The War accustomed us to a million women in overalls doing the work of a million men. We saw them ploughing, juggling steel bars, making shells, running engines, stoking furnaces, handling freight. But to these two American men, at that time, the thing at which these laboring women were employed was dreadful and incredible. Said Wallie: “By the time we’ve dressed, and had breakfast, and walked a little and everything it’ll be almost noon. And noon’s the time. After they’ve eaten their lunch. But I want you to see her before.” By now his earnestness had impressed Hahn who still feigned an indifference he did not feel. It was about 11:30 when Wallie propelled him by the arm to the unfinished building across the way. And there he met Mizzi. They were just completing the foundation. The place was a busy hive. Back and forth with pails. Back and forth with loads of bricks. “What’s the matter with the men?” was Hahn’s first question. Wallie explained. “They do the dainty work. They put one brick on top of the other, with a dab of mortar between. But none of the back-breaking stuff for them. The women do that.” And it was so. They were down in the pits mixing the mortar, were the women. They were carrying great pails of it. They were hauling bricks, up one ladder and down. They wore short full skirts with a musical comedy chorus effect. Some of them looked seventy and some seventeen. It was fearful work for a woman. A keen wind was blowing across the river. Their hands were purple. “Pick Mizzi,” said Wallie. “If you can pick her I’ll know I’m right. But I know it, anyway.” Five minutes passed. The two men stood silent. “The one with the walk and the face,” said Hahn, then. Which wasn’t very bright of him, because they all walked and they all had faces. “Going up the pit-ladder now. With the pail on her head.” Wallie gave a little laugh of triumph. But then, Hahn wouldn’t have been Hahn had he not been able to pick a personality when he saw it. Years afterward the reviewers always talked of Mizzi’s walk. They called it her superb carriage. They didn’t know that you have to walk very straight, on the balls of your feet, with your hips firm, your stomach held in flat, your shoulders back, your chest out, your chin out and a little down, if you are going to be at all successful in balancing a pail of mortar on your head. After a while that walk becomes a habit. “Watch her with that pail,” said Wallie.