They did not talk while they worked.
Conversation threw them out of their stride, as it did this time, compelling Martin to miss a stroke of his iron and to make two extra motions before he caught his stride again.
On Friday morning the washer ran.

Twice a week they had to put through hotel linen,--the sheets, pillow-slips, spreads, table-cloths, and napkins.

This finished, they buckled down to "fancy starch." It was slow work, fastidious and delicate, and Martin did not learn it so readily.

Besides, he could not take chances.

Mistakes were disastrous.
"See that," Joe said, holding up a filmy corset-cover that he could have crumpled from view in one hand.