The person addressed gave me one glance, the sole and only look I got from any one in authority in Parsons'.
"Ever worked in a shoe-shop before?"
"No, ma'am."
"I'll have you learned pressin'; we need a presser. Go take your things off, then get right down over there."
I tore off my outside garment in the cloak-room, jammed full of hats and coats. I was obliged to stack my belongings in a pile on the dirty floor.
Now hatless, shirt-waisted, I was ready to labour amongst the two hundred bond-women around me. Excitement quite new ran through me as I went to the long table indicated and took my seat. My object was gained. I had been in Lynn two hours and a half and was a working-woman.
On my left the seat was vacant; on my right Maggie McGowan smiled at me, although, poor thing, she had small cause to welcome the green hand who demanded her time and patience. She was to "learn me pressin'," and she did.
Before me was a board, black with stains of leather, an awl, a hammer, a pot of foulest-smelling glue, and a package of piece-work, ticketed. The branch of the trade I learned at Parsons' was as follows:
Before me was outspread a pile of bits of leather foxings, back straps, vamps, etc. Dipping my brush
in the glue, I gummed all the extreme outer edges. When the "case" had been gummed, the first bits were dry, then the fingers turned down the gummed edges of the leather into fine little seams; these seams are then plaited with the awl and the ruffled hem flattened with the hammer—this is "pressing." The case goes from presser to the seaming machine.