There was a large, low-ceiled room, with clacking, rattling machines at which men in white shirt sleeves and blue gingham aprons were working.

She followed him diffidently through the clattering automatons, keeping her eyes straight before her, and flushing slightly.
They crossed to a far corner and took an elevator to the sixth floor.
Out of the array of machines and benches, Mr.Brown signalled a foreman.
"This is the girl," he said, and turning to Carrie, "You go with him." He then returned, and Carrie followed her new superior to a little desk in a corner, which he used as a kind of official centre.
"You've never worked at anything like this before, have you ?" he questioned, rather sternly.
"No, sir," she answered.
He seemed rather annoyed at having to bother with such help, but put down her name and then led her across to where a line of girls occupied stools in front of clacking machines.

On the shoulder of one of the girls who was punching eye-holes in one piece of the upper, by the aid of the machine, he put his hand.
"You," he said, "show this girl how to do what you're doing.

When you get through, come to me." The girl so addressed rose promptly and gave Carrie her place.
"It isn't hard to do," she said, bending over.

"You just take this so, fasten it with this clamp, and start the machine." She suited action to word, fastened the piece of leather, which was eventually to form the right half of the upper of a man's shoe, by little adjustable clamps, and pushed a small steel rod at the side of the machine.