I decided on a day off. John had lately taken one for the festival at New Naples, and had come in to work the next morning with the wine still at festivals in his head. Sitting atop the blast-furnaces the other day, looking at the blue rivers and the three hills, and speculating about men going down to the sea in ships—because of the fat river-boat we could see—had made me sicken of the smell of flue-dust. I decided to take a day off.
Sometimes the foreman, when you got back after cutting a turn, would say, "I don't believe you want this job; you like loafing better; I'll give it to Jimmy." But with a seven-day week, only the mean ones hollered. Men took an occasional holiday.
I ate breakfast with a very conscious leisure at George's, putting down scrambled eggs, at 8.00 o'clock, instead of the coffee and toast at 5.15 A.M.
"No work to-day," said George; "lotza mon', eh?"
"Wrong," said I.
"Mebbe you see best girl to-day."
"Guess again."
"Married?"
"No."