But none of this noise entered the long dark room two flights up. At one end of the shop a cheap electric motor threw its energy into two revolving shafts along the ceiling; these in turn passed it down a maze of roaring belts to a dozen sewing-machines--all twelve going at top speed. It sounded as if no one of the many bearings in the room had been oiled, as if each of the innumerable cogs in the machines were a misfit. The sound seemed like a tangible substance which could be felt. There was no room left in the shop for the noises of the street. If Gabriel had blown his horn on the sidewalk below, the silent women bent over the speeding machines would not have heard--they would have missed the Resurrection. Dazed by this strange and fearsome environment, Yetta caught tight hold of her cousin's hand. But Rachel, the adventurous, would not have been dismayed in Daniel's den of lions. She boldly led the way into the "office." Half a dozen women, all older, were already in line. The boss--a rotund, narrow-eyed man--was looking them over. But as soon as he saw the young girls he lost interest in the women. "This is my cousin, Yetta Rayefsky," Rachel said. "She'd make a good beginner." "Afraid of work?" he asked gruffly. Yetta was speechlessly afraid of everything. But Rachel answered for her--a flood of extravagant, high-pitched eulogy. "One dollar a week, while she's learning. Regular piece price when she gets a machine." One of the older women, seeing the hopelessness of her own situation,--all the bosses preferred youth,--began to wail. "Shut up!" the boss growled. "I will take the girl. Get out, all of you." So Yetta was employed. At first the work consisted of carrying, piling, and wrapping bundles of vests. The loads were very heavy for her unpractised back. But she managed to live through the first day, and the next, and gradually got used to it. After a long wait she was put at a machine. Even in such grossly mechanical work as sweat-shop labor, brains and youth count. Yetta's fingers were still plastic. Before long she had mastered the routine movements. Above all, she proved quicker than the other women in such emergencies as a broken thread. In less time than usual she worked to the top and became the "speeder," drawing almost double pay. During the years which followed, while all that part of her brain which had to do with manual dexterity was keenly alive, the rest--the part of her brain in which her father had been interested--went to sleep. It was inevitable. Perhaps if she had been older when the crisis came, she might have made a struggle against her environment. She might have resisted her weariness for an hour or so after she came home, might have propped her eyes open and continued her studies, but she was only fifteen.