I had to toil from six in the morning
to nine in the evening.
(Joe put in even more time. I always found him grinding away
rapturously when I came to the shop in the morning, and always
left him toiling as rapturously when I went home in the evening.)
Ours is a seasonal trade. All the work of the year is crowded into
two short seasons of three and two months, respectively, during
which one is to earn enough to last him twelve months (only
sample-makers, high-grade tailors like Gitelson, were kept busy
throughout the year). But then wages were comparatively high, so
that a good mechanic, particularly an operator, could make as
much as seventy-five dollars a week, working about fifteen hours
a day. However, during the first two or three weeks I was too
much borne down by the cruelty of my drudgery to be interested
in the luring rewards which it held out. Not being accustomed to
physical exertion of any kind, I felt like an innocent man suddenly
thrown into prison and put at hard labor. I was shocked. I was
crushed.
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