A MANUFACTORY OF RIFLES
Settling himself comfortably in the train for his long journey to the
capital, one of the first things that Hamilton did was to take from his
pocket the little carving that had been given him by the mountain lad
and put it away carefully in his grip. Examining it closely as he did
so, the boy was astonished to note the fineness of the work, and he
realized that it must have taken Bill Wilsh all the spare moments of a
long winter to finish it. The work was all the more surprising, Hamilton
thought, since it had been done just with a single tool, a common
pocketknife, and was yet as fine and delicate as though carved with a
set of costly tools. He made up his mind to buy a set and send them to
Bill Wilsh with the first pay that he got from his Census Bureau work.
Seated across the aisle from him was another lad about his own age, with
whom Hamilton rather wanted to make acquaintance, but the opportunity
did not arrive until the first meal, when, by chance, they found
themselves on opposite sides of one of the small tables in the dining
car. The usual courtesies of the table led to conversation, in the
course of which Hamilton's companion dropped the word "census" in a
manner which showed his familiarity with the progress of the work of
preparation.
"Are you interested in the census?" asked Hamilton promptly.
"Rather," the other replied. "I'm going to work in the Bureau. As a
matter of fact, I'm just going to Washington to get my appointment now."
"You are!" exclaimed Hamilton. "Why, that's exactly what I'm doing. It's
queer we should meet this way."
"Are you going as an assistant special agent, too?" his new friend
asked.
"I'm going to start in that way," the boy replied
"How do you mean 'start'?" the other queried. "I understand that work on
the manufactures will last three or four months, and by that time all
the other census-taking will be over."
"I'm going to try to get some of the population work as well," Hamilton
explained. "I think it will be even more fun than the manufactures end,
and I heard that they're going to put on a few population enumerators
from those who have been on the manufactures work, admitting them
without an exam. I think the population census gathering will be fine."
The other boy shook his head.
"I don't think I'd want it," he said, "at least not in a city, and I'm
going to do the manufacturing work, of course, in a city."
"Where are you going to be?" asked Hamilton.
"I took the exam in 'Frisco," the older boy replied; "that's my home
town, and I expect to work out there."
"That's quite a walk from here!" exclaimed Hamilton.
"I had to come to Washington," the boy answered "and so my people wanted
me to go and see my sister down in Florida. She married a fellow who's
busy reclaiming some swamp land down there, and he promised me a try at
alligator hunting."
"That sounds prime," suggested Hamilton, "and I should think that in
that reclamation work there would be lots of chance for it. It would
be worth watching, too, just to see how they got at that work. I should
think they would find themselves up against a pretty stiff job,
engineering down in those swamps. And then there must be barrels of
snakes, too?"
[Illustration: ALLIGATOR-CATCHING. The sport at its best; tackling a
fair sized reptile with bare hands. (_Courtesy of Outing Magazine._)]
"Water moccasins and copper-heads mostly," said his friend cheerfully,
"but you soon get so used to them that you don't mind them. It's very
seldom that you ever hear of any one being bitten by a snake. They all
seem more anxious to get out of your way than you out of theirs."
"And you're anxious enough, too!" remarked Hamilton.
"That's pretty good security, don't you think?" queried the older boy
with a laugh. "When both sides want to get away, there's not much chance
of a meeting."
"But how about the alligators?"
"That was real good sport," the other rejoined. "But I kept down to the
smaller chaps most of the time. I don't suppose there's really very much
danger, even in the big fellows, as long as you know just how to handle
them."
"I don't think I'm particularly keen about handling them," answered
Hamilton. "I shouldn't think the big ones would want more than about one
bite to put you out of business."
"That's all right," the older boy admitted, "but what's the use of
giving one that chance? Anyway, so I learned down there, it's not so
much the bite that the hunters are afraid of as the stroke of the tail.
It doesn't take such a big alligator to break your leg like a pipestem
with a sweep of that long, scaly tail of his."
"But how do they catch them?"
"With a noose, when they're sunning themselves. An alligator lies on a
bank, half in and half out of the water, most of the time, with his eyes
shut. Sometimes he really is asleep, and sometimes he isn't. That's
where the fun comes in. Of course, if you can get the boat right up to
where he is, close enough to slip the noose over his jaws, you've got
him all right. There's a knob on the snout that keeps the noose from
slipping off, and he sort of strangles when you tow him through the
water. But if you can't get there with the boat you have to go it on
foot."
"You mean you have to get out of the boat and walk right up to his
jaws?"
"Yes, just that."
"It doesn't sound particularly good to me," Hamilton remarked.
"It isn't nearly as bad as it sounds," the other replied. "As long as
you don't make too much noise, and keep out of reach of his tail, you're
all right. If you slip up, you want to jump out of the way about as
lively as you know how. But he'll never come after you, or mighty
seldom. If you get a slip-knot over his snout, and can throw a
half-hitch over his tail, why, the biggest of them is easy enough to
handle."
"But what are they caught for?"
"There's quite a steady sale. The big fellows are sometimes sold alive
to parks and aquariums and circuses, but most of them are killed and the
whole skins dressed and used for hanging on the walls of dens, like
trophies. The real market is for the skins of the little fellows, which
are made up into all sorts of alligator leather bags. Most of that stuff
is imitation, but still quite a lot of it is real. It's plenty of fun
catching the little 'gators, because even the smallest of them can give
you quite a nip and a reptile three feet long is a handful. I did well
enough out of it, because in addition to the sport I had, my
brother-in-law let me have the skins of all those I caught myself. Some
people, too, want to have baby ones as pets, but I don't think I'd want
to have them around, myself, after they grew to any size," he added, as
the boys rose and went back to the Pullman.
By the time the train had reached Washington the two had become
thoroughly friendly, and Hamilton liked his new acquaintance so much
that he would gladly have seen more of him than merely as a traveling
companion. But as the other lad was going out to San Francisco, there
was no likelihood of their being thrown together at all. Indeed, on his
arrival, Hamilton found that he had been assigned to an Eastern city, so
he had to bid his new-made friend "Good-by."
The exterior of the Census Bureau building was a disappointment to
Hamilton, by reason of its unimposing appearance. Indeed, it was
altogether too small for the purposes of the census, and during the rush
of the decennial work, there were departments of the census scattered
through various other buildings, adding no little inconvenience to the
work. Accustomed to the New York structures, towering tens of stories
into the air, the two-story red brick building of the census looked
small to Hamilton, though comfortable and pleasant to work in. It was
deceiving in its size, however, for the floor space was big and not
much broken, and there seemed to be plenty of room. But it was not until
the boy returned after his population work some months later, that he
saw this building as the center of unparalleled activity.
[Illustration: THE CENSUS BUILDING. Where Hamilton learned the immense
importance of this great function of the government. (_Walden
Fawcett._)]
"I understand," said the chief of the manufacturing division to him,
"that you are desirous of coming to the Census Bureau as one of the
permanent force, not just for the decennial period only?"
"Yes, Mr. Clan," was the boy's reply, "that is, if the Bureau is
willing."
"That will depend entirely on the work you do. I didn't see your papers
personally, but I understand you received a high rating, and that you
have had a good deal to do with figures.--That is, for a youngster," he
added, noting the youthfulness of the lad standing before him.
"Yes, sir, I have," answered Hamilton.
"What made you think of taking this work up?" was the next question.
"Because I like it, sir."
The divisional chief leaned back in his chair, put his fingers together
in characteristic attitude, and smiled.
"Eh," he said, "you are sure you will like the work?"
"Quite, sir," said Hamilton in his decided way. "I looked it all over,
and I know."
"You will be less sure of the future when you are older," the Scotchman
said, "but if you 'know,' there's nothing more to be said. I'm going to
put you under the care of Mr. Burns, and he will instruct you further in
the work."
"But, Mr. Clan--" began the boy.
"Well?"
"Where am I going, sir?"
"New Haven, Connecticut--a good town, and one that will give you plenty
of work. You'd better start for there to-night. I hope you will like it
as much as you expect."
"Thank you, sir," Hamilton replied, seeing that his superior deemed the
interview at an end. "I'll do the very best I can."
On arriving in New Haven the following day, Hamilton made his way to the
local Census Office opened by his new leader. He found Mr. Burns to be a
typical statistician, to whom figures had a meaning beyond themselves,
but to whom little was of value unless it could be expressed in figures.
Hamilton introduced himself briefly.
"You're Noble," the other said abruptly. "When will you be ready to
begin?"
"Any time," answered Hamilton. "Right after lunch, sir, if you want me
to make a start."
"There's a portfolio," the census agent answered, "take it along and you
can begin just as soon as you're ready."
"What instructions have you to give me, sir?" asked Hamilton.
"I save eleven and a half per cent of the time given to instructions by
writing them. You'll find a copy in there," he said, pointing to the
portfolio.
"Very well, sir," the boy replied, "I'll go ahead, and if I find
anything I don't understand, shall I come and ask you?"
"Telephone!" the census agent said. "Quicker to 'phone even if only in
the next room. Average conversation, six minutes; average telephone
conversation, two minutes; average value of my time for six minutes,
eighteen cents; average cost of 'phone for two minutes, one cent; direct
saving to me seventeen cents, not counting time of your traveling to
come and talk. No! Telephone!"
"All right, sir," Hamilton answered, "I'll 'phone," and realizing that
his new chief had the question of the valuation of time down to a fine
point, he hurried away.
On reaching the hotel he examined his portfolio with a great deal of
curiosity. The schedules were familiar, for one of the features of the
examination he had taken had been the filling out of such a census
schedule from financial statements of a group of factories. The written
instructions, however, were thoroughly characteristic of the man, and
percentage figures were scattered around like punctuation marks. But the
explanations were clear as crystal, none the less, and gave no
opportunity even for telephoning.
An old New England center, and a college town, New Haven proved a most
interesting field in which to work. By far the larger number of people
with whom the boy came in contact were of old American stock and gave
him every assistance possible.
"The census-taker?" one old man said, when Hamilton called. "Come right
in the office and sit down. Now tell me what I can do for you," and when
the boy mentioned the principal items of the schedule, the manufacturer
spent a good hour working over the books with his office force to get
out the figures desired. When Hamilton thanked him, he replied:
"I'm an American, Mr. Noble, and one of the stones they moved from the
old churchyard of the Old Center Church and that bore the date 1681 was
the tombstone of my direct ancestor. I think you'll find most of the New
England stock proud of the United States and only too glad to do
anything they can to help the government in its census or anything else
for the good of the country."
"I'm sure of it," the boy said heartily, "but there's mighty few of that
old type left. There's not ten per cent of the people in the country now
that are real bred-in-the-bone Americans."
"It is a pity," the old man said, shaking his head, "and the worst of it
is that even that ten per cent lives principally in the country. It's
the cities that influence the progress of the nation. We talk about
making these foreigners over into our idea of what Americans should be,
and we forget that all the time they are influencing us to become the
kind of Americans they think we ought to be."
"I guess that's true," the boy said, "because in New York, where my
folks live, the old New Yorkers seem entirely strange and out-of-place
in the dash and glitter."
"Of course," the New Englander replied. "The real Americans are plain,
solid people; it's the Jewish strain in New York that has brought about
the display of wealth, and to the large number of Southern Europeans are
due the colors, the lights, the music, the public dining, and all the
rest of it. It may be the American of to-day, but it isn't what
Americanism meant a few years ago."
"A good deal of New York life does seem foreign in a kind of way," said
Hamilton, "and I'm glad," he added, as he closed his portfolio, "that
the Census Bureau put me at work in one of the old-fashioned towns
first."
As the boy went on in his work he came to find how thoroughly the spirit
of Yale was felt in the town. Almost all the leading business men were
Yale graduates, and instead of displaying the "town and gown" hostility
of some university places, New Haven was inordinately proud of its
college. Of course, even in such a town, there was quite a proportion of
foreign-born manufacturers but the boy found that the Jewish
establishments were even easier to tabulate than those owned by
Americans, the Hebrew understanding of the details of business being so
thorough.
"That's not so very detailed!" one of these remarked to Hamilton when
the boy had come to the end of his list of questions.
"It's a relief to hear somebody say that," answered the young
census-taker with a laugh, "because I hear a dozen times a day the
complaint that no one could be expected to know as much about a business
as these schedules require."
It was not to be expected that the work would proceed without an
occasional hitch, and Hamilton had one such with a firm of Italian
marble-cutters in which the bookkeeping had been of so curious a
character that it was next to impossible to get out the kind of figures
the government wanted. Another was in a small Chinese place, where they
made little trinkets to sell to tourists in the "Chinatown" districts of
the larger cities, representing them to be imported articles of value.
Another was with a small place run by two brothers, Persians, making
fringes and tassels for fraternal order badges and matters of that kind.
It was interesting to the lad, for he had the chance to see the works in
a number of cases, and he learned a lot about the way many queer things
were made.
But Hamilton's hopes were set on visiting one especial manufacturing
plant in New Haven, and he had determined to ask that he be allowed to
go over it before he left the town. This was the great sporting gun
works. Hamilton was passionately fond of sport, and had owned a
Winchester ever since he was twelve years old. Indeed, he had read up on
guns a good deal, and it was one of his hobbies.
His delight was great, therefore, when at the end of a long day, after
he had turned in his schedule to his chief, the latter said:
"Noble, your work is good. Johnson is faster. Up to last night he had
turned in one, decimal five-two per cent more establishments than you,
but your proportion of capital invested is larger, showing that the
works you went to took more time. Your schedules are better. This takes
a little over one-fifth more of my own time than I had figured at first.
I was going to do the Winchester works myself. I think you can do it.
You had better go ahead. It's complicated, but they'll help you all they
can. There's not much time left."
"Very well, Mr. Burns," said Hamilton decisively with the
characteristic raising and lowering of his eyebrows, "I'll get all there
is, all right."
The next morning, about ten o'clock, Hamilton presented himself at the
general offices of the company on the outskirts of the town, about a
mile from the college. He asked to see the business manager, and was
granted an interview.
"Mr. Arverne," said the boy, "I called with regard to securing the
figures for the census of nineteen hundred and ten."
"But you are not the special agent surely?" said the manager, looking at
him sharply.
"No, sir," the boy answered, "Mr. Burns is the special agent, and I am
one of his assistants."
"I should have thought Mr. Burns would have come himself," the man said;
"you are young for this work, aren't you?"
Hamilton flushed at this reference to his boyish appearance, but he
answered steadily: "Yes, sir, I believe I am younger than most of the
assistant special agents, but I have had a good deal to do with
figures."
"Burns is a good man," the manager continued. "If the government has
men of that stamp all over the country, the statistics will be
invaluable. You know Mr. Burns?" he added suddenly.
"Only just since this work began, Mr. Arverne," the boy replied.
"Queer chap. I don't believe he eats a bit of food or drinks a glass of
water without mentally figuring the nutritious percentage in the food,
and the effect of his drink upon the water supply of the world."
Hamilton laughed.
"He is a little that way, sir," he said.
"A little!" the manager exclaimed. "But to return to the point. You
didn't tell me why Mr. Burns didn't come himself."
"He said that the office work was piling up, sir," answered the boy,
"and--if you don't mind my saying so, Mr. Arverne--he spoke of it as an
opportunity for me, since it was the largest plant in the city and my
schedules had been the most complete of those turned in to him."
The manager eyed the boy keenly.
"Mr. Burns doesn't make many mistakes," he said, after a moment, "and if
he has confidence in you, he knows what he is talking about. This is a
country of young men anyway, and it seems to be getting younger all the
time. Where is the schedule?"
Hamilton handed him the paper and sat back, waiting. Several minutes
passed, while the manager went over the questions item by item.
"Yes," he said at last, "I think our books can answer every question
there without difficulty. We keep very complete books. I am not so sure,
Mr. Noble," he continued, "that I can give you those figures immediately
in just exactly that form."
"In what points do your books differ?" asked Hamilton quietly.
"Not in any essentials, but in a few minor points," the manager replied.
"For example, you want to know here the exact number of employees on our
pay roll on December 15th. Now I could have the pay roll department--we
keep it as an entirely separate department here--turn up instantly the
payments for the week in which that date occurs, but in order to
separate that one day from the week, reference will have to be made to
the Employment Bureau to find out what workers left, and how many were
added, and the day of the week on which each of these left or began
work in that week, and to add or to deduct such sums from the weekly
pay roll."
"That difficulty has come up several times," said Hamilton, "because not
many people pay their employees by the day. But in nine cases out of
ten, an average for that week is usually struck, figuring in some cases
by the days and in others by the hours. I suppose you noticed that the
schedule itself states that what is sought is 'a normal day'?"
"I saw that," was the reply, "but it seems to me that when possible it
is better to have all the details carried out to the full. However, even
that is not the most serious difficulty of these questions."
"No," said Hamilton, "that one hasn't given much trouble. The hitch
usually comes just at the point you're looking at now--the cost of
materials."
"That's just exactly it. Our non-productive departments consume a great
deal of material, mill-supplies and fuels, but if we include those with
all the rest of it, our figures will not show a right proportion."
"What do you mean by your non-productive departments?" asked the boy.
"That seems rather a curious phrase."
"Those in which the work done is not directly a part of the making of
guns or ammunition. For example, we have a large force of draughtsmen
working on new models of rifles and mechanisms and on machinery to
enable us to make the new types. We make all the machinery that we use,
right here in the plant. We make our own tools, too, so that there is a
great deal of designing."
"Those are not non-productive," commented Hamilton.
"We call them so," was the reply.
"I don't think the Census Bureau considers them as such," said Hamilton,
feeling rather proud of this opportunity to explain some of the workings
of the Bureau; "it seems to me more satisfactory to consider that these
works not only manufacture guns, rifles, and ammunition, but also
machinery and tools."
"But those are for our own use!" objected the manager.
"Yes, of course, I see that," said the boy. "But even if you do use them
yourselves, you make them yourselves. If you leave them out in the
schedule it would make the figures all wrong."
"How would it?"
"Well, the schedule wouldn't show anything paid out for machinery, and
you've got to have machinery, and you'd seem to be paying wages, without
getting anything for it. It seems to me that even if you do use the
machinery yourselves you really sell it to yourselves, only at cost
price or at whatever figure you name."
"I suppose in a sense we do," said the business manager, "but that seems
a very roundabout way of getting at it."
"I don't think it is," Hamilton replied. "If you bought the machinery
you would have to pay the manufacturer his profit. Instead of that you
make the profit yourselves. The value, of course, should also be carried
to the capital account."
"Well," the older man said, "I'm willing to put it down either way, and
in that light these departments might be called productive, although not
directly productive. You seem to have figured this sort of business out
pretty well for a youngster," he added.
"I suppose that's natural," Hamilton answered, "because I've been doing
nothing else for the past two weeks."
"Then how about advertising," the manager suggested; "perhaps you can
tell me where that is usually listed? As part of the sales force?"
"No, sir," was the prompt reply; "it is reported as a miscellaneous
expense."
"Very well," the official said, "if you come back at four o'clock this
afternoon I will have the schedule ready for you." Then, seeing that the
boy hesitated, he said, "Did you want it before then?"
"Oh, no, Mr. Arverne, thank you," the boy answered "that wasn't what I
had in mind at all. I was wondering whether, if I came back at three
o'clock, I would be allowed to see something of the works. In quite a
number of places I have been shown through the plant, sometimes because
I had to get figures from managers of different departments, sometimes
because I had a few minutes to spare while a clerk was filling up the
schedule. But I've always been so interested in guns, and especially in
Winchesters, that I really should like to find out how they're made."
The business manager shook his head dubiously.
"We very rarely show any one over the plant," he said, "because there
is very little to be gained by it. And in any case, there are some
portions of the works where visitors are never allowed, such as
ammunition rooms where there are quantities of powder about, and similar
places."
"I'd like to be able to say that there was a desire on the part of the
Census Bureau for a report," said Hamilton, "but honestly I haven't the
right to say so. I'm only asking as a favor. At the same time I have
seen special reports on selected industries issued by the Bureau, and
possibly my information might chance to be of value to the special agent
who was getting it up."
"Come back at two o'clock, then," said the manager. "One of the members
of the Board, Mr. Nebett, is here to-day, and if he has no objection
I'll try to find some one to show you round."
Promptly at the appointed hour, Hamilton handed his card to the doorman,
who showed him into a waiting-room. In a few minutes the door opened,
and a keen-looking, well-set-up man appeared who came forward and held
out his hand.
"I've been hearing about you from Mr. Arverne," he said, "and he tells
me that you want to look over the works."
"Mr. Nebett?" queried the boy, and in response to an affirmative nod,
he continued, "Yes, sir, I'm very anxious to see part of it at any rate.
I can see that it's a huge place, but gun-making must be so interesting
that I'd like to see how it's done."
"I think Mr. Arverne said something to me about your writing up a
special report, a summary or something of that kind."
"That was just a suggestion, Mr. Nebett," the boy replied. "I told Mr.
Arverne that the Census Bureau did issue special bulletins on selected
industries, and that perhaps I might have an opportunity to make use of
some information. But that's a personal idea of mine only, because most
of those bulletins are written by experts in the Bureau."
"Well," was the reply, "I don't see that it can do us any harm, anyway,
and if you are so interested you can come along with me. I like to go
through the works every once in so often, and perhaps I can tell you
more about these things than any other man in the place, because I get a
chance to see it as a whole."
"If you would," began the boy.
"Come along, then," said the official, without further parley, and he
led the way out of the general offices and across the street to the
first of a huge group of buildings. Walking through the yard the two
came presently to a long structure running alongside the railroad
sidings. "This," Hamilton was informed, "is just the storeroom for raw
material as it comes off the cars."
He turned half round as though to leave the building, but Hamilton
stopped him with a question.
"Steel, principally?" he asked.
"Steel."
"What kind of steel?" persisted Hamilton.
"Oh, different kinds."
"Why different kinds?" continued the boy, working his eyebrows, as was
his habit when in earnest. "For different kinds of guns?"
"Yes," answered the older man, evidently deciding that he would have to
go into the matter thoroughly with Hamilton, and passing on into the
storehouse. "We get mostly three kinds of steel, nickel steel, carbon
steel, and soft steel, with a small proportion of other forms. We do
that for the very reason you mentioned, that they are used for different
kinds of work. Nickel steel we do not use for the cheaper grades of
guns, because it is so much harder, and costs so much more to work.
Indeed, very few gun-makers use nickel steel for barrels at all, but we
do on all our high-grade work."
"I notice," Hamilton said, "that all the steel here is stored in bars
and rods. Do you buy it that way, or have you a rolling mill in
connection with the plant?"
"Buy it," the other said immediately. "You can't run a rolling mill at a
profit except on a large scale, and, anyway, this is too far from the
source of supply. We get our copper in ingots, but not our steel."
"I notice," the boy continued, fingering a long ticket attached to a
bundle of steel rods by a wire, "that you say here, 'Do not disturb
until report from laboratory is received.'"
"Certainly," said the other, "every order as it comes in is tested. We
have two laboratories, a physical and a chemical, and not a scrap of
material is used until it is found to be fully up to the specifications.
There's no guesswork there, but the most rigid scientific tests. That
keeps any poor material from slipping through.
"Now," he continued, "I'll show you what happens to those bars."
He led the way to a small building where the bars were cut into certain
recognized lengths for the men at the drop forges to handle.
"This forging shop," the manufacturer said, entering it as he spoke, "is
where most of the metal parts of the gun are first roughly shaped, and
this man is working on part of a cartridge ejector. Watch him now," he
went on, following the action of the workman; "he takes a piece of steel
out of the furnace behind him, lays it on the die, touches a lever, and
the big drop-hammer comes down,--once, twice. He turns it over, brings
the drop-hammer down again, once, twice, and the piece is shaped. It has
rough edges all round, of course, and so he takes it, while it is still
glowing red, to a more exact die, and brings the drop-hammer down once,
and turns it over, then brings down the hammer again once. Now the shape
is almost perfect but for that fringe of metal all round. He picks it
up, puts it on that die on this next machine close by his hand, touches
a lever, and a knife, exactly the shape of the die comes down, crunch!
shaving off the iron clean all round, and there is your forging done,
and all with the one heating. Of course it isn't finished off, but you
can see for yourself that the rough work is done, and all in the space
of a few moments."
Hamilton found it hard to tear himself away, for while the principle was
the same, all the different forges were turning out different parts, and
it was a fascination to the boy to see those glowing lumps of steel come
out of the furnace and with the few strokes of the drop-hammer, fall a
few seconds later, the shaped part of a rifle. Some of the machines were
making receivers for the stock, the largest piece of metal, and other
small parts like the trigger or the hammer, while still others were
preparing the barrels of the gun for drilling.
"It is not likely to occur to you," said his guide, "that it would not
do to let all those various parts cool off by chance. For example, in
winter they would cool more rapidly than in summer, and those near the
door more quickly than those in the inner part of the forging house.
That would make them of varying hardness. So, in order to make sure that
they shall be the same, all those pieces you have seen being made are
annealed."
"How is the annealing done?" asked Hamilton.
"That is simple enough," was the reply. "All that has to be done is to
heat them again all to the same degree of heat, then let the oven cool
at a certain rate. Here are the annealing ovens."
"This is certainly a hot place," said the boy, as he stepped into the
next building. "Whew! I wonder any one stays in here."
"No one does," his conductor answered. "We have this arranged so that
all the furnaces are filled in the morning, when they are cold, and
there are pyrometers to tell when the right heat is reached. All the
ovens, you see, are managed by these switches near the door. Look
here--"
He slipped one of the switches into place, and the pyrometer needle
swung around and pointed to the degree of heat in the oven which it was
supposed to register.
"What are those little clocks for?"
"One for each oven," Mr. Nebett answered; "the keeper of the furnaces
sets them when an oven is up to the required heat. Then, you see, it is
easy to tell when they have been cooling long enough."
"I should think," said Hamilton, "that making the barrel was the most
important part of a gun, because, after all, that is the only part a
bullet touches, and it must have to be exact. I've often thought of
that, how the tiniest difference at the mouth of the barrel would at a
thousand yards range cause it to be away off the mark."
"It does have to be exact," his guide answered, "but that is a matter of
care rather than of difficulty. In this next building we bore the
rifle-barrels, just a simple boring process, as you see, but there are
all sorts of precautions taken to insure absolute steadiness. As soon as
a barrel is taken from the boring machine it is put through a test, to
determine whether it is correct in size to the one-half of
one-thousandth of an inch in diameter. If it is not as exact as that, it
is set aside. That is only the first of a long series of tests, too. You
would be surprised at the number of barrels that are rejected from the
time of the first selection until the gun is completed. Here, for
example, is perhaps the most sensational one."
He led the boy to a small building, standing by itself in the middle of
the yard, heavily built, and looking almost like a log cabin of the old
type, made of great timbers. It was just a bit of a place, divided into
two parts by a heavy timber wall.
"What in the wide world is this for?" asked the boy.
"I'll show you in a minute, I think we're just in time," the official
said, as he led the way in. Hamilton followed him into the inner
chamber. A long row of gun barrels was the first thing the boy noticed,
the barrels all lying in slots. A gray-haired man was filling a heavy
charge of powder behind each one. The guns were pointing into a bank of
sand.
"If you notice," said his guide, "you'll see that a little device, like
the old percussion cap is right by each of those charges of powder. Are
you all ready, Jim?" he queried, as the old man straightened up.
"Yes, Mr. Nebett," was the reply.
"All right," the other said, "we'll go into the room." He pointed out to
Hamilton, as they passed from one part of this little building to the
other, that each of these percussion caps was attached to a wire which
ran through the wall to the little room into which they were going.
"Look out, Mr. Nebett," said the old man, after he had closed and
fastened the heavy door, "and you, young sir, don't be frightened," and
he pulled the wire hanging overhead.
There was a terrific explosion and a roar, and though Hamilton had been
half expecting it, he jumped. Then he laughed.
"I guess I did jump, after all," he said. "What was that for?"
"To test the strength of the barrels," said his friend, as the old
workman slid back the heavy door. "There, you see," he added, "one of
them did burst." He pointed to one of the gun barrels rent at the side.
"Once in a while," he continued, "they just go up in pieces, and if you
look at the walls and the ceiling you'll see any number of bits of metal
driven in deeply."
"But he seemed to be putting in an awfully heavy charge," said the boy.
"We do that in order to be sure that we shall not expend a great deal of
labor on a barrel which in the end would fail to pass inspection, and
also to safeguard against accident," the other explained. "We do use a
very heavy charge because our guns sell all over the world, and in some
countries--England, for instance--the test is extremely severe. It's a
costly process, as it spoils a lot of barrels, but it is better to lose
material than to put out a piece of work which might not be
trustworthy."
Hamilton looked around the proof-room carefully. Certainly it seemed to
have gone through the wars. From the thick wood huge gashes had been
rent, and the entire interior was jagged and splintered.
"How much of a charge do you put to each barrel?" he asked; and when the
formula was given him for each of the different styles of rifle, the boy
whistled in amazement.
"I should think that any barrels that stood that test could stand
anything afterwards," he said admiringly.
"Well, they do," the other said. "It's very seldom that you hear of a
first-class gun exploding. I don't recall a case of one of ours for
years and years. And even if by some chance flaw they did, the good
ones, being nickel steel, would just make a hole in the barrel,--not fly
to pieces. But, as a matter of fact, any barrel that has been through
that 'proof-room' will have been subjected to the greatest strain it
will ever have to undergo, for there is no cartridge made that would
have one-half the power in proportion to the size of the barrel."
From the proof-room Hamilton's guide led him through different parts of
the works, where various machines were employed in preparing and
finishing the rough forgings he had seen made and annealed. Thus, for
example, in a receiver for a gun stock, one machine worked a bevel edge
on it, another bored it to the size of the gun barrel, accurate to the
thousandth part of an inch, another pierced the tiny screw holes, and
yet other machines made even the minute screw, done, as was explained to
Hamilton, so that the threads in each should fit with absolute
exactness.
"But do you really mean to say," queried Hamilton in surprise, "that
every one of these fifty or more parts of each gun is inspected and
tested?"
The official led him to a number of long rows of tables.
"Here," he said, "are girls doing nothing else all day long. Here is a
testing die for a part of the ejector of one of our 1911 models. You see
that there are two spaces for all of them. It must fit into this one, it
must not fit into that, which is a thousandth of an inch smaller. If too
big, you see it won't fit into either, if too small, it would fit into
the one where it ought not. Every tiny piece is gauged on all its sides
and in every hole and at all points with this double gauge system."
"That doesn't leave much for guesswork," said Hamilton. "But there is
something that's been puzzling me."
"What is that?" asked his guide.
"I've always heard a lot about gun-metal," Hamilton answered, "and yet
all the way through, these parts have been nothing but steel. And all
the guns I ever saw had that bluish look, as gun-metal has. For example,
my watch is what they call gun-metal," and he took it from his pocket
and showed the back of it.
"Gun-metal," said the other, "is an alloy of copper and tin and once was
used almost exclusively for cannon and big guns generally. But you're
right about all guns having a bluish tinge. That is all steel, but it is
treated by a process called coloring or bluing. I'll show you--both the
old way and the new."
Going down the stairs and crossing the yard, he took Hamilton into a
small building where there were a couple of open charcoal furnaces, in
which the charcoal was intensely hot, but not hot enough to catch fire.
The pieces of finished steel were buried in this charcoal, and every
few minutes the men in charge would draw them out, wipe them over with a
bunch of oiled waste, and thrust them back into the fire. It was about
the dirtiest, blackest, grimiest work the boy had ever seen.
"That is the old way," Hamilton was told, "and although it is handwork
instead of machine work it is not a bit better in its results than the
new way. The modern system, besides, is much simpler and cleaner."
In the next building was a row of charcoal ovens, revolving in such a
way that the parts to be blued were alternately covered and released
from the superheated charcoal, the effect of the greasing also being
done at every automatic revolution Each furnace door bore an asbestos
clock.
"What are those clocks for?" asked Hamilton. "The same as those others,
I suppose, so that the man in charge can put in a number of certain
parts of a gun and leave them in for a regular length of time at a
certain heat, and pull them out all done?"
"Just that," was the reply. "The only gain in the old style is that each
part being handled separately, if there is ever so little difference in
the metal, the bluer can give it a shorter or a longer time, whereas
the machine treats all alike."
"Then when the gun is assembled, all the work is done?" queried
Hamilton, who was becoming a little tired from his long tramp through
the works and among the furnace-heated shops.
"No," said the other. "That wouldn't do at all. A gun has not only got
to shoot, but it has got to shoot straight."
"But how in the world," said Hamilton, "can you tell whether a gun will
shoot straight or not?"
"One of the most important ways," said his informant, "is to let an
expert look through the barrel. One of our best men, for example, has
done nothing else all his life; his father before him was a
barrel-sighter and his son has just entered the works. He does it this
way--here, you try," and he handed a barrel to Hamilton. "Rest the
barrel in this crotch," he continued, "and look at the window. You see
there is a piece of ground glass with a thin black line running across
it. Point the barrel so that it is aimed just below that line, and if
you get it right, you will see a reflection of that line running
lengthways up the barrel."
[Illustration: MAKING GUN-SIGHTS TRUE. Marksmen firing new-made rifles
and adjusting the sights until every weapon carries perfectly.
(_Courtesy of Winchester Repeating Arms Co._)]
Hamilton put the barrel up and looked and looked, but for a minute or
two he could not get the direction, then he caught the line. But the
reflection in the barrel was confusing, and it seemed to him that he saw
several lines.
"It's awfully hard just to get that straight," the boy said, "and it's
dazzling, too."
"That man you saw there," answered his guide, as they moved away, "can
tell almost to the width of a thread of a spider's web if a barrel is
straight. Here, too, is another barrel test going on. You see this man
is pushing a soft lead slug which fits the barrel snugly through the
barrel by means of a brass rod. It takes a certain amount of pressure to
push the lead slug through the barrel. Such slight variations in
diameter of the bore as one-tenth of a thousandth can be readily
detected, for if the barrel is smaller at any point than where it
entered, the slug will stick, and if it is the least bit larger at any
point, the slug will slide through too easily. Men accustomed to this
class of work can readily detect an increase or decrease in diameter of
one ten-thousandth part of an inch."
"You certainly have it down fine, Mr. Nebett," Hamilton commented.
"We try to," responded his guide. "Then when the barrel experts have
had their turn, the gun is assembled and goes to the action men."
"Who are they?" asked the boy.
"They test the trigger pull, the cartridge ejection, the fall of the
hammer, the filling of the magazine, and all such points. They have two
sets of dummies, such as were used for testing the parts. One must fit,
the other not, and so any fault in the mechanism is detected. The same
with ejection,--we must be sure that a cartridge will not stick. Then
after that--"
"Still more tests!"
"Didn't I tell you that we had to be sure that a gun could be made not
only to shoot but to shoot straight? Our crack shots get the guns next."
"What do they do?" asked the boy, "fire at targets?"
"Yes. But first a man, incased in an armored barricade, shoots a few
extra heavy cartridges in each rifle, in order to make sure that no
weakness has been caused by the various processes through which all the
parts have passed. Then he turns it over to the crack shots. They fire
half a dozen shots at a target, then look at the target through a
telescope. Those men know that they can hit the bull's eye every time,
so that if the shots are wide of the mark, either there is a defect in
the gun or the sights are not true. In nine cases out of ten it is the
fault of the sights, and they file them true."
"Then really every gun has been fired before being sold?"
"We turn out about sixteen hundred guns a day, and each one has been
fired several times."
"Shotguns, too?"
"The same standard of accuracy is needed in those. It is just as
important that a shotgun should throw a certain percentage of its shot
within a certain radius as it is that a rifle bullet should go straight.
Down in this little room," he continued, "a man stands all day shooting
down this gallery, forty yards range, and each target is brought back
and measured. In a circle with a fifteen-inch radius a boy counts the
numbers of holes made in the paper by the tiny shot. There should be
300. If there are 290 the gun is passed, but if less it is rejected.
Sometimes you get very queer shot patterns without knowing why."
"Do all shotguns throw as evenly as that?"
"All good ones should. It is astonishing to see how regularly the
'scatter' of a barrel will work out. Every barrel, of course, is stamped
with the number of shots it has put into the fifteen-inch circle."
"And you make cartridges, too, don't you?" Hamilton asked.
"That's one of the largest branches of our business," his guide replied,
"but there's not very much in that to show you, except of course the
making of the metal caps, and this is simply the punching of circular
pieces of copper or brass, turning up the edges, or 'cupping' them, as
it is called, drawing them to length, inserting the primer pocket and
heading--the filling is done in a building perpetually closed to
visitors. We think too much of our visitors," he added with a smile, "to
risk blowing them up. I don't suppose really, that there would be any
danger,--we have not had an accident for years,--but it's a business in
which accident is only prevented by extreme care, and we believe in
being thorough."
Chatting pleasantly, Mr. Nebett showed Hamilton through the various
general offices, the payroll department, and the draughting and
designing room, and finally returned to the business manager's office,
where they found the schedule awaiting him, filled out in almost every
detail. A few spaces had been left blank until the boy's return, some
trifling explanation being readily answered by him.
[Illustration: "A BULL'S-EYE EVERY TIME!" The expert looking through
telescope at target which he has fired at with new guns to test their
accuracy. (_Courtesy of Winchester Repeating Arms Co._)]
"I must thank you ever so much," said the boy, turning to the director
of the company who had taken so much trouble in showing him around, "it
has been one of the most interesting afternoons I have had in all my
life. I feel quite as though I had been witnessing the equipping of the
world's armies on the eve of a great war."
"That would be all right," said the business manager, "if we were making
military rifles, but ninety-five per cent of our work is for sporting
purposes."
"But how about your cartridges?"
"There, perhaps," Mr. Nebett said, "The Hague tribunal would look
askance at us."
Hamilton had his portfolio under his arm, but at the door he turned.
"How many cartridges do you put out?" he asked.
"Six million a day," was the reply.