She stood, very much frightened, awaiting some one.
Presently Mr.Brown came up.

He did not seem to recognise her.
"What is it you want ?" he inquired.
Carrie's heart sank.
"You said I should come this morning to see about work-" "Carrie Meeber." "Yes," said he.

"You come with me." He led the way through dark, box-lined aisles which had the smell of new shoes, until they came to an iron door which opened into the factory proper.

There was a large, low-ceiled room, with clacking, rattling machines at which men in white shirt sleeves and blue gingham aprons were working.

She followed him diffidently through the clattering automatons, keeping her eyes straight before her, and flushing slightly.
They crossed to a far corner and took an elevator to the sixth floor.
Out of the array of machines and benches, Mr.Brown signaled a foreman.
"This is the girls," he said, and turning to Carrie, "You go with him." He then returned, and Carrie followed her new superior to a little desk in a corner, which he used as a kind of official center.
"You've never worked at anything like this before, have you ?" he questioned, rather sternly.
"No, sir," she answered.
He seemed rather annoyed at having to bother with such help, but put down her name and then led her across to where a line of girls occupied stools in front of clacking machines.