When she quavered her next question, “What was he doin’ in the mill?” he turned toward the stairway again, flinging his answer over his shoulder.

“Learnin’ the business, that’s what.  From the ground up, see?” He turned at the first stair and leaned forward and down, one hand on the door-jamb.  “Well, believe me he don’t use me as no ground-dirt.  An’ when I’m takin’ the screen off the big roll—­see?—­he comes up to me an’ says I’m handlin’ it rough an’ it’s a delicate piece of mechanism.  ‘Who’re you?’ I says.  ‘Never mind who I am’ he says, ‘I’m working’ on this job,’ he says, ‘an’ this is a paper mill you’re workin’ in,’ he says, ‘not a boiler factory.  Treat the machinery accordin’, like a real workman,’ he says.  The simp!  I just stepped down off the platform of the big press, and I says, ’Well, you look like a kinda delicate piece of mechanism yourself,’ I says, ‘an’ need careful handlin’, so take that for a starter,’ I says.  An’ with that I handed him one in the nose.”  Buzz laughed, but there was little mirth in it.  “I bet he seen enough wheels an’ delicate machinery that minute to set up a whole new plant.”

There was nothing of mirth in the woman’s drawn face.  “Oh, Ernie, f’r God’s sake!  What they goin’ to do to you!”

He was half way up the narrow stairway, she at the foot of it, peering up at him.  “They won’t do anything.  I guess old Hatton ain’t so stuck on havin’ his swell golf club crowd know his little boy was beat up by one of the workmen.”

He was clumping about upstairs now.  So she turned toward the kitchen, dazedly.  She glanced at the clock.  Going on toward five.  Still in the absurd hat she got out a panful of potatoes and began to peel them skilfuly, automatically.  The seamed and hardened fingers had come honestly by their deftness.  They had twirled and peeled pecks—­bushels—­tons of these brown balls in their time.

At five-thirty Pa came in.  At six, Minnie.  She had to go back to the Sugar Bowl until nine.  Five minutes later the supper was steaming on the table.

“Ernie,” called Ma, toward the ceiling.  “Er-nie!  Supper’s on.”  The three sat down at the table without waiting.  Pa had slipped off his shoes, and was in his stockinged feet.  They ate in silence.  It was a good meal.  A European family of the same class would have considered it a banquet.  There were meat and vegetables, butter and home-made bread, preserve and cake, true to the standards of the extravagant American labouring-class household.  In the summer the garden supplied them with lettuce, beans, peas, onions, radishes, beets, potatoes, corn, thanks to Ma’s aching back and blistered hands.  They stored enough vegetables in the cellar to last through the winter.

Buzz usually cleaned up after supper.  But to-night, when he came down, he was already clean-shaven, clean-shirted, and his hair was wet from the comb.  He took his place in silence.  His acid-stained work shoes had been replaced by his good tan ones.  Evidently he was going down town after supper.  Buzz never took any exercise for the sake of his body’s good.  Sometimes he and the Lembke boys across the way played a game of ball in the middle of the road, or in the vacant lot, but they did it out of the game instinct, and with no thought of their muscles’ gain.