A potter raises a pot on a wheel while a boy and girl work on a pinchpot nearby.
There was great rejoicing when Theo and his father reached home. It seemed as if Mrs. Swift could never do enough for her boy. The whole house was turned upside down to make him comfortable, and on the dinner table were all his favorite dishes.
"To see your mother, Theo, anybody would think you were a fragile invalid just out of the hospital rather than a husky young camper returned from the woods," growled the Doctor. "My dear," he continued, addressing his wife, "Theo hasn't had as much attention as this in all the time he has been ill. Croyden and I have notpranced round after him, I assure you. He has had to brace up and bear his troubles like a soldier; and he has done it, too."
"I suppose soldiers do have to be pretty patient," remarked Theo meditatively. "I never thought before how hard it must be for them when they are hurt."
"It is one of the great tests of courage," said Dr. Swift. "We all are liable to think of soldiers only when the drums are beating and the flags flying. Then it seems a very easy and pleasant thing to be a soldier. But there is much more to it than that. A great deal of drudgery is attached to a soldier's life, and frequently a great deal of suffering. One of the tests of a hero is to be patient when there is nothing to do but await orders, or perform some menial and uninteresting task, or lie tossing on a sick-bed. Then you find out very quickly the sort of stuff your man is made of. Those who fight are not the biggest heroes. Often the noblest and most helpful men are those who themselves are not only cheerful under monotony and dullness, but aid their comrades to beso. Therefore, Theo, when you took it upon yourself to bear your troubles in the Maine woods bravely you proved you had the first essential of a good soldier."
Theo flushed with pleasure.
"That is why we cannot have your mother undoing your virtuous deeds," continued the Doctor whimsically. "We must make her realize she has a man and not a baby to deal with. Theo is no invalid, Louisa. On the contrary, he is going right to school to-morrow."
"Not with those crutches!" protested Mrs. Swift.
"Why not? He has the term to finish, and certainly you would not have him flat out on his job when the end is in sight. It is only a few weeks to the last of June. The fishing trip was a vacation; and if he got more vacation out of it than he calculated," went on Dr. Swift with a twinkle in his eye, "why, so much the better. He is that much to the good."
"I'd rather finish my school year, Mother," rejoined Theo.
"Well, apparently it is two against one," smiled Mrs. Swift. "Your father is, of course, a far better judge of your condition than I. Broken bones are in his line. But do be careful, son, and not go skipping on and off cars when they are moving, or doing things that are going to worry me."
"Rest easy, Mother. I'll promise not to take any chances," Theo replied promptly. "I am far too eager to get well. It is no fun to be hobbling about. Besides, I want to be in trim to go to the Croydens as soon as school is over."
"Your father says Mr. Croyden was very kind to you while you were in camp."
"He was bully!"
"It would be nice if you could do something to show that you appreciated it," observed Mrs. Swift vaguely.
Instantly Theo caught at the suggestion.
"I wish I could!" he declared. "Can't you think of something, Mother?"
Mrs. Swift paused a moment.
"It would be of no use to do anything unless it was something you did yourself," she said at last."Of course your father and I could give you the money to buy a present; but after all that would be our present and not yours."
"Oh, a gift we bought would not be of the slightest use," cut in Dr. Swift. "It would spoil the whole idea. Either Theo would have to purchase something with his own money——"
"I have only saved a dollar out of my allowance," interrupted Theo dubiously.
"Or he would have to do something, or make something, for Mr. Croyden," concluded the Doctor.
"I don't see what I could do," mused Theo.
"You couldn't make anything, son?" asked his mother.
"Nothing good enough," responded Theo, shaking his head.
"Don't they teach you how to make anything at school?"
"No, sir."
"All head and no hands, I suppose," retorted Dr. Swift scornfully. "That is the way with our modern educational system. It is a poor plan onwhich to bring up a boy. I wish I had realized it before. Louisa, why didn't you see to this?" blustered the Doctor.
"You picked out Theo's studies yourself, my dear."
"I?"
"Certainly. You took the outline and checked off the things you wished Theo to take this year."
"You did, Father," put in Theo.
"When did I do it?"
"Oh, one day when you were on your way to a hospital meeting," answered the boy. "You were in a hurry, and you stood out in the hall and marked the list with your fountain-pen."
"Then I am heartily ashamed of myself," confessed Dr. Swift candidly. "I had no right to do anything of the sort. I should have sat down and put some thought into the matter. Do you suppose it would be too late, son, for you to change your course of study this term?"
"I shouldn't want to change it much, Dad," replied Theo. "I'd be sorry to give up any of the things I am taking, for I have worked hard atthem and it would be discouraging to have my time all thrown away. But perhaps now that I am knocked out of athletics I might put those extra hours into something else. Some of the boys take sloyd."
"The very thing!" exclaimed the Doctor. "Manual training is just what we're after. You would enjoy it, too."
"I don't know whether I would or not, Dad," returned Theo frankly. "I never was much good with tools. I like athletics better."
"That is because you have never learned to use tools properly," said his father. "Where do you suppose I'd be now if I hadn't started out when I was a boy to tinker round a farm? That's where I got my manual training, and there isn't a course in the country that can equal it. I had to use my brains, too, as well as my hands, for very often the things I needed were not to be had and I was forced to make something else do. It was a great education, I can tell you! What skill I have at surgery I attribute largely to that early training. Now we'll set right to work to remedy this lackin you, son. I'll see your principal to-day and arrange for you to begin sloyd when you go back to school."
Theo made a grimace at which his father laughed.
"If you don't like it you can at least take it as a medicine," remarked the Doctor with a grin.
Dr. Swift was as good as his word, for when Theo returned to school the following day he found that in addition to his other work he was expected to spend an hour each morning in the carpenter's shop, a realm toward which he had always maintained the keenest scorn. It seemed such a foolish thing to learn to saw and drive nails! What was the use of taking lessons? When a board was to be cut what was there to do but take the saw and cut it? It was easy enough. As for driving nails—that feat required no teaching.
But to Theo's amazement it needed only the first lesson to demonstrate to him that these superficial conclusions were quite wrong. It was one thing to cut a board haphazard; but quite anothermatter to cut it evenly, and on a ruled line. Nor was the driving of nails as simple as he had supposed. At the end of the first hour Theo, feeling very awkward and clumsy, and rubbing a finger that had been too slow to get out of the path of the hammer, left the workshop.
"I never dreamed it would be so hard!" he muttered, viewing his bleeding knuckle with chagrin.
The lesson of the following day did not prove much easier, and its difficulties aroused the lad's fighting spirit.
"I am going to learn to saw and drive nails properly if it takes me the rest of my life!" he declared resolutely. "The very idea! Why, some of those little chaps in the sloyd room can chisel and plane like carpenters. I'll bet I can do it, too, if I stick at it."
Therefore it came about that instead of missing tennis and basket-ball as he had expected, Theo became completely absorbed in his new interest—so absorbed that his father soon began to fear that his studies would suffer. Early and late Theo wasat his bench with his tools. He tried faithfully not to slight his books, but there was no use pretending he did not enjoy his carpentry. He was making a footstool now, a little wooden piece with turned legs which he was to stain with orange shellac and give to his mother. Already he had finished a square tray and a handkerchief box. When the stool was completed he was preparing for a more ambitious enterprise, a thing he longed yet hesitated to venture upon—a wooden bookrack for Mr. Croyden.
It was to be made from oak, not from the ordinary pine wood on which, up to this time, he had been working; and it was to be a much more elaborately finished article than anything he had undertaken. He had delayed beginning it until the closing part of the term in order that he might have the benefit of every atom of training he could get before he made the first cuts in the wood. As he now framed his plans for the making of the gift he smiled to think how impossible such a project would have been a few months ago.
"Dad was right!" he affirmed. "Trainingyour hands is just like training any other part of your body. The longer and more regularly you keep at it the more expert you get. Sloyd is no different from rowing, or football, or tennis."
With the help of his instructor he drew his design, measured his pattern, and sent for the wood.
Then, impatient to begin work, he waited.
Mr. Croyden's birthday he had learned came the last part of June, and as on that date school ended he had only a short time to make his present. Not only must the pieces be cut and nailed together but there was all the finishing, glueing, and varnishing. In addition an interval was also necessary for drying. Therefore it was imperative that he set about his task as soon as possible.
Yet day after day went by and the wood did not come.
Theo was almost beside himself.
First he was merely impatient, then angry, then discouraged.
It was not until he had about given up hope of being able to complete the rack that the wood arrived. The pieces were beautifully grained, andwhen Theo beheld them he could in his mind's eye see the bookshelves shaped, smoothed, and rubbed down. He must finish the gift if he toiled nights as well as days! It is doubtful if ever a boy worked as hard or as anxiously as did Theo during the next two weeks. And as his creation took form how happy he was! He cut the three shelves, shaped the ends of the rack, and under his teacher's direction carved on a jig-saw the simple ornament which was to decorate the top. Never in his whole life had he enjoyed making anything so much. Then came the day when the final coat of oil was applied and there was nothing more to do but wait until it dried. But the work had required more time than Theo had anticipated, and therefore it was not until the very afternoon before Mr. Croyden's birthday that the shelves were dry enough to be packed. Dr. Swift's motor came to the school that day to get Theo, and the boy himself proudly carried his masterpiece out to the car and put it inside; then springing in he called to the chauffeur to drive home. Arriving at his own abode Theo leapedup the brown stone steps with quick stride and rang the bell; then as he stood waiting for the door to be opened a sudden recollection overwhelmed him. In his eagerness to display his handiwork to his parents he had entirely forgotten his crutches! They were at school, and he now remembered he had not used them since morning.
His father laughed heartily when Theo told him this.
"I guess that means you can do without crutches from now on, son," the Doctor said.
"Does it mean that I may go to the Croydens', Dad?"
"I should say so," was the ready response. "I will call Mr. Croyden up on the telephone and find out when he wants you to come. What a joke it would be if you should go to Trenton and carry your bookrack with you!"
It subsequently proved that there was more truth than fiction in this jest, for in answer to Dr. Swift's inquiry Mr. Croyden announced that he happened to be coming into New York that veryday in his car, and if the Swifts were willing he would carry Theo back with him.
"That will be the very thing!" exclaimed the boy in delight. "We can do the shelves all up so he won't guess what they are, and I can take them right along. Then they will be safe at Mr. Croyden's house and I shall not run the risk of the expressman being late. You know expressmen always are late. Think how long they were getting my crutches to Maine."
Accordingly the shelves were packed with greatest care in many soft papers so they would not be scratched, and afterward they were wrapped in a stouter outside covering. When the parcel was tied up no one would have suspected what was inside, and Theo viewed the mysterious bundle with satisfaction.
"Mr. Croyden will think that for a small boy you travel with a good deal of luggage," chuckled the Doctor.
"Maybe he won't have room to take it," Mrs. Swift rejoined.
Theo's face fell.
"He must take it," he said, "even if I walk to Trenton myself."
But there was room, plenty of it, in the big touring car.
Mr. Croyden did, to be sure, comment teasingly about the lad's extended wardrobe, and ask how many dozen suits of clothes he had brought with him; but he made no objection to taking either the bundle or the suit-case.
And when that night just before dinner Theo slipped into the dining-room and placed the shelves beside Mr. Croyden's chair no boy could have been happier. The only person happier than Theo himself was the man who received them.
"My, but this is a present!" exclaimed the merchant. "And you made them all yourself? I can hardly believe it. Why, they are beautifully finished! And isn't it a queer thing that only yesterday I told Mrs. Croyden I must buy some bookshelves for my office? You remember, don't you, Madeline?"
Mrs. Croyden nodded.
"Those were his very words," affirmed Mrs.Croyden, turning to Theo. "He said it only at breakfast. I believe it was mental telepathy, Theo.
THIS IS A PRESENT
Theo beamed.
He had really succeeded then in giving Mr. Croyden something he wanted! That was pleasure enough.
A potter raises a pot on a wheel while a boy and girl work on a pinchpot nearby.
Although originally planned to be of only a week's duration, Theo's visit to the Croydens stretched on into the second week before any one seemed to realize it. Ten days passed and still the lad had not been to the porcelain works—one of his chief aims in coming to Trenton. Each morning at breakfast Mrs. Croyden presented so many delightful plans for the day, and was so eager to have Theo accompany her to the golf club, the tennis club, or for a motor ride, that the hours sped by and night came only too soon.
For Mrs. Croyden was a marvelous comrade fora boy, a strange mixture of youthfulness and maturity; of feminine charm and masculine freedom from conventionality. She loved boys and understood how to be one with them, and in consequence the friendship that at first had extended only to Mr. Croyden Theo now stretched to include her. Nor did the stretching demand effort. Who could have resisted the sweet wholesome interest of this fascinating woman with her soft brown eyes, her quick sympathy, and her girlish love of sport?
As the days fled by a tie of real affection strengthened between them, and Theo found himself talking with an amazing freedom of his dreams and ambitions; of his chums; and of his life at home. To all these things Mrs. Croyden listened earnestly, now and then putting in a word of interest or encouragement. Sometimes in the evening Mr. Croyden joined in these talks; and sometimes all three of them abandoned life and its problems and went to the theatre, or to a moving picture show.
"I declare, Theo, I don't know how we are todo without you when you go back home," exclaimed Mr. Croyden one night at dinner. "It will leave a big hole in the house, won't it, Madeline?"
Mrs. Croyden nodded and a shadow passed across her face.
"I wish we might borrow Theo for a long, long time," she sighed wistfully. "But I suppose your family would not listen to that, laddie."
"I'm afraid not," Theo answered. "Mother seems to be getting a little impatient as it is. She thinks I've been gone a pretty long time."
"Long? Nonsense! Why, you've only just come," Mr. Croyden said emphatically. "Up to now you have been visiting Mrs. Croyden. You haven't been my guest at all. Haven't we got the porcelain works ahead of us? That will take the best part of another week."
"Then I am afraid I'd better be getting at it," laughed Theo, "for Mother writes we're to leave for Lake George the middle of July."
"Mercy on us!" blustered Mr. Croyden. "I don't see how you can. The middle of July?That settles it. There must be no more kidnapping Theo for golf or tennis, Madeline. From now on he is to be my guest. Understand that."
Mrs. Croyden bowed her head with amusing meekness.
"It shall be as you say, my lord," she answered. "But are you expecting to take Theo to the factory every moment of every day?"
"I don't know," was the grim reply. "That will all depend on how rapidly he learns the business."
There was a general laugh.
"How long has it taken you to learn it, Mr. Croyden?" questioned Theo mischievously.
"Me? Oh, about thirty years."
"Then at that rate I see I shall not get to Lake George this season," returned the boy with a smile.
"Oh, I'll be easy with you this first time," Mr. Croyden answered. "I cannot afford to kill you or get you frightened, or you never will come again."
"I guess you needn't worry about my not comingagain," Theo retorted. "I have had far too good a time."
"I am glad of that," the elder man asserted heartily.
"And I, too, Theo," murmured Mrs. Croyden. "Do not forget that you have given us far more pleasure than you could possibly have received. Mr. Croyden and I are often very lonely for a son like you. It has been a boon to have you here. That is why you must not let this ambitious husband of mine tire you all out by setting you too strenuously at porcelain-making," she added playfully. "Is it to-morrow that you plan to drag Theo forth on this crusade to the factory, my dear?"
Mr. Croyden glanced up at the words.
"Yes, to-morrow morning. I shall take Theo down to the works with me directly after breakfast," he answered. "You better get to bed early to-night, son, so to be prepared for the worst."
"I shan't waste any worry about the trip," grinned Theo as they rose from the dinner table.
It was a warm night, and the three strolled out on the veranda, which overlooked the green of the country club.
"I suppose," Theo remarked, "nobody has any idea when pottery and porcelain were first made in America."
"Barring out the pottery of the Mound Builders, the American Indians, and the early clay work done in West Virginia I imagine our modern china was first introduced into America at Philadelphia," Mr. Croyden said. "At least records would indicate that to be the case. Between 1760 and 1770 potteries sprung up there and thrived so lustily that Wedgwood noted their success and urged the English government to check them lest they injure English trade. At these Philadelphia factories hard porcelain with a good quality of glaze was turned out; also much blue and white stone-china in the form of jars, butter-pots, bowls, and plates. Some mortars and pestles such as Wedgwood himself made were also manufactured, so what wonder that he was disturbed at the thought of losing the monopoly? In a letter to afriend he speaks of pottery being made in the Carolinas as well, and declares it would be a great calamity were the colonies to begin making their own dishes."
"The idea!" burst out Theo.
"It was business," replied Mr. Croyden. "Of course England would far rather ship her wares to America and collect the revenue than to have the colonists learn to do without her. For a long time, as the early papers assure us, crates of Queen's ware and the coarser brown earthenwares, as well as quantities of stone-china continued to be shipped to America, and advertised for sale. In the meantime, however, the new settlers were contriving to make earthenware jars, jugs, flasks, mugs, and teapots of their own, and supplemented by the pewter dishes they had brought with them from England, they were managing to get on very well without outside aid. Not only was salt glaze pottery manufactured in Philadelphia along with a small amount of real porcelain, but in such Connecticut towns as Norwalk, Hartford, and Stonington experiments with earthenware were also beingmade. By 1810 the Secretary of the Treasury reported great progress in the manufacture of Queen's ware, and it is evident from what he says that by this time the coarser varieties of earthenware were being very generally manufactured; he also mentions four factories for the finer types of porcelain-making."
"I think we did pretty well to get to making so much chinaware in such a short time," Theo observed.
"We did do well for a new country," agreed Mr. Croyden, "but you must remember we had the whip-lash of necessity at our backs. The wares imported from England were very expensive, and dishes we were forced to have; especially the simpler utensils for household use. People made their own butter, and needed crocks to keep it in; they needed jugs for milk or water; bowls for cooking. Of course no growing country could continue to import such every-day articles from across the sea. Therefore, although England tried very hard to cater to American tastes and demands by sending over blue and white stone-chinadecorated with American views, and even pitchers adorned with portraits of Washington, the American Eagle, and the names of the thirteen original States, we did not allow ourselves to be tempted away from our undertakings, but went right on increasing our own manufactures."
"Bully for us!" cried Theo.
"So I say!" rejoined Mrs. Croyden with spirit.
"It was the only thing to do," admitted Mr. Croyden. "We kept at it, too. In 1829 a factory was opened in Jersey City which although not a success was the forerunner of New Jersey china-making. The industry was also taken up in Bennington, Vermont, where the first Parian marble statues ever made in America were produced. Baltimore was the next city to adopt the china trade, and afterward Trenton. Most of this output was thick white graniteware, Rockingham, and stoneware; some of it was decorated, but most of it was plain white. It was useful and durable, but very clumsy and heavy. Subsequently the china industry localized itself until now, while there are many factories scattered through thecountry, New Jersey supplies about twenty-four per cent. of our china, and Ohio forty-two."
"How did those States happen to elect themselves to make so much china?" inquired Theo.
"Deposits of clay originally governed the matter," replied Mr. Croyden. "Then there was convenient transportation for goods, a sufficient fuel supply, and an abundance of labor in the vicinity—all elements in deciding where factories are to be established. Many of our potteries, however, are not located with these ends in view. Instead, chance has dropped them down in the most remote spots. Some are the outgrowth of tiny plants founded long ago before manufacture developed into the science it has since become."
"I see."
"It would be interesting to trace, too, the varieties of ware that come from specific districts, for usually there is a reason behind each type of product. For example in Ohio and West Virginia they have an abundance of red clay which is used not only to make red earthenware, but also to coat the outside of casserole serving dishes, bowls, andtea and coffee pots. You must be familiar with the kind of thing I mean."
"Like our hot-water jug at home," cried Theo instantly. "Red and shiny outside, and white inside."
"Exactly," nodded Mr. Croyden. "On the other hand many factories make only the heavy, indestructible china used in hotels and restaurants. This variety is a business in itself. The ware is non-absorbent and is considered very hygienic. Toilet sets as well as dishes are made from this especial sort of clay. So you see each plant has its own particular specialty which has been decided largely by the native clays at hand. Here at Trenton we turn out some of the finest porcelain manufactured in America. In quality it equals the English if not the French wares, and it needs only the foreign trade-mark to give it its deserved prestige. But our people, alas, have not arrived at the pitch of patriotism whereMade in Americahas become the popular slogan. I hope this war may elevate the motto to its rightful place.
"Perhaps by the time Theo gets to making china things will be different," ventured Mrs. Croyden.
"If I thought so I should be very glad," came earnestly from her husband. "We have all the necessary clays here in our own soil; the only one we need to import is black clay. What is now most necessary in all our industries is intelligent, trained, ambitious, and appreciative workers. It is a great reproach to us that here in the United States we have so few schools to educate workmen for their craft. Before the war Austria had eight schools to teach pottery-making and Germany twenty-two. Even England had several. And in the meantime what are we doing here in America? Aside from a few arts-and-crafts potters who of necessity must work on a very limited scale we are training no pottery-makers. We should establish schools for such things if we wish to keep abreast of the time, and compete with other nations."
"Theo can attend to that, too," laughed Mrs. Croyden.
"We have cut out quite a program for you to work out in the future, haven't we, lad?" said Mr. Croyden, relapsing into jest. "On the strength of it I suggest that you trot along to bed to get rested up so to be ready to undertake it."
Theo rose and with a merry good-night they parted.
A potter raises a pot on a wheel while a boy and girl work on a pinchpot nearby.
In accordance with Mr. Croyden's plan Theo and his host stepped, the next morning, into the waiting motor-car and were whirled to the porcelain factory.
As they rode along the boy remained silent until he saw Mr. Croyden lay down his paper; then he asked:
"How many persons in the United States do you suppose are employed at pottery-making, Mr. Croyden?"
"A great many," was the reply. "Before the war there were about thirty-three thousand.
Theo gasped.
"Why, I had no idea of it!" he exclaimed.
"It takes a vast number of workmen to manufacture all the clay products turned out in America. Remember dishes and ornaments are not the only things made. The industry is classified, and covers white earthenware, or the better qualities of imitation porcelain used by those who cannot afford the real; this branch of the work alone takes up about forty per cent. of the entire output. Then there is the genuine porcelain for table and decorative use; the porcelain necessary for electrical purposes; stoneware, or the commoner household articles found in the kitchen comprising yellow ware, Rockingham ware, and red earthenware; and in addition the great quantities of sanitary ware for plumbing, drain-pipes, and tiling. Of all these varieties of porcelain the hardest in quality, and the only one absolutely non-absorbent, is true porcelain. Therefore it is the cleanest to use. Kaolin being simply decomposed feldspar, and the glaze applied to it being practically pure feldspar, the product is merely a massof feldspar melted in the fire until all the metals it contains except platinum are eliminated. Such a composition is of course far too brittle and delicate for ordinary use even did not its expense prohibit our introducing it into the kitchen; but could we substitute it for the cheaper wares it would be much more hygienic—a factor persons are liable to forget when purchasing china."
"I never thought of that," said Theo.
"The general public does not," replied Mr. Croyden. "Still, now that I have explained it, you can readily understand it. Another thing that is not ordinarily considered is that porcelain-making is not as healthful an occupation as we wish it were. Those who work in the glazing department, where powdered flint and lead are used, inhale the dust and in consequence are sometimes subject to tuberculosis or lead poisoning just as painters are."
"Can't something be done about it? That seems a dreadful thing."
"It is a dreadful thing, and we are constantly trying to better working conditions and lessen the danger. Yet if you were to examine the detailsof other industries you would find that few of them are entirely free from undesirable results. Almost every line of manufacture has its peculiar risks," returned Mr. Croyden. "I do not mean for a moment that for that reason we are justified in closing our eyes to the dangers. I merely mean it is a fact. What we are trying earnestly to do is to find a substitute for lead glaze. Could we succeed we should eliminate a great proportion of the trouble."
"I suppose that would mean finding a different kind of enamel," mused Theo.
"Precisely. And you recollect how long it took to discover those enamels we are now using," answered Mr. Croyden. "It is a good problem for some clever man, so bear it in mind. It is just such puzzles as these that have raised up our inventors, and those who in one way or another have perfected modern industry. Few who have contributed to this cause stumbled upon their devices for the labor-saving or convenience of mankind. Almost all such discoveries were called forth by a great need, and were the result of hoursand hours of patient experiments in laboratories or workshops. Therefore when we pass through a factory and see a process advancing easily from stage to stage we should never forget those who toiled with brain and hand to perfect each of its tiny details. Often some very insignificant but vital part of a machine may represent the lifetime of an unknown fellow-being who did his part in giving us a more perfect whole."
Theo glanced up quickly.
"I thought usually a machine was invented by one person," he said.
"Occasionally it is," admitted Mr. Croyden. "But more frequently our modern machinery is a growth—the product of many minds. Year after year defects have been eliminated, and improvements introduced. Machines every part of which represent the thought of a single individual are rare. Most machines are composite photographs of the ingenuity and thought of many inventors."
The elder man paused, then added whimsically:
"Sometimes I feel like taking off my hat to a delicately adjusted and intricate piece of machineryit is so human and such a monument to the men who conceived it."
The boy looked grave.
"If more people felt about machinery and about work as you do, Mr. Croyden, they would have more respect for our industries as well as for the men who run the machines."
"It should be so," was Mr. Croyden's instant reply. "A factory that turns out a completed product is like a watch. You know that unless every wheel of the watch turns; unless every minute rivet and screw is in its place and doing its part we get no perfect result. It is just as important a service to be a wee screw in that organism as to be something larger and more conspicuous. So it is with each workman in a factory. He performs his part—often, alas, a small and dull one too, I am afraid; but viewed from the standpoint of the completed product that man with his humdrum task is as worthy our respect as is any other member of the working staff. Without somebody to do precisely what he is doing we should get no satisfactory result.
"It is just team-work!" put in Theo.
"That's it—team-work; team-work and nothing else. And just as in athletics some men better adapted for batting, catching, running, and kicking are singled out for the posts of fielder, shortstop, or tackle but contribute equally to the game, so it is with the men in a factory. Some day the world is going to accept that creed and pay to every human being a living wage; not, perhaps, because what he is doing is skilled or difficult; but because it is indispensable and we cannot do without that particular rung in the labor ladder. Some one must fill that post, and he who does it should be respected and compensated because he is necessary to civilization and to our national prosperity."
Mr. Croyden caught his breath and then laughed in confusion.
"The idea of my giving you a lecture on the labor question, Theo," he said flushing. "I always get hot on the matter, for it is one of my hobbies. Next time when you hear me getting started just slow me down and let me cool off. You see it is pretty close to my heart, because Ihave been attempting to work out some of its difficult phases here in my own mills. I am trying to pay to each of my men enough so he can live decently and contentedly. It does not seem fair to pay them all alike, since some are skilful enough to do more work, and work that is more difficult than others. But each should be able to live comfortably on what he earns. That is my idea of fairness toward the working man; and that is the scheme that I am trying to carry out here."
The car stopped abruptly before a great doorway and Mr. Croyden got out.
"Having heard my views you are now to have a chance to see how imperfectly my dreams have been realized," he said smiling. "I am far from satisfied with present conditions in my factory. But every day we are conscientiously trying to make things better, and some day I hope we shall reach our goal."
Theo followed him into the hall.
It was interesting to notice that as the man passed along he exchanged a word or two withevery employee he met, calling many of them by name, and in some cases adding a question concerning the wife or baby at home. That the men liked their employer there could be no question. His manner toward them was one of unaffected interest and friendliness, and was entirely free from patronage or condescension. His private office, too, was of the simplest type, being neatly but not lavishly furnished. Evidently what was good enough for his men was good enough for him. There were, however, in the two great windows several boxes of blossoming plants which made the room fragrant.
"I am very fond of flowers, Theo," explained the mill-owner after he had greeted his office force and introduced his guest. "It is my weak spot—my one big extravagance. This room has just the exposure for plants and we keep the boxes filled the year round. The boys have nicknamed the placethe conservatoryand the jest has stuck until nobody thinks of calling the place anything else. If you were to ask a man to come to the office he would have to scratch his head andthink; but if you told him he was wanted in the conservatory he would land here double quick. Isn't that so?" concluded Mr. Croyden, turning to the others.
Every one smiled and nodded.
Mr. Croyden hung up his hat and motioning Theo to do the same turned to encounter a pile of mail that lay on his desk.
"Bless my soul, this is too bad!" he exclaimed. "Don't tell me that to-day when I had planned to make a tour through the factory Uncle Sam has come down on me with all this stuff!"
He glanced ruefully at the letter lying topmost on the heap; then at the second one.
"I am afraid these will have to be attended to, Theo," he said with regret. "Should you be dreadfully disappointed if I were to turn you over to some one else for a part of your factory pilgrimage?"
"No, indeed, sir."
"I am sorry, but I guess that is what I shall have to do," declared Mr. Croyden. "You canmake a start, and later in the morning I will try to join you myself."
He touched a bell.
"Send Marwood to me," he said to the boy.
"Mr. Marwood is a splendidly informed man, Theo; and more than that, he is a delightful one. You will enjoy him, and I have a notion he will enjoy you. He likes boys—has three of his own, lucky fellow! Ah, here he comes now. Mr. Marwood, this is my young friend, Theo Swift of New York."
The boy put out his hand shyly.
The eyes that met his were of the kindliest blue; and the face they illumined was ruddy, wholesome, and alert.
Instantly Theo decided that since Mr. Croyden himself could not be his guide he had at least provided a very pleasant substitute.
"Theo wants to see everything there is to be seen, Jack," continued Mr. Croyden. "Tote him all about and answer all his questions; and above all be thorough, even if you do not cover very much ground during the morning. I want theprocesses carefully explained, for this boy may be a china-maker himself some day. If I do not join you before noontime bring all that is left of him back to the conservatory so I can take him to lunch."
Mr. Marwood laughed, and so did Theo.
Then they passed out.
"Good luck!" called Mr. Croyden after them as he turned to take up his mail.
A potter raises a pot on a wheel while a boy and girl work on a pinchpot nearby.
We'll go to the slip-house first where the clay bins are," Mr. Marwood said to Theo, "that you may start at the very beginning of things. That is where the cars run in and unload the raw material."
They walked down a long corridor and rang for the elevator.
As the car shot to the basement Theo noticed a change in the appearance of the factory. On every floor they passed there was a hum of machinery and a glimpse of endless rows of china dishes; they stood on shelves; they covered tables;they were stacked one within another upon long counters.
"Some dishes, eh?" Mr. Marwood laughed, reading the boy's thought.
"I never saw so many in my life!"
"You will see many more before you are through," remarked his companion.
The elevator brought up with a jerk.
"Here we are!" exclaimed Mr. Marwood. "At least this is our way into the slip-house."
He led Theo through a passage and across a court into the adjoining building.
Here a white powder covered everything. Men who hurried by in overalls and caps were dusty as millers, their hands being coated to the finger tips with dried clay.
Mr. Marwood stepped forward into the long, cement-floored basement and pointed to the tracks embedded in it.
"It is on these tracks," he said, "that the cars come in and deposit their contents in the bins. The bins are of a pretty good size, you see. They measure about sixteen by thirty-two feet, and eachone will hold eight car-loads of clay. After the different kinds of clay are unloaded and placed in their respective bins, the proper combination for specific varieties of porcelain must be weighed out and mixed in the 'blungers,' as we call the mixing tanks. Now this body formula, or clay combination, is not entrusted to the ordinary workman. It is kept secret. Therefore we have on the trucks that carry the clay between the bins and the blungers what we call charging-scales, which weigh automatically each ingredient in the compound without betraying it to the loader."
"That is pretty clever," replied Theo.
"Yes, it is a very ingenious device," Mr. Marwood agreed. "The blungers in which the clay is mixed are over there. You can see them—those great machines near the centre of the floor. They are heavy steel tanks lined with vitrified brick, and in the middle of each one is a revolving contrivance, with steel arms and teeth that grind the clay up very fine and blend it thoroughly. While it is being mixed in this way water is added to it,and also a certain amount of powdered oxide of cobalt to whiten it."
"Just as we put blueing in clothes," Theo ventured.
Mr. Marwood assented.
"This cobalt has already been pulverized and sifted most carefully, so there will be no particles in it, and so it will readily dissolve. After the clay mixture has had this mauling—for I can call it nothing else—the blunged compound, or slip, flows in liquid form into the sifter machines where it is strained through silk gauze or else a mesh of fine copper wire."
"I shouldn't think you could ever strain such stuff," Theo declared.
"The sifters do get very hard wear," answered Mr. Marwood, "and are the machines most liable to get out of order. They become clogged. Our sifters are self-cleaning. By that I mean they have an attachment which removes the waste obstructing them. Nevertheless, even with this improvement they still bother us at times. If you watch this sifting machine carefully you can seethat the method is one of sliding the slip back and forth until it is forced through the straining ducts."
"And then what becomes of it?"
They walked on and stopped before another machine.
"This is a rough agitator," explained Mr. Marwood. "Into it is pumped the liquid slip you just saw strained, and afterward this is brought in contact with a series of horseshoe magnets which extract from the mixture every atom of iron."
"Iron?" repeated Theo.
"All clay has metals in it," continued Mr. Marwood. "Should you leave any of these in a pottery clay they would cause you much trouble, for when the ware was fired the metals would melt and discolor your porcelain. Sometimes this happens with cheap chinas. I dare say you yourself have seen dishes that are specked with yellow, or have stains here and there. Sometimes you can also detect bluish particles. That means the cobalt has not been properly ground or sifted. In less expensive wares such defects are frequent. Butthere is no excuse for them when making fine quality porcelains."
Theo listened attentively.
"After this iron has been extracted," went on Mr. Marwood, "the slip passes into smooth agitators, where it is simply kept well stirred in order that the heavier ingredients in it may not settle to the bottom. Then the liquid is forced by means of a slip-pump into the filter-presses, and it is now that you begin to see an approach to the clay used for shaping dishes. Up to this point the slip has been only a thick creamy substance. Now the filter-press squeezes this through canvas bags until after having been pressed between iron plates you get your cakes of smoothly mixed clay of about the consistency of putty. Each cake is of regulation size, and it is supposed to be an inch-and-a-quarter in thickness, and to weigh forty-two pounds."
"The clay is now ready for use?" Theo asked.
"Practically so," was Mr. Marwood's reply, "although before it can be sent to the jiggermen to be modeled it must pass through the pug-millto be made more plastic and workable. It is here that it gets its final kneading, all the air bubbles in it being eliminated by a series of steel knives."
"I must say it is pretty thoroughly prepared," smiled Theo.
"It has to be," was Mr. Marwood's grave reply. "Each of these details is an important factor in the making of high grade porcelain, and should any of them be omitted we should get no flawless ware. It was this infinite care in preparing clay that gave to China, Japan, France, and Germany their perfect results in porcelain-making. If we would equal what has been done in the past we must be just as painstaking, and neglect no detail. As a nation we Americans are far too prone to dash ahead and expect results all in a minute. We do not like to mount a stairway step by step; we wish to shoot to the top in an elevator. Now you cannot manufacture porcelain, or for that matter anything else, in such a fashion."
"I know it," replied Theo. "Dad says we hurry so much over the little things that we turn out quantities of poorly made goods that are justhustled through instead of being carefully finished."
"Your father is right," Mr. Marwood admitted. "It is far too often quantity and not quality with us. Just so long as men are paid on the piece-work system we shall not better the condition, either. It stands to reason that a man who is rushing to make as many objects of one kind as he possibly can in an hour is not going to take the pains to finish them very carefully. His daily bread depends on his hurrying. Not a second can be lost. It is an unfortunate labor condition, and one that I hope to see remedied some time."
The elder man smiled.
"But we must not take time now to go into labor problems," he added. "In our day they are absorbingly interesting and one might spend hours discussing them. What we all are eager to do is to see them readjusted until they shall be fair to all parties."
"That is what Mr. Croyden wants," put in Theo.
"I know it is. He is heart and soul in this milland his employees. All the time he is working to improve conditions here. Now we must go on, or we shall not get anywhere. To return, then, to our clay; it is now ready to be carried to the floor above on elevators and handed over to the potters."
"Are the ingredients for the glaze prepared in the same way?" Theo inquired.
"Partially so. The formula for the frit and glaze is also a secret one. Usually the frit, a material similar to glass, is crushed to powder beneath stone rollers called chasers. Water is then added and the compound turned into the grinding-mill where it is ground for an entire day. Sometimes, however, a different process is preferred and the material is put into a kiln and melted instead. In either case it must finally be worked into a smooth liquid which can be strained through fine lawn. It is then sent to the agitators and constantly stirred until it can be pumped into the storage tanks in the dipping-room."
"That is just what I wanted to know," said Theo.
"Any more questions?
The boy shook his head.
"Not now, thank you."
"Then as we have finished here shall we go up to the clay-shop?"
"Yes, I am ready," Theo affirmed. Then as if confronted by an afterthought he asked:
"Is the porcelain made here bone china or ——"
"Spar?" put in Mr. Marwood as the lad hesitated.
"I don't think I understand."
"Feldspar."
"Oh, then I know," cried Theo. "I did not realize you classified porcelains as bone or spar."
"We do," was the quick reply. "Our finest grade of porcelain has little or no phosphate of calcium, or ground bone, in it. But it is in consequence very costly, and therefore to meet the demands of the market we also manufacture a porcelain slightly strengthened with a bone element. Nevertheless this is composed of such a wonderfully blended body that it is as exquisite as any of the most beautiful English wares. Personally I prefer it to a pure feldspathic china.
"My questions are all answered now," laughed Theo. "Shall we go up to the clay-shop?"
They rang for an elevator and stepped in.
"Next floor, O'Keefe," said Mr. Marwood to the operator. "I am going to teach this lad how to make dishes."