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Updated: May 9, 2025
Then at Zandler's conditions had become so bad that one morning Jake Hedig, her boss, a young, pale-faced, black-haired man, suddenly arose and shouted in a loud voice throughout the shop: "I am sick of slave-driving. I resign my job."
"And you what did you do?" asked Myra. Rhona told her. She had worked in Zandler's shirtwaist factory bending over a power-machine, whose ten needles made forty-four hundred stitches a minute.
"Well, they say things; they make angry faces, and big fists, Rhona. Better be careful." "Where are they?" "By Zandler's doorway. They get afraid of the cold." Rhona laughed softly, and put an arm about the frail body. "Now you run home, and don't worry about me! I can take care of myself. I expect another girl, anyway." "Good-night, Rhona."
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