"No," I said, "not that." He searched again and came up with a highly respectable blue coat, with a mere raveling on one sleeve. "No," I said, "I'll find one." I fished very deeply, and caught some green pants, evidently "old" and spattered with white paint on the knees. He hastened to point out the white paint. I tried to explain that I liked a little white paint on my clothes, but saw I was unconvincing. I finally bought the suit with a sort of violence for two dollars, and left with a sense of fortunate escape. Now for a hat. Two blocks down the street I found one, somewhat soiled and misshapen. "I'll take that," I said. The clerk lifted it, and, when I was fumbling for money, brushed off a vast portion of the dirt, and reshaped it into smooth, luxuriant curves. But still I bought the hat. "At any rate," I thought, "I can restore the thing." II MOLTEN STEEL--AN INITIATION At four o'clock I put on my paint-spattered pants, the coat with a conspicuous hole near one of the buttons, and my green hat. I climbed the little hill before the gate, among leisurely first arrivals, and found myself attracting no attention whatsoever. I felt for the brass check in my shirt pocket, found it, and rebuttoned the pocket. The guard peered into my face, as if he were going to ask for a pass, but didn't. I walked the four hundred yards to the open-hearth, and noticed clearly for the first time the yard of the blooming-mill. Here varied shapes of steel, looking as if they weighed several thousand pounds each, were issuing from the mill on continuous treads, and moving about the yard in a most orderly, but complex manner. Electric cranes were sweeping over the quarter-acre of yard-space, and lifting and piling the steel swiftly and precisely on flat cars. I entered the open-hearth mill by the tracks that ran close to the furnaces. The mill noises broke on me: a moan and rattle of cranes overhead, fifty-ton ones; the jarring of the train-loads of charge-boxes stopping suddenly in front of Number 4; and minor sounds like chains jangling on being dropped, or gravel swishing out of a box. I was conscious of muscles growing tense, in the face of this violent environment, a somewhat artificial and eager calm. I walked with excessive firmness, and felt my personality contracting itself into the mere sense of sight and sound. I looked for Pete. "He's in his shanty--over there," said an American furnace-helper, who was getting into his mill clothes. I went after Pete's shanty. It was a sheet-iron box, 12 by 12, midway down the floor, near a steel beam. Pete was coming out, buttoning the lower buttons of a blue shirt. He looked through my head and passed me, much as he had passed the steel beam. With two or three steps I moved out and blocked his way. He looked at me, loosened his face, and said very cheerfully: "Hello." "I've come to work," I said. "Here," he said, "you'll work th' pit t' night. Few days, y' know, get used ter things."