“What do you think of it all?” my uncle asked at last.
“Well, for one thing,” I said, “why don’t you have those girls working
in a decently ventilated room? Apart from any other consideration,
they’d work twice as briskly. And they ought to cover the corks before
labelling round the bottle.”
“Why?” said my uncle.
“Because—they sometimes make a mucker of the cork job, and then the
label’s wasted.”
“Come and change it, George,” said my uncle, with sudden fervour “Come
here and make a machine of it. You can. Make it all slick, and then
make it woosh. I know you can. Oh! I know you can.”