TWO UNCLES AND A NEW HOME
Uncle Tom Curtis arrived in New York toward the end of the children's
visit, good-byes were said to Miss Cartright and to Uncle Bob, and
within the space of a day Jean and Giusippe were amid new surroundings.
Here was quite a different type of city from Boston--a city with many
beautiful buildings, fine residences, and a swarm of great factories
which belched black smoke up into the blue of the sky. Here, too, were
Giusippe's aunt and uncle with a hearty welcome for him; and here,
furthermore, was the new position which the boy had so eagerly craved
in the glass works. The place given Giusippe, however, did not prove to
be the one his uncle had secured for him after all; for during the
journey from New York Uncle Tom Curtis had had an opportunity to study
the young Italian, and the result of this better acquaintance turned
out to be exactly what Uncle Bob Cabot had predicted; Uncle Tom became
tremendously interested in the Venetian, and before they arrived at
Pittsburgh had decided to put him in quite a different part of the
works from that which he had at first intended.
"Your nephew has splendid stuff in him," explained Mr. Curtis to
Giusippe's uncle. "I mean to start him further up the ladder than most
of the boys who come here. We will give him every chance to rise and
we'll see what use he makes of the opportunity. He is a very
interesting lad."
Accordingly, while Jean struggled with French, algebra, drawing,
history, and literature at the new school in which Uncle Tom had
entered her and while she and Fräulein Decker had many a combat with
German, Giusippe began wrestling with the problems of plate glass
making.
The factory was an immense one, covering a vast area in the
manufacturing district of the city; it was a long way from the
residential section where Jean lived, and as the boy and girl had
become great chums they at first missed each other very much. Soon,
however, the rush of work filled in the gaps of loneliness. Each was
far too busy to lament the other, and since Uncle Tom invented all
sorts of attractive plans whereby they could be together on Saturday
afternoons and Sundays the weeks flew swiftly along. There were motor
trips, visits to the museums and churches of the city, and long walks
with Beacon wriggling to escape from the leash which reined him in.
Uncle Tom's home was much more formal than Uncle Bob's. It stood, one
of a row of tall gray stone houses, fronting a broad avenue on which
there was a great deal of driving. It had a large library and a still
larger dining-room in which Jean playfully protested she knew she
should get lost. But stately as the dwelling was it was not so big and
formidable after all if once you got upstairs; on the second floor were
Uncle Tom's rooms and a dainty little bedroom, study, and bath for
Jean. On the floor above a room was set apart for Giusippe, so that he
might stay at the house whenever he chose. Saturday nights and Sundays
he always spent at Uncle Tom's; the rest of the time he lived with his
uncle and aunt.
To Giusippe it was good to be once more with his kin and talk in his
native language; and yet such a transformation had a few months in the
United States made in him that he found that he was less and less
anxious to remain an Italian and more and more eager to become an
American. His uncle, who had made but a poor success of life in Venice,
and who had secured in his foster country prosperity and happiness,
declared there was no land like it. He missed, it is true, the warm,
rich beauty of his birthplace beyond the seas, and many a time talked
of it to his wife and Giusippe; but the lure of the great throbbing
American city gripped him with its fascination. It presented endless
opportunity--the chance to learn, to possess, to win out.
"If you have brains and use them, if you are not afraid of hard work,
there is no limit to what a man may do and become over here," he told
Giusippe. "That is why I like it, and why I never shall go back to
Italy. Just you jump in, youngster, and don't you worry but you'll
bring up somewhere in the end."
There was no need to urge a lad of Giusippe's make-up to "jump in"; on
the contrary it might, perhaps, have been wiser advice to caution him
not to take his new work too hard. He toiled early and late, never
sparing himself, never thinking of fatigue. Physically he was a rugged
boy, and to this power was linked the determination to make good.
Before he had been a month in the glass house he was recognized by all
the men as one who would make of each task merely a stepping-stone to
something higher. His uncle was congratulated right and left on having
such a nephew, and very proud indeed he was of Giusippe.
In the meantime Uncle Tom Curtis, although apparently busy with more
important matters, kept his eyes and ears open. Frequent reports
concerning his protégé reached him in his far-away office at the other
end of the works. Indeed the boy would have been not a little surprised
had he known how very well informed about his progress the head of the
firm really was. But Uncle Tom never said much. He did, however, write
Uncle Bob that to bring home a penniless Italian as a souvenir of
Venice was not such a crazy scheme after all as he had at first
supposed it. From Uncle Tom this was rare praise, a complete
vindication, in fact. Uncle Bob chuckled over the letter and showed it
to Hannah, who rubbed her hands and declared things were working out
nicely.
"Some day, Giusippe," remarked Uncle Tom one evening after dinner, when
together with the young people he was sitting within the crimson glow
of the library lamp, "I propose you take Jean through the works. It is
ridiculous that a niece of mine should acquaint herself with the
history of the glass of all the past ages and never go through her own
uncle's factory. What do you say, missy? Would you like to go?"
"Of course, Uncle Tom, I'd love to. I wrote Uncle Bob only the other
day that I wanted dreadfully to see how plate glass was made and hoped
some time you'd take me. I didn't like to ask you for fear you were too
busy."
"I have been a little rushed, I'll admit. We business men," he slapped
Giusippe on the shoulder, "live in a good deal of a whirl--eh,
Giusippe?"
"I know you do, sir."
"And you? You have nothing to do, I suppose. It chances that I have
heard to the contrary, my lad. You've put in some mighty good work
since you came here, and I am much gratified by the spirit you've
shown."
Giusippe glowed. It was not a common thing for Mr. Curtis to commend.
"I didn't know, sir, that you----"
"Knew what you were doing? Didn't any one ever tell you that I have a
search-light and a telescope in my office?" Uncle Tom laughed. "Oh, I
keep track of things even if I do seem to be otherwise occupied. So
look out for yourself! Beware! My eyes may be upon you almost any
time."
"I am not afraid, sir," smiled the boy.
"And you have no cause to be, either, my lad," was Uncle Tom's serious
rejoinder. "Now you and Jean fix up some date to see the works. Why not
to-morrow? It is Saturday, and she will not be at school."
"But I work Saturday mornings, Mr. Curtis."
"Can't somebody else do your work for you?"
"I have never asked that."
"Well, I will. We'll arrange it. Let us say to-morrow then. Take Jean
and explain things to her. You can do it, can't you?"
"I think so. Most of the process I understand now, and if there is
anything that I need help about I can ask."
"That's right. Just go ahead and complete the girl's education in
glass-making so she can write her Boston uncle that she is now
qualified to superintend any glass works that may require her
oversight."
Jean laughed merrily.
"I am afraid I should be rather a poor superintendent, Uncle Tom," said
she. "There seems to be such a lot to know about glass."
"There is," agreed Mr. Curtis. "Sometimes I feel as if about everything
in the world was made of it. Of course you've seen the ink erasers made
of a cluster of fine glass fibres. Oh, yes; they have them. And the
aigrettes made in the same way and used in ladies' bonnets. Then there
are those beautiful brocades having fine threads of spun glass woven
into them in place of gold and silver; it was a Toledo firm, by the
way, that presented to the Infanta Eulalie of Spain a dress of satin
and glass woven together. To-day came an order from California for
glass to serve yet another purpose; you could never guess what. The
people out there want some of our heaviest polished plate to make the
bottoms of boats."
"Of boats!"
"Boats," repeated Uncle Tom, nodding.
"But--but why make a glass-bottomed boat?"
"Well, in California, Florida, and many other warm climates boats with
bottoms of glass are much in use. Sightseers go out to where the water
is clear and by looking down through the transparent bottom of the boat
they can see, as they go along, the wonderful plant and animal life of
the ocean. Such reptiles, such fish, such seaweeds as there are! I have
heard that it is as interesting as moving pictures, and quite as
thrilling, too."
"I'd like to do it," said Giusippe.
"I shouldn't," declared Jean with a shudder. "I hate things that
writhe, and squirm, and wriggle. Imagine being so near those hideous
creatures! Why, if I once should see them I should never dare to go in
bathing again. I'd rather not know what's in the sea."
"There is something in that, little lady," Uncle Tom answered, slipping
one of his big hands over the two tiny ones in the girl's lap.
"Giusippe and I will keep the sea monsters out of your path, then; and
the land monsters, too, if we can. Now it is time you children got to
bed, for to-morrow you must make an early start. You'd better telephone
your aunt or uncle that you are going to stay here to-night, Giusippe.
If you do not work to-morrow you will not need to get to the factory
until Jean and I do; it will be much simpler for you to remain here and
go down with us in the car. I'll call up your boss and explain matters.
Good-night, both of you. Now scamper! I want to read my paper."
* * * *
The next morning the Curtis family was promptly astir, and after
breakfast Uncle Tom with his two charges rolled off to the factory in
the big red limousine.
"Your superintendent says you are welcome to the morning off,
Giusippe," Mr. Curtis remarked as they sped along. "But he did have the
grace to say he should miss you. Now it seems to me that if you are to
give Jean a clear idea of what we do at the works you better begin with
the sheet glass department. That will interest her, I am sure; later
you can show her where you yourself work."
The car pulled up at Mr. Curtis's office, and they all got out.
"Good-bye! Good luck to you," he called as the boy and girl started
off.
Jean waved her hand.
"We will be back here and ready to go home with you, Uncle Tom, at one
o'clock," she called over her shoulder.
"We won't be late, sir."
"See that you're not. I shall be hungry and shall not want to wait. I
guess you'll have an appetite, too, by that time."
"Is sheet glass blown, Giusippe?" inquired Jean, as they went across
the yard. "I hate to ask stupid questions, but you see I do not know
anything about it."
"That isn't a stupid question. Quite the contrary. Yes, sheet glass is
blown. You shall see it done, too."
"But I do not understand how they can get it flattened out, if they
blow it."
"You will."
The boy led the way through a low arched door.
Before the furnaces within the great room a number of glass-blowers
were at work. They stood upon wooden stagings, each one of which was
built over a well or pit in the floor, and was just opposite an opening
in the furnace.
"Each of these men has a work-hole of the furnace to himself, so that
he may heat his material any time he needs to do so. The staging gives
him room to swing his heavy mass of glass as he blows it, and the pit
in the floor, which is about ten feet deep, furnishes space for the big
cylinder to run out, or grow longer, as he blows. The gathering for
sheet glass is done much as was that for the smaller pieces. The
gatherer collects a lump on his pipe, cools it a little, and collects
more until he has enough. He then rests it on one of those wooden
blocks such as you see over there; the block is hollowed out so to let
the blower expand the glass to the diameter he wants it."
"But I should think the block would burn when the hot glass is forced
inside it."
"It would if it were not first sprinkled with water. Sometimes hollow
metal blocks are used instead. In that case water passes through to
keep them cool, and they are dusted over with charcoal to keep them
from sticking, and from scratching the glass. After a sufficiently
large mass of glass has been gathered and reheated to a workable
condition the blower begins his task. First he swings the great red-hot
lump about so that it will get longer. His aim is to make a long
cylinder and into it he must blow constantly in order to keep it full
of air. Watch that man now at work. See how deft he is, and how strong.
The even thickness of the glass, and the uniformity of its size, depend
entirely upon his skill. If he finds the cylinder running out too fast,
or in other words getting too long, he shifts it up over his head,
always taking care, however, to keep it upright."
Jean watched.
How rapidly the man worked with the great mass on his blow-pipe! Now he
blew it far down into the pit beneath, where it hung like a mighty,
elongated soap-bubble; now he swung it to and fro; now lifted it above
his head. And all the time he was blowing into it blasts of air from
his powerful lungs.
"The cylinder doesn't seem to get any bigger round," observed Jean at
last.
"No. Its diameter was fixed at the beginning by the wooden block. That
settles its size once and for all; it is the length and thickness of
the cylinder which are governed by the blower. Do you realize how
strong a man has to be to wield such a weight as that lump of metal? It
is no easy matter. Luckily he can suspend it against that wooden rest
if he gets too tired. In England they use a sort of iron frame called
an _Iron Man_ to relieve the blower of the weight of the glass and
the device was also used at one time in Belgium; but the Belgian
workmen gradually did away with it."
For a long time the two children stood there fascinated by the skill of
the blowers.
"Suppose we go on now and see the rest of the process," suggested
Giusippe, a little unwillingly. "I could watch these men all day, but
we have much to do, and if we do not hurry we shall not get through."
The next step in the work was opening out the cylinders, and this was
done in two ways. The end of those made of thinner glass was put into
the furnace while at the same time air was forced inside through the
blow-pipe. As a result the air expanded by the heat of the fire, and
burst open the cylinder at its hottest or weakest end. By placing this
opening downward it was widened to the diameter necessary. The
cylinders of thicker glass were opened by fastening to one end a lump
of hot metal, thereby weakening them at this point. When the air was
forced in by the blower it burst open the mass and the break thus made
was enlarged by cutting it round with the scissors.
"Now come on, Jean, and see them flatten it out," said Giusippe.
Upon a wooden rest or chevalet the cylinder was now laid and detached
from the pipe by placing a bit of cold steel against the part of the
glass that still clung to the blow-pipe. At once the neck of the glass,
which was hot, contracted at the touch of the cold metal and broke away
from the pipe. The small end was then taken off by winding round it a
thread of hot glass, and afterward applying cold iron or steel at any
point the thread had covered.
"The cylinder is now finished at top and bottom and is ready to be
split up the side," said Giusippe. "This they do with a rule and a
diamond point mounted in a long handle. The diamond point is drawn
along the inside of the cylinder and opens it out flat. If there are
any imperfections in the glass the cutter plans to have them come as
near the edge of this opening as possible so there will be little
waste."
Jean nodded.
"Now, as you will see, the glass is ready for the flattener. First he
warms it in the flue of his furnace and then, using his croppie or
iron, he puts it on the flattening-stone; if you look carefully you
will see that the top of this stone is covered with a large sheet of
glass. In the heat of the furnace the cylinder with the split uppermost
soon opens out and falls back in a wavy mass. See?"
Jean watched intently as the great roll of glass unfolded and spread
into billows. The moment it was fairly open the flattener took his
polissoir, a rod of iron with a block of wood at one end, and began
smoothing out the uneven sheet of glass into a flat surface. At times
he had to rub it with all his strength to straighten it. This done the
flattening-stone was moved on wheels to a cooler part of the furnace
and the sheet of glass upon it was transferred to a cooling-stone. When
stiff enough it was taken off and placed either flat or on edge in a
rack with other sheets.
So the process went on.
Cylinder after cylinder was blown, opened up, flattened, and annealed.
So quickly did the single sheets of glass cool that it was not much
more than half an hour from the time they entered the flattening kiln
before they came out thoroughly annealed. They were then carried to the
warehouse for inspection and the especially fine ones were selected to
be polished into patent glass. The sheets were rated as bests, seconds,
thirds, and fourths, and their average size was 48 x 34 or 36 inches,
although the foreman said that sometimes sheets as large as 82 x 42 or
75 x 50 had been made. These, however, were exceedingly difficult to
handle, as they were in constant danger of being broken. The mass of
glass was also very heavy for the blower to wield.
"The great advantage of sheet glass over crown glass is that it can be
made in large pieces. Of course it is not as brilliant as crown, but it
is much more useful," added the workman.
"What is crown glass?" whispered Jean to Giusippe.
"It is a variety of glass manufactured by another process," was the
reply. "We do not make it here. Do you remember the bull's eye glass
windows we saw in England? Well, each of those bull's eyes came from
the center of a sheet of crown glass just where a lump of hot glass was
attached so the blower could whirl or spin it from the middle and make
it into a flat disc. But, as you can readily understand, a sheet of
glass with this mark or defect right in the center will never cut to
advantage, and therefore only comparatively small pieces can be got out
of it; there is much waste. Yet, as the man says, it has a wonderfully
brilliant surface. Now I am not going to let you stay here any longer
or we shall not have time to see the part of the factory where I am
working. I'm in the plate glass department, and I intend to drag you
off to the casting hall this very moment."
Jean laughed.
"Before you go, though, you must understand that plate glass is quite a
different thing from these others. It is not blown at all. Instead the
melt is poured out on an iron table just as molasses candy is turned
out of a pan to cool. You'll see how it is done."
They crossed the yard and entered another part of the works; Giusippe
gave the foreman a word of greeting as they went in.
On each side of the great room were the annealing ovens, and down the
center of the hall on a track moved a casting table which rolled along
on wheels. The pots of molten glass or metal were first taken from the
furnaces and carried on trucks to this casting table. Here they were
lifted by a crane, suspended above the table, and then tilted over, and
the glass poured out.
[Illustration: "THE MELT IS POURED OUT ON AN IRON TABLE"]
"For all the world like a pan of fudge!" declared Jean.
Giusippe laughed.
"I guess you would find it the stickiest, heaviest fudge you ever tried
to manage," said he.
The instant the mass of soft metal was on the table a roller of
cast-iron was passed very swiftly back and forth over it, spreading it
to uniform thickness, and at the same time flattening it.
"The thickness of the glass is gauged by the strips of iron on which
the roller moves," explained Giusippe to Jean. "These can be adjusted
to any thickness. Notice how rapidly the men have to work. The glass
must be finished while it is hot, or there will be flaws in it. It is a
rushing job, I can tell you."
"But--but you don't call this stuff plate glass, do you?" inquired the
girl in dismay. "It does not look like it--at least not like any I ever
saw used as shop windows or for mirrors."
"Oh, it is not done yet. But it is what we call rough plate. That's the
kind that is used where light and not transparency is needed. You often
see it in office doors or in skylights of buildings. To get the
beautiful polished plate glass that you are talking about this rough
plate must be polished over and over again. But before it can be
polished it must first be annealed as rough plate. It goes into the
annealing ovens right from this table and comes out all irregular--full
of pits and imperfections. No matter how flat the casting table is, or
how much care is taken, the surface of the glass after annealing is
always bad. If it is to be made into polished plate it must be ground
down first with sand and water; then ground smoother still with a
coarse kind of emery stone and water; next ground again with water and
powdered emery stone. After that comes the smoothing process done with
a finer sort of emery and water. Last of all the sheet is bedded, as we
call it, and each side is polished with rouge, or red oxide, between
moving pads of felt."
"Goodness!" ejaculated Jean. "Do you mean to say they have to go
through all that with every sheet of plate glass?"
"Every sheet of _polished_ plate," corrected Giusippe. "Rough plate
does not need to be polished or ground down much. It is made merely for
use and not for beauty. Sometimes to add strength, and help support the
weight of large sheets, wire netting is embedded in them. Wired glass
like this was the invention of an American named Schuman and it is used
a great deal; the wire not only relieves the weight of the glass but
serves the double purpose of holding the pieces should any break off
and start to fall. Often, too, insurance companies specify that it
shall be used as a matter of fire protection."
"But I should think if plate glass--I mean polished plate," Jean
hurriedly corrected her error, "has to be ground down so much there
wouldn't be anything left of it. It must come out dreadfully thin."
"The casters have to consider that and allow for it," answered the
Italian. "They expect part of the glass will have to be ground away, so
they cast it thicker in the first place. A large, perfect sheet of
polished plate is quite an achievement. From beginning to end it
requires the greatest care, and if spoiled it is a big loss not only in
actual labor but because of the amount of material required to make it.
Even at the very last it may be injured in the warehouse either by
scratching or breaking. It is there that it is cut in the size pieces
desired."
"How?"
"With a rule and diamond point just such as is used for cutting sheet
glass. The surface is scratched to give the line of fracture and then
it is split evenly."
"I should hate to have the responsibility of cutting or handling it
when it is all done," Jean observed with a little shiver.
"Well you might. Only men of the greatest skill and experience are
allowed to touch the big, heavy sheets. The risk is too great. They
turn only the best workmen into the plate glass department."
"But you work here, don't you, Giusippe?"
"I? Oh, I--I'm just learning," was the boy's modest reply.
"You seem to have learned pretty well," said a voice at his elbow.
Turning the lad was astonished to find Mr. Curtis standing just behind
him.
"I must own up to being an eavesdropper," laughed the older man. "I
couldn't resist knowing whether you were instructing Jean as she should
be instructed, Giusippe. Don't worry. I have no fault to find. I
couldn't have explained it better myself. You shall have your diploma
on plate glass making any time you want it."
Then as the superintendent advanced to speak to him, Mr. Curtis added:
"You had given your pupil a good bringing up, Mr. Hines. He does you
credit."