty-five cents an hour."
"No like job?"
"No, like this job better," I returned.
He paused. Then, "What job you work at before open-hearth?"
"Oh," I said, "I was in the army."
His face became alert at once, and interested. The others stopped talking, also, and looked over at me.