She was glad when the short half hour was over and the wheels began to whirr again. Though wearied, she would be inconspicuous. This illusion ended when another young man passed along the aisle and poked her indifferently in the ribs with his thumb. She turned about, indignation leaping to her eyes, but he had gone on and only once turned to grin. She found it difficult to conquer an inclination to cry.
The girl next her noticed her state of mind. "Don't you mind," she said. "He's too fresh."
Carrie said nothing, but bent over her work. She felt as though she could hardly endure such a life. Her idea of work had been so entirely different. All during the long afternoon she thought of the city outside and its imposing show, crowds, and fine buildings. Columbia City and the better side of her home life came back. By three o'clock she was sure it must be six, and by four it seemed as if they had forgotten to note the hour and were letting all work overtime. The foreman became a true ogre, prowling constantly about, keeping her tied down to her miserable task. What she heard of the conversation about her only made her feel sure that she did not want to make friends with any of these. When six o'clock came she hurried eagerly away, her arms aching and her limbs stiff from sitting in one position.
As she passed out along the hall after getting her hat, a young machine hand, attracted by her looks, made bold to jest with her.
"Say, Maggie," he called, "if you wait, I'll walk with you."
It was thrown so straight in her direction that she knew who was meant, but never turned to look.
In the crowded elevator, another dusty, toil-stained youth tried to make an impression on her by leering in her face.
