"O Gawd!" She flung wild glances, like those of an entrapped animal, up and down the big whitewashed room that panted with heat and that was thickly humid with the steam that sizzled from the damp cloth under the irons of the many ironers.

From the girls and women near her, all swinging irons steadily but at high pace, came quick glances, and labor efficiency suffered to the extent of a score of suspended or inadequate movements.
The elderly woman's cry had caused a tremor of money-loss to pass among the piece-work ironers of fancy starch.
She gripped herself and her iron with a visible effort, and dabbed futilely at the frail, frilled garment on the board under her hand.
"I thought she'd got'em again--didn't you ?" the girl said.
"It's a shame, a women of her age, and...

condition," Saxon answered, as she frilled a lace ruffle with a hot fluting-iron.

Her movements were delicate, safe, and swift, and though her face was wan with fatigue and exhausting heat, there was no slackening in her pace.
"An' her with seven, an' two of 'em in reform school," the girl at the next board sniffed sympathetic agreement.

"But you just got to come to Weasel Park to-morrow, Saxon.