"Dad was right!" he affirmed. "Training your 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, and when 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 leaped up 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 very day 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."



Theo beamed.

He had really succeeded then in giving Mr. Croyden something he wanted! That was pleasure enough.



CHAPTER XIII

THE TRENTON VISIT



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 for a 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 to do 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 coming again," 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 a friend 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 being made. 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-china decorated 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 the country, 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, and tea 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 where Made in America has 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.



CHAPTER XIV

THE BEGINNING OF THE PORCELAIN PILGRIMAGE



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 mass of 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 details of 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 hours and 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 machinery; it 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 I have 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 with every 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 place the conservatory and 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 and think; 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 can make 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 the processes 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.



CHAPTER XV

HOW PORCELAIN IS MADE

"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 each one 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 see that 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. But there 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-mill to 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 just hustled 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 mill and 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."



CHAPTER XVI

DISHES, DISHES EVERYWHERE!



"Clay," began Mr. Marwood as they went along, "can be shaped in any one of several ways, you know: either by throwing; by turning; by pressing it into hollow moulds; by shaping it by hand over another type of mould; by pressing it into flat ware such as platters and plates; by making it by machinery over moulds as is done by hand; by casting it into the desired form; and by compressing it."

Theo looked puzzled.

"The list sounds like a long one," Mr. Marwood went on smiling into the boy's troubled eyes, "but when you understand the processes you will find that it is all much simpler than it seems. Before we begin to investigate any of these methods, however, I want to say just a word about the moulds over which, or inside of which, the ware is sometimes shaped; for moulds are a very important feature both of pottery and porcelain-making."

"What are the moulds made of?" was Theo's first question.

"I am glad you asked, for that is the vital matter," Mr. Marwood replied. "Many materials have been tried with varying degrees of success—plaster-of-Paris, alabaster, steel, gun-metal, and brass. Of course what is necessary is a strong, firm, absorbent material. Clay moulds break too easily, and also become saturated with water and lose their shape; metal moulds, on the other hand, while most useful in making wares decorated with fine, raised designs such as the Wedgwood figures, fail to seep up the superfluous water. Therefore plaster-of-Paris has proved the best medium for the purpose. Not only does it retain its form, but it also takes up a certain proportion of the moisture from the clay that is moulded inside or outside it."

"I understand," Theo nodded.

The elevator stopped and they stepped out into a vast, well-lighted room, gray with clay-dust and thronging with powdery workers. At benches, before revolving wheels, and beside turning-lathes toiled busy workmen with white, clay-coated hands.

"We will start our program with the potter's wheel, the oldest of pottery modeling devices," said Mr. Marwood. "It is a very simple contrivance, you see—just a round piece of board set horizontally on top of a revolving spindle. As the disc turns the potter shapes the clay with his fingers, building it up to the desired height and moulding it to conform to the profile, or pattern, he keeps beside him. This profile is of wood or steel, and gives the elevation of the object in actual size. As he works the potter constantly consults and measures it. Pieces made in this fashion are known as thrown ware. All the finest potteries, as well as some of the most expensive porcelains, are made in this way. However, it is a costly process and rather slow, for a piece thus shaped must have the entire attention of a single worker. If we were to make all our china by this method I do not know where we should bring up. It would take us a decade, and cost us a great deal of money. But by this means the most artistic results are obtained. It was in this fashion that the Greeks modeled their matchless vases, and you can now see why no two of them were alike. Each potter put his soul into the thing he was making, and as he had endless time at his command he worked with utmost care to perfect his product. This was all very well in a warm country where life was simple; demands few; and where there was not the tension of present day living. It was a matter of no concern if the artist made only a few such vases in a lifetime. He had the patronage of the rich, and was sure of being taken care of. But to-day, alas, we face a different problem."



"We surely do," agreed Theo.

"Therefore, here in America only a small proportion of this thrown ware is made. Such art potteries as the Roferno and Sicardo wares, seen chiefly in private collections and museums, are thrown; also some of the Grueby, Rookwood, and Cincinnati varieties—all very beautiful American potteries. In addition to these exquisite home products The Dedham and Paul Revere potteries made near Boston should be mentioned, for although of less costly type they are doing much to set a standard of perfection of form, choiceness of coloring, and fitness of design. All these wares are distinct contributions to the art world. Of course certain wares are made by a modification of this throwing process. Large pieces, for example, frequently have to be thrown in several parts, fastened together, and afterward finished. Some pieces the thrower shapes over a plaster-of-Paris mould; and some he shapes inside the mould, reversing the process and pressing the clay against its confining surface. The danger in thrown ware comes from an uneven pressure on the clay resulting in a lack of solidity; the pieces are not always equally firm at all points and in consequence sometimes crack."

"Can pieces of any design be thrown?" inquired Theo.

"No, only round pieces such as cups, mugs, vases, jars, or bowls. In other words, only circular pieces. Frequently, too, these are only started by the throwing process and are finished by some other means such as turning, for example."

"What is turning?" asked Theo.

"Surely you have seen a turning-lathe, Theo," asserted Mr. Marwood. "Here is a turner just opposite us. You will notice he has a lathe that goes by steam. The vase on which he is working has previously been roughly formed on a jigger—a revolving mould over which a sheet of clay has been pressed and quickly shaped. After such a piece has been dried to a leather hardness the turner takes it in its crude and uncompleted state and by running his lathe over it planes down the surface to a smooth, even thickness. Sometimes, too, by means of one of these lathes milling-tools are used to cut designs around the neck or base of the article. The rough edges are then sponged and before the piece is thoroughly dried handles are put on if desired. Here in America turning is the process very generally employed for finishing articles begun by the jiggermen."

"And now about hollow ware—how do they make that?"

"Hollow ware is pressed by hand," answered Mr. Marwood. "The process is used for pieces that cannot successfully be made by any other means—such things, for example, as soup-tureens and large covered dishes. The idea is to press the clay over or into moulds so it will be the exact shape required. Of course this necessitates the making of pieces in sections. The two sides of a vase are moulded separately, for instance; also the bottom. Then the parts are pressed firmly together and held in place by strings or thongs of leather until securely joined. Afterward the base is inserted in its proper place. The inside seams are then leveled and sponged away, and the mould sent to the drying room. Later it is returned; the outside seams moistened and smoothed; the moulded handles put on; and the piece is ready to be decorated and fired. It is a difficult ware to make, for unless the workmen are skilled at giving the clay an even pressure it is liable to be thicker in some places than others. Sometimes, too, if the seams are not strongly united the article will crack. It demands a strong, even touch. Remember that hollow ware is pressed from the outside; and that flat ware is just the opposite, and is pressed from the inside. The top surfaces of such things as plates, platters and trays are thus formed, their outer side being shaped by hand or by a jolly, which we shall see presently."

Mr. Marwood passed on through the crowded room until he suddenly paused beside a workman at another machine.

"This," explained Theo's conductor, "is a jigger. There are two machines very commonly used in the United States for shaping the cheaper wares: one is a jigger, a device of this type; and the other a jolly, an invention very similar in construction but having a tool attached that forms the outside, or bottom of the piece, the inside of which has previously been shaped by the jigger. You may recall that I spoke of the jigger; and told you how a revolving mould was inserted into it, and how afterward a sheet of clay was laid on the outside of this mould and rapidly shaped. The jolly, on the other hand, is used for making such things as covers, the top surface of which has already been moulded. The profile set in the jolly-lever makes the bottom. That, as I told you, is how we get the base of our plates. For certain articles the jigger is preferred; for certain others the jolly; but the aim of both is the same, and the workers at the machines are all called jiggermen. After an article is taken from the jigger or jolly it is dried and carried to the turning-lathe to have its surface smoothed and finished."

"And does it take all these men to run a jigger?" whispered Theo, pointing to the moving figures that hurried to and fro.

"An organized group of men is employed at each machine," answered Mr. Marwood. "First there is the clay-carrier, who must bring the material to the workmen; then there is a second man called the batter-out who takes from the carrier the piece of clay cut into the proper size, and after laying this on a block gives it a strong blow with a plaster-of-Paris bat to flatten it for the jiggerman. When making simple objects such a man can give the article quite a start even with one stroke. You can see that some such beginning must be made before the jiggermen can handle the material."

"How much does the bat weigh?" demanded Theo, instantly interested.

"About fifteen pounds. It is not very heavy, but the batter wields it with considerable force. After the article has thus been approximately shaped, and the jiggerman has completed it, a mould-runner must carry the freshly modeled piece to the stove-room to be dried; and on his backward trip bring with him two other articles that are already dry. These he takes off the moulds, leaving the dry piece to go to the finisher, and the mould to the batter-out. The fourth man in the team, or crew, is the finisher. His duty is to smooth the rough edges of each article with a damp sponge, or a tool of flat steel. After this process is completed the jiggerman's crew is through with its part of the work and the goods go to the greenroom to be counted, and if perfect accepted by the foreman. Most jiggermen hire their own helpers, as it is simpler for them to do so. Formerly only round articles were made by the jiggermen—such things as cups, plates, bowls, etc. But now oval, as well as round dishes, can be made on a jigger, although elliptical wares are not turned out this way to any very great extent, other processes of shaping being preferred for objects of this type."

"You spoke, Mr. Marwood, of casting some wares," remarked Theo.

The older man smiled.

"You have a good memory, my boy," he said. "I did mention casting. It is an independent process, and shapes of great variety can be fashioned as well as ornamented in this way. By the casting method, too, we are certain of getting articles of uniform thickness. We can even make very thin objects by this means. But the process is destructive of moulds, and therefore has its flaws. The success of the plan is entirely dependent on the mould's absorption of the moisture in the clay; otherwise the method of casting could not be applied to potteries or porcelains. As the clay is compressed the water is squeezed out of it, and this the mould must take up, or the clay would never dry and retain its shape. You can understand that, I think."

"Yes, sir."

"The last of the processes of which I wish to tell you is die-pressing. Here we take a very finely ground clay dust; moisten it a little; and fill a die, or steel mould, with it. This die we then put into a screw, or hydraulic press, and squeeze it under an intense pressure with the result that the piece is shaped very solidly. We use this process for making small, complicated objects such as those employed for electrical purposes. They are brittle and delicate and have to be manufactured with extreme care."

"Are plumbing supplies made this way?"

"No, indeed! Sanitary pieces are too large to be turned out in such a fashion. They are made by hand, being first built up inside enormous moulds. We can employ only the most skilful workmen on this task because the goods are difficult to make. Such a thing as a porcelain bath-tub involves a great deal of clay, and therefore were it to be damaged we should lose much expensive material." Mr. Marwood took out his watch. "Now, there you have all the various ways of shaping clay ware! Its decoration and firing is another story, and far too long a one for us to attack to-day. We must be back at the conservatory at one o'clock for luncheon. Evidently Mr. Croyden got too deeply snowed under to join us, so we shall have to hunt him up. Confess you are hungry."

Theo's eyes twinkled.

"I believe I could eat something if I were urged," he admitted.

"So could I," rejoined Mr. Marwood heartily. "I am starved. We will find Mr. Croyden right away. It has been a good morning, hasn't it, Theo?"

"Certainly I've enjoyed it," exclaimed Theo.

"And I too," agreed the older man.



CHAPTER XVII

THE DECORATION OF CHINA



Next morning bright and early Theo and Mr. Croyden were off to the factory, and once more the boy found himself consigned to the care of Mr. Marwood. This was no hardship, however, for the two got on excellently together, and Theo was only too glad to cooeperate in any way he could with Mr. Croyden, whom he knew to be very busy. Therefore with this new friend as pilot the pilgrimage through the china works was resumed at precisely the point where it had been left the preceding day.

"This morning," Mr. Marwood said, "we will turn our attention to the decoration of porcelain, which I think you will find quite as interesting as was its making. There are almost as many different processes to decorate the ware as there were methods of shaping it."

"Which one are we to begin with?" questioned Theo eagerly.

"I think we'd better start with printed designs. Were you ever in Washington, Theo?"

Theo glanced up in surprise at the irrelevance of the inquiry.

"Yes, sir."

"Good! What were some of the places you visited?"

Again the lad regarded his conductor curiously.

What had his trip to Washington to do with the decoration of china, he wondered.

"Oh, I went to the Capitol, of course," he answered, "and to the White House, and the Congressional Library; then Dad took me to the Smithsonian Institute and to the Bureau of Printing and Engraving, and ——"

"Stop!" cried Mr. Marwood. "I now have found out exactly what I wished to know. So you have seen bank notes engraved?"

"Yes, sir."

"You remember then how the design is cut on a copper or steel plate?"

"Yes, indeed," came promptly from Theo.

"I am very glad of that, for it is precisely this method we use when we print designs on china. The difference is that the designs on our money are printed in ink, and those we transfer to our porcelain are done with mineral colors; nor are our plates so finely made. However, the idea underlying the processes is identical. The color is applied to the metal plate, and what is not retained in the engraved depressions of the design is carefully scraped away. Then on a kind of paper expressly prepared for the purpose the picture is made, and while it is moist it is placed against the ware and rubbed in with a piece of soft flannel. When it is awkward to handle the design as a whole it is cut into sections and pieced together on the china itself."

"Does one person do the whole thing?"

"No. It is the duty of one worker to arrange the design and see that it is in the right place; and the task of the next one to rub it in with the flannel and soap. Then after the china has stood for some time it is put into water and the paper sticking to it is floated off, leaving the colored print on the porcelain."

"Is it done before the ware is fired?" asked Theo.

"Sometimes it is done on the biscuit ware before it is glazed, and sometimes on the glaze itself. It all depends on the result the decorators wish to obtain. If printed before the porcelain is glazed it is called under-glaze printed ware, and must be put through a kiln, which will take the oils out of the print; if done on the glaze it is fired in order to burn the colors in and blend them with the frit."

"It must be hard always to get the designs where you want them," observed Theo meditatively. "I used to trace patterns at school sometimes, and often they slipped and made the spacing wrong."

"That is one of the difficulties our designers encounter, too," replied Mr. Marwood. "Sometimes you will see pieces where the spacing is not equal, or where a border does not join. That indicates inaccurate placing of the pattern, or an incorrect estimate of the space."

"I don't wonder they get it wrong sometimes," declared Theo. "It isn't so easy. I remember once decorating a card for Mother with some decalcomania pictures. It was mighty hard to get them where I wanted them."

"Decalcomania?" exclaimed Mr. Marwood. "We do that kind of work here too. In fact, a great many of our most beautiful gold borders are transferred to the ware by that method. I see you will be quite at home, Theo, in our decorating department."

"I guess you would find me a pretty poor hand at it," laughed the lad. "My fingers would be all thumbs."

"Possibly at first. It is very fussy work, I must admit. But the processes are at least easy for you to understand. Another type of decoration that will interest you is that employed when we wish to put bands of solid color around the edges of plates or dishes; also when we wish to color their entire surface. We call it ground-laying. Now how do you suppose we do that?"

Theo thought a moment.

"I can't imagine," he said at last. "Of course you could not get the color even with a brush."

"No," answered Mr. Marwood. "We must first apply to the space we wish to color a peculiar kind of oil, and afterward dust over this moistened surface a finely ground metallic color."

"Which sticks only to the oiled part!" Theo exclaimed, quickly.

"You have the idea. Then the superfluous powder is blown off, and when fired the dust fuses into a solid liquid color, giving us a smoothly laid band of red, blue, green, or what you will; or perhaps a dish of solid tone if that has been the intent. We do not use this method for every type of flat color work, however, because when the powdered color blows about the workers are apt to inhale it, and it is very bad for their health. Therefore when it is possible we tint the china by hand, which can be done if the color is a delicate one and spreads smoothly; or we color the clay itself."

All this time Theo and Mr. Marwood had been passing through the factory and going from one building to another; now they entered the decorating department.

"First I want you to see our air-brush process," Mr. Marwood said.

He led the way to an ingenious machine which by means of compressed air was spraying a fine jet of color over the surface of a porcelain plate. In some places this color rippled away into a faint tint; in others it settled into an area of a deep rich tone. By the aid of stencils the effect produced was of an exquisitely shaded ware, and Theo watched the work with delight.

"I think this air-brush process is the most interesting one I have seen," the boy cried.

"It certainly is fascinating to watch, isn't it?" agreed Mr. Marwood. "I could stand here all day; but I fear we must go on, for we still have much to see. Let us go over to where those girls are gilding. Some of them are putting a fine gold line on the china, and others are doing elaborate designs in gold. The work of the next group is to gild the handles of cups and dishes."

They passed on and stood beside the workers.

"That does not look like gold!" exclaimed Theo, who viewed in astonishment the chocolate brown pigment that the girls were using.

Mr. Marwood laughed.

"All gold looks like that," he said, "before it is fired and burnished. In fact, all the mineral colors used to decorate glass, pottery, and porcelain look very different when they are put on from what they do after they have been subjected to the heat. That is the wonderful part of working in oxides and metallic colors. The beautiful hues we see on china or glass are the result of years of experiment. Never forget that. All china decorators have constantly to bear in mind the effect of a high temperature upon their colors. What would be attractive on the unfired clay might emerge from the kiln a very ugly product indeed. We must reckon on this fact."

Theo nodded.

"It must make the decoration of china a great problem," he said.

"It does. However, decorators have now learned pretty well what to expect. A certain carmine, for example, fires out violet. Many other shades fire lighter or darker than when applied, and allowance must be made for them. The girls who paint china become very skilful in estimating the changes in colors. These who are working beside us are doing the finest sort of porcelain decoration—faces, figures, and flowers. Those across the aisle are doing a vastly different type of work. They are putting coarse, sketchy flowers on the cheaper ware. Some of them, you will observe, are filling in designs that have either first been printed, or transferred by the decalcomania process, and must afterward be finished by hand. The girls supply the dabs of color that are needed to complete the pattern."

"It looks easy."

"It is not highly skilled work," answered Mr. Marwood. "Some of our methods, however, are far less skilled than this one. What would you say, for instance, to decorating china with a sponge?"

"A sponge? Painting with a sponge?"

"Not exactly painting," protested Mr. Marwood. "It is not quite that. We do, nevertheless, for our cheapest ware use a fine-grained sponge cut in the shape of the desired design. This we dip in color and with it impress a pattern on the clay as we would with a rubber stamp."

"I should think you would use a rubber stamp and be done with it," replied Theo.

"It would not hold the color satisfactorily," explained Mr. Marwood. "But we do use the stamping method for inexpensive gold ware. We also imprint the firm name or trade-mark on the bottom of our porcelain that way before it is glazed; so we do some stamping, you see. Of course stamping is only for the cheap wares. The finest porcelain is hand-decorated—or at least the major part of it is."

Theo was silent; then he said:

"Suppose after all the work of preparing the clay, and shaping and decorating it, the piece is broken when the final glaze is put on?"

"That tragedy sometimes occurs," responded Mr. Marwood. "Often, too, a piece with many colors and much gold work on it has to be fired several times, and is therefore in jeopardy more than once. In addition to these risks you must remember the number of hands through which an article passes from the time of its moulding to its final arrival from the glost-kiln. A delicate piece of ware is in peril every second. It may be dropped and broken; chipped in handling; its clay body may crack when exposed to the heat; the colors in the decoration may fire out unsatisfactorily; or at the very end there may be a defect in the glaze."

"Great Scott!" gasped Theo. "Why, I never should expect to get a single perfect piece of porcelain."

"On the contrary, we get a great many," smiled Mr. Marwood. "They are almost all perfect. The imperfect piece is the exception. But each piece represents untold care. We sometimes laugh at the old adage of a bull in the china-shop, but let me assure you that a poor workman can do almost as much damage in a porcelain factory."

Mr. Marwood drew out his watch.

"I believe we shall now have just about time before luncheon to go down to the kilns," he observed presently. "Should you like to?"

"Indeed I should."

"There is not much that we can see, I am afraid. However, we may be able to catch a glimpse of some of the ware being packed in the saggers."

"What is a sagger?"

"It is a large clay container in which unfired pottery or porcelain is packed while it is passing through the firing process. These large clay vessels have come into general use as the best thing for the purpose. They stand the heat and at the same time are less liable to break or chip the goods than are containers of any other material. We make them ourselves here in the mills. In fact, there is an entire section in the clay-shop devoted to nothing but sagger making. Special machinery grinds and mixes the clay; special men fashion by hand the great containers; while other men do nothing but work in the wad-mills where rolls of clay to cover the top of the saggers and protect the unfired ware from smoke are made."

"Don't the clay saggers ever break?" questioned Theo.

"Sometimes, alas!" admitted Mr. Marwood. "When they do the china in them must be rescued from the kilns and put into new saggers. The old saggers are then broken up; the clay in them ground and sifted; and after being moistened again and mixed with fresh clay other saggers are modeled."

"Is the same sort of clay sagger used for the glazed as well as for the unglazed wares?"

"No. For the glazed china we generally use glost saggers that have been covered on the inner side with a coating of enamel."

All this time as they talked they had been passing through the mill and they now entered a low hot building where a series of brick ovens with arching tops covered the floor.

"Here," said Mr. Marwood, "are the firing kilns. After the ware has been brought here in baskets it is very carefully packed in the saggers, and the saggers in turn packed in these great brick ovens. Before they are put in the kilns have to be cooled so the heat to which the ware is subjected may increase gradually."

"But it must take forever to pack all the saggers into the kiln," declared Theo as he viewed in consternation the interior of one of the waiting ovens.

"It takes a long time—about five hours," answered Mr. Marwood. "Porcelain requiring a shorter firing is placed near the front of the kiln, so it can be removed if necessary before the rest is taken out. After the kiln is filled the men brick up the door of the oven and start the fire. There the china bakes from forty to sixty hours. The length of time required depends on the sort of ware being fired and the temperature of the kiln. Then the opening is unsealed and the cooling process begins."

"Do they wait until the saggers and their contents are cold before they take them out?" asked Theo.

"No, indeed," was Mr. Marwood's reply. "That would take too long. Often we are in a hurry to get the goods out and the ovens cooled for the next lot of porcelain; frequently, too, we want the ware so that we may continue work upon it. Therefore we begin the drawing while the oven is still very hot—so hot that the men are stripped to the waist and wear only overalls, shoes, and thick gloves. The kiln drawers are never forced to draw out the saggers, however, when they are intensely hot unless they wish to do so. The law protects such workers and specifies at just what degree of temperature the work is to become optional. Not only do these men draw the ware, but they also empty it from the saggers as well as put it into the baskets in which it is carried back to the factory and inspected, further decorated, or packed for shipping."

Mr. Marwood waited a moment, then added:

"In some foreign countries a tunnel kiln is used instead of an oven like this. It is supposed to require less fuel. It is a long tunnel with a track through the centre over which little cars laden with ware are propelled by machinery. The heat is graded in such a way that it is most intense in the middle of the kiln. The ware starts at one end of this tunnel where the temperature is quite low, travels toward the centre where the heat is highest, and then comes out at the other end of the tunnel through a diminishing heat. In this way it cools gradually. They say, however, that such a method is more successful for biscuit (the unglazed china) than for the glost. Here in America where fuel has always been plenty we have stuck to our old-fashioned brick ovens in spite of their expense. I am afraid we are not a saving nation."

"Father says that after this war is over we shall have to be more saving," said Theo.

"I believe that too," confessed Mr. Marwood. "We never have learned to figure things down to the lowest cent. We shall have to do it; and it won't hurt us, either. On the contrary, it will be a good lesson. If each of us would use the least possible material in the home, the factory, and the office we should save an amazing amount in a year."

"I think we ought to do it," affirmed Theo soberly.

"So do I," rejoined the elder man. "Many manufacturers have already come to finding uses for stuff they previously considered waste. They are using up their by-products, thereby not only enriching themselves but giving to the world things that are needed. It is an interesting and ingenious problem. If we were to employ the same principle everywhere we should find it well worthy of our brain power. Now shall we go back and hunt up Mr. Croyden, or have you still questions to ask?"

"I have a thousand questions," laughed Theo, "but I don't think you'd better stop now to answer them. Mother says I always do have questions; she says no sooner am I through with one than I am ready with another."

"So long as they are intelligent, thoughtful questions I am sure no one minds answering them," Mr. Marwood replied. "How else are we to learn? The man who is ashamed to ask questions and confess he does not know is worth little in the world. When I spoke of questions, however, I meant questions about china-making."

"Oh!" exclaimed Theo. "No, I don't think I have any more questions about porcelain except to ask you how the glaze is put on the biscuit ware."

"That certainly is an intelligent question, and one I shall be only too happy to answer," Mr. Marwood said. "We could go down into the dipping sheds if we had more time. But perhaps since there is not I can tell you about them and it will do almost as well. To begin with, these sheds have cement floors because the glaze, or slip, spatters all about and dries upon them. It is therefore practically impossible to keep wooden floors clean, and we do not wish our workmen to inhale any more of the dried flint dust than is absolutely necessary."

"I remember hearing about that," Theo said.

"The glaze material is ground up while dry and very carefully sifted," went on Mr. Marwood. "Afterward it is mixed with water; colored, if a tinted glaze is required; and then pumped into tanks where it is kept well stirred. When ready the ware is dipped into this glaze and again fired. This time, however, it is a more difficult matter to pack it into the saggers since it must neither touch the sides of the sagger nor come in contact with any other piece."

"I never thought of that," owned Theo. "Of course, now that you speak of it, I can see that when the glaze melts and fuses with the clay it would show any mark."

"Exactly."

"It must be an awful job to keep each piece separate."

"It demands extreme care," returned Mr. Marwood. "We use all sorts of little clay devices to support the ware, and keep it in place while it is in the saggers."

"Does it take about the same length of time to fire the glazed porcelain as for the biscuit?" inquired Theo.

"No. The glost firing usually takes only from twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Afterward any bits of glaze projecting from the china or clinging to it are chipped away with a steel tool and the piece is examined. If free from flaws it goes either to the packing room to be shipped, or back to the factory, in case additional decoration is to be put on over the glaze. You may recall that I told you that there was an over-glaze and an under-glaze method of decoration."

"Yes, sir."

"Are your questions answered now?"

"I believe they are, thank you."

"And you can now make china without trouble—whatever kind you like best?"

"I shouldn't want to start doing it to-morrow," chuckled Theo. "I think I should rather begin on earthenware."

"You would have to go to some other mills, then," smiled Mr. Marwood. "We make no C. C. ware here."

"What is C. C. ware?"

"Ask Mr. Croyden," replied Mr. Marwood. "You see, we have a little joke about it. His name is Charles Croyden and sometimes in jest we call him C. C. Now C. C. ware (an abbreviation for cream-colored) is one of the cheapest of the white earthenwares. When first manufactured it used to be of a pale yellowish tint, but now it is made in white. Nevertheless its quality has not been materially improved. As Mr. Croyden manufactures only the finer grades of chinas it is a favorite quip of ours to call him C. C."

Theo laughed heartily.

"I will ask him about the C. C. ware some time," grinned the boy.



CHAPTER XVIII

THEO'S GREAT CHOICE



Theo was as good as his word.

That noon as he and Mr. Croyden sat at luncheon he remarked mischievously:

"You did not tell me, sir, that you made C. C. ware here."

Mr. Croyden raised his eyes quickly and laughed.

"So they passed that joke on to you, did they?" he said. "C. C. ware indeed! You young rascal! I have half a mind now not to send to your mother that blue vase you admired so much."

"That blue vase! The one with the girl's head on it?" cried Theo. "Are you really going to send it to Mother?"

"If you behave yourself I am," came grimly from the older man. "And if she will let you come and visit us again some time."

"Oh, Mother'll be crazy over that vase. It is a corker!" exclaimed Theo. "I can tell her how I saw them making it."

"You shall carry it back to her then, since you think she will like it," declared Mr. Croyden. "That is unless you would rather select as a present a piece of C. C. ware," he added humorously.

Theo smiled and shook his head.

"Or maybe you would prefer a bit of Samian ware, or jet ware, or Rockingham ware, or yellow ware, or stoneware, or ironstone china, or white granite, or Queen's."

"Jehoshaphat! Are there all those kinds of earthenware?"

"Yes, and that is not the full list, either," replied Mr. Croyden. "We have a great many kinds of crockery, and as each variety has its cheaper as well as its more expensive grades, it makes an almost endless number of styles. The better types of white earthenware are made from carefully selected and well mixed clays, and more nearly approach porcelain, of which they are imitations. Often their design is quite good and in consequence they fill a large place in many a modest home. Indeed, although we ourselves do not go in for such chinas we respect a well-made piece of earthenware, for the making of good earthenware is an art in itself. Many a rule attends its successful manufacture. For example, the bottom of a heavy piece must not be too thick, or it will crack, because a tremendous strain comes on the base when the clay begins to dry and shrink. The sides pull from every direction, and therefore the bottom must be sufficiently thin to be elastic, and sufficiently thick to be strong. And that is only one of the problems to be faced by pottery and earthenware makers. So you see they, as well as we, have troubles."

"I guess no business is without its troubles," observed Theo.

"No business that is interesting," answered Mr. Croyden. "It is getting the better of such difficulties that gives zest to manufacture, making it a constant field for man's fertile brain. I think the old Italians were right when during the golden days of Venetian history they recognized the intellectual status of glass-makers, silk-makers, and the like; and accorded to such men the same honors they did to those of noble rank. For, after all, the noble was only what chance had made him; while the skilled artisan was what he had made himself—a far more creditable thing, to my way of thinking."

"And to mine!" agreed Theo.

"I am glad you feel that way," Mr. Croyden said, "because I am anxious to have you view this industry not alone from its technical but from its larger aspect. Did I not believe that I was doing something more than just the humdrum task of making dishes I should speedily become discouraged and decide my labor was not worth the strength I am constantly putting into it. But every honorable industry is far more than that. It is a monument to the men who conceived it and to those who little by little developed the wonderful machinery that makes it possible. Each perfect product it turns out voices the skill, patience, and faithfulness of scores of workmen. More than that, an industry is the weapon of the wage-earner—the means by which he and his family are protected from want and unhappiness. Hence every conscientious manufacturer performs a double service to mankind: he gives to the world something that it needs, and he furnishes his fellow-man with a means of livelihood. Regarded in this light it is no unworthy calling to be a manufacturer."

"I think both the man at the head of the firm, and the men who share in the work are doing their bit," put in Theo.

"The one is dependent on the other," affirmed Mr. Croyden. "It is a matter of equality. In fact, it would be hard to tell which of the two is the more indebted to the other—the employer or the employee. It is in this spirit that I try to run this great plant. I blunder, it is true; I suppose we all do that. But I sincerely believe labor should have an honored place, and so far as I am concerned I give it one. If I had a boy," Mr. Croyden's voice faltered, "If I had a boy," he repeated more firmly, "he should be brought up to touch his cap to the laborer as well as to the capitalist; and he should be made to feel that the trade school is as praiseworthy a place as is the college. The two simply furnish different types of education."

Theo acquiesced.

"Your father and I represent these two types," continued Mr. Croyden. "When you grow up you will have to choose which of them you will follow. I know you will choose wisely and well. But you must never forget that it is the ideal behind what you do that transforms a calling from a gray, dead, monotonous vocation into a glowing, living, interesting career. You can be a routine doctor, seeing only the dull round of aches and pains; or you can be the Great Physician who continues God's work of healing on the earth. As for the manufacturer—in this field, too, you can be the mere money-getter who crowds down and ignores those who have helped him to amass his wealth; or you can be the profit-sharer and co-worker. It all rests with yourself. It will not be the fault of the task you choose but the littleness of your vision if you dwarf your life and find your horizon small."

* * * * *

Long afterward Theo Swift remembered those words, and when on his twenty-second birthday he entered the Trenton mills, there to be trained to assume a partnership in the business, it was with the aim that as a captain of industry he would serve his generation.



The Stories in this Series are:

THE STORY OF COTTON THE STORY OF GOLD AND SILVER THE STORY OF LUMBER THE STORY OF WOOL THE STORY OF IRON THE STORY OF LEATHER THE STORY OF GLASS THE STORY OF SUGAR THE STORY OF SILK THE STORY OF PORCELAIN

THE END