“They may bungle through with a few bearings for a while,” said Mr. Reisinger, “but they won’t last long.  It stands to reason that a woman can’t do man’s work and get away with it.”

Mary was walking through the factory the next day when she heard two women discussing that article.

“I told Sam Reisinger what I thought about him last night,” said the younger.  “He was over to our house for supper.

“‘So it stands to reason, does it?’ I said to him, ’that a woman can’t do a man’s work and get away with it?  Well, I like your nerve!  What do you understand by a man’s work?’ I said to him.

“’Do you think she ought to have all the meanest, hardest work in the world, and get paid nothing for it, working from the time she gets up in the morning till she goes to bed at night?  Is that your idea of woman’s work?’ I said to him.  ’But any nice, easy job that only has to be worked at four hours in the morning, and four hours in the afternoon, and has a pay envelope attached to it:  I suppose you think that’s a man’s work!’ I said to him.

“’Listen to me, Sam Reisinger, there’s no such thing as man’s work, and there’s no such thing as woman’s work,’ I said to him.  ’Work’s work, and it makes no difference who does it, as long as it gets done!

“‘Take dressmaking,’ I said to him.  ’I suppose you call that woman’s work.  Then how about Worth, and those other big men dressmakers?

“’Maybe you think cooking is woman’s work.  Then how about the chefs at the big hotels?’ I said to him.

“’Maybe you think washing is woman’s work.  Then how about the steam laundries where nearly all the shirt ironers are men?’ I said to him.

“’Maybe you think that working in somebody else’s house is woman’s work.  Then how about that butler up at Miss Spencer’s?’ I said to him.

“’And maybe we can bungle through with a few bearings for a while, can we?’ I said to him, very polite.  ’Well, let me tell you one thing, Sam Reisinger, if that’s the way you think of women, you can bungle over to the movies with yourself tomorrow night.  I’m not going with you!’”

For a long time after that when things went wrong, Mary only had to recall some of the remarks which had been made to a certain Mr. Sam Reisinger on a certain Sunday afternoon, and she always felt better for it.

“What are the men saying now?” she asked Archey at the end of their first good week.

“They’re not saying much, but I think they’re up to something.  They’ve called a special meeting for tonight.”

The next morning was Sunday.  Mary was hardly downstairs when Archey called.

“I’ve found out about their meeting last night,” he said.  “They have appointed a committee to try to have a boycott declared on our bearings.”

It didn’t take Mary long to see that this might be a mortal thrust unless it were parried.

“But how can they?” she asked.