Then Martin began to alternate between the dryer and the wringer, between times "shaking out" socks and stockings.
By the afternoon, one feeding and one, stacking up, they were running socks and stockings through the mangle while the irons were heating.

Then it was hot irons and underclothes till six o'clock, at which time Joe shook his head dubiously.
"Way behind," he said.

"Got to work after supper." And after supper they worked until ten o'clock, under the blazing electric lights, until the last piece of under-clothing was ironed and folded away in the distributing room.

It was a hot California night, and though the windows were thrown wide, the room, with its red-hot ironing-stove, was a furnace.

Martin and Joe, down to undershirts, bare armed, sweated and panted for air.
"Like trimming cargo in the tropics," Martin said, when they went upstairs.
"You'll do," Joe answered.