Short Stories
They groped their way out and down the stairs. It was clear
and cold, and Johnny shivered at the first contact with the out-
side air. The stars had not yet begun to pale in the sky, and the
city lay in blackness. Both Johnny and his mother shuffled their
feet as they walked. There was no ambition in the leg muscles to
swing the feet clear of the ground.
After fifteen silent minutes, his mother turned off to the
right.
"Don't be late," was her final warning from out of the dark
that was swallowing her up.
He made no response, steadily keeping on his way. In the
factory quarter, doors were opening everywhere, and he was
soon one of a multitude that pressed onward through the dark.
As he entered the factory gate the whistle blew again. He
glanced at the east. Across a ragged sky-line of housetops a pale
light was beginning to creep. This much he saw of the day as he
turned his back upon it and joined his work gang.
He took his place in one of many long rows of machines. Be-
fore him, above a bin filled with small bobbins, were large bob-
bins revolving rapidly. Upon these he wound the jute-twine of
the small bobbins. The work was simple. All that was required
was celerity. The small bobbins were emptied so rapidly, and
there were so many large bobbins that did the emptying, that
there were no idle moments.
He worked mechanically. When a small bobbin ran out, he
used his left hand for a brake, stopping the large bobbin and at
the same time, with thumb and forefinger, catching the flying
end of twine. Also, at the same time, with his right hand, he
caught up the loose twine-end of a small bobbin. These various
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