tied to the great packing machine, and tied to it for life.  The managers and superintendents and clerks of Packingtown were all recruited from another class, and never from the workers; they scorned the workers, the very meanest of them.  A poor devil of a bookkeeper who had been working in Durham’s for twenty years at a salary of six dollars a week, and might work there for twenty more and do no better, would yet consider himself a gentleman, as far removed as the poles from the most skilled worker on the killing beds; he would dress differently, and live in another part of the town, and come to work at a different hour of the day, and in every way make sure that he never rubbed elbows with a laboring man.  Perhaps this was due to the repulsiveness of the work; at any rate, the people who worked with their hands were a class apart, and were made to feel it.

In the late spring the canning factory started up again, and so once more Marija was heard to sing, and the love-music of Tamoszius took on a less melancholy tone.  It was not for long, however; for a month or two later a dreadful calamity fell upon Marija.  Just one year and three days after she had begun work as a can-painter, she lost her job.

It was a long story.  Marija insisted that it was because of her activity in the union.  The packers, of course, had spies in all the unions, and in addition they made a practice of buying up a certain number of the union officials, as many as they thought they needed.  So every week they received reports as to what was going on, and often they knew things before the members of the union knew them.  Any one who was considered to be dangerous by them would find that he was not a favorite with his boss; and Marija had been a great hand for going after the foreign people and preaching to them.  However that might be, the known facts were that a few weeks before the factory closed, Marija had been cheated out of her pay for three hundred cans.  The girls worked at a long table, and behind them walked a woman with pencil and notebook, keeping count of the number they finished.  This woman was, of course, only human, and sometimes made mistakes; when this happened, there was no redress—­if on Saturday you got less money than you had earned, you had to make the best of it.  But Marija did not understand this, and made a disturbance.  Marija’s disturbances did not mean anything, and while she had known only Lithuanian and Polish, they had done no harm, for people only laughed at her and made her cry.  But now Marija was able to call names in English, and so she got the woman who made the mistake to disliking her.  Probably, as Marija claimed, she made mistakes on purpose after that; at any rate, she made them, and the third time it happened Marija went on the warpath and took the matter first to the forelady, and when she got no satisfaction there, to the superintendent.  This was unheard-of presumption, but the superintendent said he would see about it, which Marija took to mean