Short Stories
of daylight, a gas-jet flaring over him, himself part of the mecha-
nism.
He was very happy at that job, in spite of the moist heat, for
he was still young and in possession of dreams and illusions.
And wonderful dreams he dreamed as he watched the stream-
ing cloth streaming endlessly by. But there was no exercise about
the work, no call upon his mind, and he dreamed less and less,
while his mind grew torpid and drowsy. Nevertheless, he
earned two dollars a week, and two dollars represented the
difference between acute starvation and chronic underfeeding.
But when he was nine, he lost his job. Measles was the cause
of it. After he recovered, he got work in a glass factory. The pay
was better, and the work demanded skill. It was piece-work, and
the more skilful he was, the bigger wages he earned. Here was
incentive. And under this incentive he developed into a remark-
able worker.
It was simple work, the tying of glass stoppers into small
bottles. At his waist he carried a bundle of twine. He held the
bottles between his knees so that he might work with both
hands. Thus, in a sitting position and bending over his own
knees, his narrow shoulders grew humped and his chest was
contracted for ten hours each day. This was not good for the
lungs, but he tied three hundred dozen bottles a day.
The superintendent was very proud of him, and brought vis-
itors to look at him. In ten hours three hundred dozen bottles
passed through his hands. This meant that he had attained ma-
chine-like perfection. All waste movements were eliminated.
Every motion of his thin arms, every movement of a muscle in
the thin fingers, was swift and accurate. He worked at high
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