"WHAT IS THIS OTHER MACHINE?"
"WHAT IS THIS OTHER MACHINE?"
"That machine is picking the wool apart so that the air can get through it and help it to dry.After it is picked up light and fluffy we pass it through these heavy rollers, which are like wringers and which squeeze out the remaining moisture. Yet during all these processes we must always be careful not to snarl the wool. See, here is where it comes out white and clean, ready to go to the dyeing room."
Donald regarded the snowy fleeces with wonder.
"You would never dream it could be the same wool!" he said. "Isn't it beautiful? It is not much the way it looks when it leaves the ranch, is it, Thornton?"
"I should say not," agreed the Westerner emphatically. "The sheep ought to see how handsome their coats are."
"So they should!" answered the young bookkeeper. "You have been on a ranch then?"
"We have just come from one," Donald answered.
"Have you, indeed! It is a free life—not much like being shut up inside brick walls."
"You have been West yourself, perhaps," ventured Thornton.
"Yes, years ago—when I was a boy; but not recently."
"Ah, you should see the sheep country now!" Thornton went on. "It is much improved, I reckon, since you were there."
"I imagine so," the young guide answered with a wistful smile. "It is so long since I have had a breath of real air that I have almost forgotten how it would seem."
"If you are wanting fresh air go out on the ranges and fill your lungs. You will find plenty there," declared the ranchman.
"That is just what they are trying to make me do," the young man replied, "I have not been very well this year and Mr. Munger thinks the confinement in the mill is telling on me. He wants me to go West for a vacation."
"And should you like to?" questioned Donald.
The man did not answer; instead he said:
"Suppose we go on. We must not waste too much time here. In this next room you will see how the dyeing is done. We use centrifugal machines, and beside those we have these others tokeep the wool spread and turned. With all our care not to snarl or curl it, it will get matted and must therefore be picked apart again. So we pass it through these revolving drums which, you see, have sets of spikes on them; as the spikes on the different drums turn they catch in the wool and pick it all apart so it is again light and fluffy as it was before."
"Doesn't so much washing and dyeing take out all the yolk, and make the wool very dry?" inquired Thornton.
The young man conducting them seemed pleased at the question.
"Yes, it does! That is just the trouble. Therefore we are forced to set about getting some oil back into it; otherwise it would be so harsh and stiff that we could do nothing with it. So we put the thin layers of wool into these machines and carry them along to a spraying apparatus which sprays them evenly with oil. We use olive oil, but some other manufacturers prefer lard oil or oleine."
"How funny to have to put oil back into thewool after you have just washed it out!" Donald remarked.
"It is funny, isn't it?" nodded the bookkeeper. "Now on this side of the room they are blending the fleeces. Sometimes we blend different qualities of wool to get a desired effect, or sometimes we blend the wool with cotton or a different fiber. We take a thin layer of wool, then put another layer of a different kind over it. We then pick it all up together until we get a uniform mixture."
"It is a surprise to me that the wool has to go through so much red tape before it comes to spinning," Thornton said.
"It is a long process," responded their guide. "I remember when I first saw it, it seemed endless. Now I think little of it."
"We get used to everything in time, I suppose," Thornton answered; then he added whimsically: "Still, I don't think I should ever get used to riding in an automobile."
A hearty laugh came from behind them, and turning they saw Mr. Clark and Mr. Munger, the manager.
"I came to hunt you up," said Mr. Clark. "I have finished my interview with Mr. Bailey, and it seemed to me that by this time you must have finished spinning your next-winter's overcoat, Don."
"But I haven't, father," retorted Donald, smiling into his father's face. "I have not even begun to make the cloth at all."
"The yarn is not spun yet, sir," put in the young man who was with them.
"You are a slow guide, Mac, I fear," Mr. Munger laughed, laying a kindly hand on his bookkeeper's shoulder. "That is the chief fault with you Scotchmen—you are too thorough. Now let us hurry along. These gentlemen must get back to Boston to-day, you know."
Mr. Munger bustled ahead, conducting his visitors across a bridge and into the next mill.
Here was the carding room. Layers of wool entered the carding engine and were combed by a multitude of wire teeth until all the fibers lay parallel; the thin film of wool then passed into a cone-like opening and came out later in a thick strand of untwisted fibers.
"It is now ready to go to the drawing-frames," Mr. Munger explained. "You will notice how these drawing-frames pull the wool into shape for twisting and spinning, drawing it out to uniform size and finally winding it on bobbins. The machine is a complicated one to explain, but you can watch and see what it does."
"How wonderful it is that machinery can do all this work," Mr. Clark observed thoughtfully.
"Yes, it is," Mr. Munger agreed. "Years ago every part of the process was done by hand. Little by little, however, machines have been perfected until now we have contrivances that seem almost human. Shall we go now and see the yarn spun?"
When they reached the spinning room with its clatter of shifting bobbins Mr. Munger turned to Donald.
"I wonder if you know," he said, "that wool is worked into two different kinds of yarn—worsted yarn and woolen yarn. The fibers for worsted yarn are long and lie nearly parallel, and when woven result in a smooth surface. Broadcloth ismade from worsted yarn. Woolen yarn, on the other hand, has its fibers lying in every direction and all these loose ends, when woven, give a rough surface. Of course after the cloth is milled it comes out smooth, but it is not as smooth and fine as a worsted cloth."
"I think I understand," Donald said. "Are we to see the cloth woven next?"
"Yes. You know we weave nothing but woolens; you must go to a worsted mill to see the other kinds of cloth made. The processes, though, are much alike."
Mr. Munger then hurried the party to the weaving mills, where amid an uproar of thousands of moving wheels, bobbins, and shuttles the threads of yarn traveled back and forth, back and forth, and came out of the looms as cloth. The cloth was then steamed, pressed, and rolled or folded.
"And now, young man," announced Mr. Munger to Donald jestingly, "you have seen the whole process, and there is no reason why your father should not give you some wool and let you make your own cloth for your next suit of clothes."
Although Donald was very tired he tried to smile.
"I think," he said, "that I would rather grow the wool on the ranch than make it into cloth here. It is far nicer out on the ranges."
"That is what I am trying to tell my young assistant," agreed Mr. Munger. "He is getting fagged, aren't you, Mac? You see he was brought up in the open country, and much as we think of him, we feel that he should go back to the Western mountains."
"Oh, I am all right, Mr. Munger," the bookkeeper hastened to say. "Just a bit tired, perhaps—that is all."
"If you are tired you should try the ranges of Idaho," Mr. Clark said. "My boy, here, and myself have recently returned from a year in the sheep country and feel like new men, don't we, Don? Undoubtedly the life there may not be as gay as in the city; still—to quote my manager, Sandy McCulloch, 'with bears, bob-cats, and coyotes, I dinna see how it could ever be dull.'"
So perfectly had Mr. Clark imitated Sandy'svoice and accent that Thornton and Donald both laughed. Then they stopped suddenly.
The young bookkeeper had turned very pale and was eying them with a startled face.
"Sandy McCulloch!" he repeated. "Did you say Sandy McCulloch, sir?"
"Yes, Sandy McCulloch," answered Mr. Clark. "Do you know him?"
"He must be of your kin, Mac!" interrupted Mr. Munger. "This lad, strangely enough, is a McCulloch himself—Douglas McCulloch."
"Then you must be—you are Sandy's brother!" cried Donald.
The young man swayed a little and put out his hand to steady himself.
It seemed to Donald as if he would never speak.
When he did his voice was tremulous with emotion.
"Yes," he replied almost in a whisper. "I am Sandy's brother. Tell me of Sandy and of my father."
Chapter Decoration
It was a wonderful story, Donald thought.
He was never tired of living over how, in visiting the Mortonstown mills, they had so unexpectedly found Douglas McCulloch; how, because of ill health, he was on the point of going West; and how, with Mr. Munger's permission, Mr. Clark had offered him the position as Sandy's assistant at Crescent Ranch. It was little short of a miracle that it had all come about!
It was interesting, too, to hear what had happened to Douglas after he left Idaho. When he first reached the East it was indeed a rude awakeningfrom his dreams of city life; living was expensive, and work hard to find. Chance had borne him to the Monitor Mills where, because of his knowledge of wool, he had succeeded in getting a job at sorting fleeces. He had worked hard and patiently, and Mr. Bailey, who was quick to appreciate faithfulness, had promoted him until he had won the position of head bookkeeper. These years of vigorous work had, however, left their mark on one unaccustomed to long hours and little fresh air. In his heart the boy sighed for the hills—he wanted to be back again in the Western country which he so foolishly had insisted upon leaving. He became tired and thin, and the men for whom he worked were unselfish enough to see that unless he got back to the open ranges and to the sunlight he would soon be too ill to go.
And now the chance had come—it was almost unbelievable!
"I cannot realize that I am really to join Sandy," exclaimed the Scotchman over and over. "It is almost too much good luck. As a lad Iwas so eager to get away from the range that I would never have dreamed the time could come when I would be pining to return there. I have had my taste of the East! I would have gone back long ago had they not been so good to me here."
"But why didn't you write to Sandy, Douglas?" inquired Donald.
"Well, you see, although my father let me leave Crescent Ranch it disappointed him not a little to have me do so. Sandy thought, since my father felt that way, that I ought not to go, and we had words about it. I was very angry with Sandy at the time, but I see now that he was right. I wish I had stayed with my father. Then when I began to be homesick here and it all turned out just as Sandy had said I was ashamed to write. Even now I am almost afraid Sandy will not want to see me."
"Indeed he will!" cried Donald. "Why, often he talked about you when we were on the range together, and wished he might see you. My father has wired him already and he can hardly wait to get you back to Idaho."
"If only my father were there!" said Douglas sadly. "I shall never forgive myself that I came East and left him. I wish I had the chance to live over again and I would do differently."
"If we did not learn wisdom by what we do there would be no use in living, Douglas," Mr. Clark put in kindly. "At least you are going West to Sandy—going to be a great help to him in his work."
"I am so thankful that I can," replied the younger brother. "Think of going once more to Idaho and running that great ranch with him! It is more than I deserve."
"Make the most of your good fortune, Douglas," Mr. Clark said, "and do not disappoint Sandy and me."
"I will try, sir!" was the humble response.
Douglas McCulloch was as good as his word.
From the moment he and Sandy were united at Crescent Ranch he threw himself heart and soul into his new work. The charm of the hills stole over him with a fascination they had never held in those far-off days when he was a restless boy,eager for the excitement of city life. Douglas had had his fling, and he returned to the vast Western land older and wiser.
Together he and Sandy set about improving the ranch. They subscribed to magazines on sheep-raising; they visited other ranches and kept abreast of the times; they installed newer and more hygienic methods of wool-growing. Never had Crescent Ranch been so perfectly run. With two intelligent and unwearying young men at its head it bid fair to outshine the fame it had possessed in Old Angus's day. Gradually men interested in sheeping came from far and near to visit it. Clark & Sons began to be very proud to be the owners of such a treasure.
Thornton, in the meantime, had become Mr. Clark's right hand man at the Eastern office. From foreman he had worked up to being superintendent, and had then been promoted to traveling for the firm and selling wool. His devotion to Mr. Clark and everything that concerned him was unfailing.
During these years Donald had completed hisschool work; had taken his four years at college; and loyal to his early ambition, had entered the Law School. If it was a disappointment to his father for him to choose the law instead of a business career Mr. Clark did not say so. He kept closely in touch with the boy's studies and was proud of the future before him.
It was just as everything seemed to be moving so ideally that the first great calamity fell upon Clark & Sons. One morning a telegram came from Sandy saying that a big fire had swept the ranch, leveling to the ground house, barns, and sheep-pens. The blaze had come about through no one's carelessness. Lightning had struck the central barn, and before aid could be summoned the entire place had been destroyed.
Fortunately no one had been injured. The herders, together with their flocks, were on the range; and the crops of alfalfa had not been cut and were therefore saved.
"It might have been much worse, Don," said Mr. Clark in reviewing the situation. "We have lost no men, no sheep, no hay, no wool. Supposethe fire had come in shearing time and had destroyed all the fleeces; or suppose the blaze had come about through carelessness and Sandy and Douglas had had themselves to blame for it. As it is, it is nobody's fault—I am glad of that—and nothing has been lost but can be restored. The buildings are well covered by insurance and can be rebuilt during the summer. The chief trouble is that all this has happened at a time when I am very busy. I ought to go to Idaho, but I hardly see——"
"Can't I go, father?" interrupted Donald quickly. "I don't see why I couldn't adjust the insurance and help about having new buildings put up. Sandy and Douglas have good judgment, and before I started you could tell me just what you want done. Besides," he added shyly, "I am now through my first year at the Law School and have some little knowledge of legal affairs—that is, I know more than I used to."
Mr. Clark beamed.
"You could go in my place perfectly well, Don, if you are willing to give up your summer vacationto it. It would certainly be a great help. But how about those house-parties you had planned for?"
"I can decline those, father. I'd be glad to go!" was Donald's reply. "I always promised Sandy I would come West again some time, and I should really enjoy another glimpse of the hills."
So it was arranged.
Within two days Donald was speeding West, and almost before he realized it he was back at Crescent Ranch.
Then came letters for Mr. Clark.
The insurance was adjusted and with the aid of the McCullochs, Donald was drawing up plans for new barns—barns with cement floors, and far better ventilated and equipped than the old ones had been. Almost every day brought to the Eastern office pages and pages of sketches for sheep-folds and modern contrivances for lessening the labor of wool-growing. Every line of these letters bubbled with enthusiasm. There could be no possible question that Donald's heart was in every word he wrote.
Summer passed and the time for the beginning of the college term drew near.
Mr. Clark began to look for the boy's return.
Still there was no Donald!
Then came another letter:
Crescent Ranch, Glen City, Idaho.Dear Father:You have been so generous in letting me follow out my own wishes as to my future, that I hardly know how to write you. I hope you will not be disappointed when you hear what I am going to say. The fact is, dad, after thinking the matter well over I have changed my mind about studying law. I have become tremendously interested in Crescent Ranch and in wool-growing, and I am wild to jump into the work.If I thought you approved I should like to stay out here and see the buildings finished and then go to Kansas City with Sandy to select more sheep. If, however, you wish me to continue my law course I am perfectly willing to come East and take my degree.Please wire.Affectionately your son,Donald Clark.
Crescent Ranch, Glen City, Idaho.
Dear Father:
You have been so generous in letting me follow out my own wishes as to my future, that I hardly know how to write you. I hope you will not be disappointed when you hear what I am going to say. The fact is, dad, after thinking the matter well over I have changed my mind about studying law. I have become tremendously interested in Crescent Ranch and in wool-growing, and I am wild to jump into the work.
If I thought you approved I should like to stay out here and see the buildings finished and then go to Kansas City with Sandy to select more sheep. If, however, you wish me to continue my law course I am perfectly willing to come East and take my degree.
Please wire.
Affectionately your son,Donald Clark.
Donald's father read the letter twice. Then he called his stenographer.
"Lawson," he said briskly, "I want to dictate a telegram and have you get it off right away. Here is the message:
"Mr. Donald Clark,Crescent Ranch, Glen City, Idaho."Cut out the law. Take up sheeping. Three cheers for you!"(Signed)Willard Payson Clark.
"Mr. Donald Clark,Crescent Ranch, Glen City, Idaho.
"Cut out the law. Take up sheeping. Three cheers for you!
"(Signed)Willard Payson Clark.
"Now repeat the message."
The stenographer did so.
Mr. Clark chuckled aloud.
"That is O. K., Lawson. Send it along as soon as possible. Oh, and Lawson—here is a gold-piece which goes with that telegram. Keep it in memory of this day, for it is the happiest one of my life. Mr. Donald is coming into Clark & Sons!"