They are picturesque-looking women, but the majority of them are so big
and brawny and their manners are so rough that you would rather trust
yourself to the mercies of a mad bull than to a crowd of angry factory
girls.

On one occasion in Manchester, the agent of a patent washing-machine,
wishing to advertise his goods, stationed himself outside one of the
mill gates, and offered to wash the girls' greasy, oily aprons as they
came out from work at noon.

Some of the girls took their aprons off, and a large crowd gathered
round the machine to see what was going to be done.

The man put the garments into the machine, turned the crank, and in a
minute the black and dirt were all out of the aprons.

The girls were highly pleased.

They signified their approval as the man wrung out the suds with his
machine, and watched him with great interest as he carefully folded each
apron, and then put them through a couple of rollers which were
attached to the machine and intended to act as a mangle.

Clean, smooth, and neatly pressed, he handed each apron back to its
owner and waited for their thanks. The whole business had not taken more
than five minutes, and he expected to do a thriving trade in
washing-machines on the spot.

He was disappointed.