noon
The stir of the hat factory on the floor above mingled with the stir of the presses , and Joe loved it all , even as he loved the presence of the young girls about him . Some of these girls were Bohemians , others Jewish , a few American . They gave to the gaunt , smoky building a touch as of a wild rose on a gray rock-heap -- a touch of color and of melody . Joe , at noon , would purposely linger near the open doorway to get a glimpse of their bright faces and a snatch of their careless laughter . Some of the girls knew him and would nod to him on the street -- their hearts went out to the tall , homely , sorrowful fellow . But his printery was his chief passion . It absorbed him by its masterful stress , overwhelming every sense , trembling , thundering , clanking , flashing , catching his eye with turning wheels and chewing press-mouths , and enveloping him in something tremulously homelike and elemental .