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Men accustomed to this class of work can readily detect an increase or decrease in diameter of one ten-thousandth part of an inch." "You certainly have it down fine, Mr. Nebett," Hamilton commented. "We try to," responded his guide. "Then when the barrel experts have had their turn, the gun is assembled and goes to the action men." "Who are they?" asked the boy.
"That would be all right," said the business manager, "if we were making military rifles, but ninety-five per cent of our work is for sporting purposes." "But how about your cartridges?" "There, perhaps," Mr. Nebett said, "The Hague tribunal would look askance at us." Hamilton had his portfolio under his arm, but at the door he turned. "How many cartridges do you put out?" he asked.
Nebett showed Hamilton through the various general offices, the payroll department, and the draughting and designing room, and finally returned to the business manager's office, where they found the schedule awaiting him, filled out in almost every detail. A few spaces had been left blank until the boy's return, some trifling explanation being readily answered by him.
"Come back at two o'clock, then," said the manager. "One of the members of the Board, Mr. Nebett, is here to-day, and if he has no objection I'll try to find some one to show you round." Promptly at the appointed hour, Hamilton handed his card to the doorman, who showed him into a waiting-room.
He slipped one of the switches into place, and the pyrometer needle swung around and pointed to the degree of heat in the oven which it was supposed to register. "What are those little clocks for?" "One for each oven," Mr. Nebett answered; "the keeper of the furnaces sets them when an oven is up to the required heat. Then, you see, it is easy to tell when they have been cooling long enough."
A gray-haired man was filling a heavy charge of powder behind each one. The guns were pointing into a bank of sand. "If you notice," said his guide, "you'll see that a little device, like the old percussion cap is right by each of those charges of powder. Are you all ready, Jim?" he queried, as the old man straightened up. "Yes, Mr. Nebett," was the reply.
In a few minutes the door opened, and a keen-looking, well-set-up man appeared who came forward and held out his hand. "I've been hearing about you from Mr. Arverne," he said, "and he tells me that you want to look over the works." "Mr. Nebett?" queried the boy, and in response to an affirmative nod, he continued, "Yes, sir, I'm very anxious to see part of it at any rate.
I can see that it's a huge place, but gun-making must be so interesting that I'd like to see how it's done." "I think Mr. Arverne said something to me about your writing up a special report, a summary or something of that kind." "That was just a suggestion, Mr. Nebett," the boy replied. "I told Mr.
Nebett," said the old man, after he had closed and fastened the heavy door, "and you, young sir, don't be frightened," and he pulled the wire hanging overhead. There was a terrific explosion and a roar, and though Hamilton had been half expecting it, he jumped. Then he laughed. "I guess I did jump, after all," he said. "What was that for?"
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