IN THE MILL


John Best was taking Raymond Ironsyde round the spinning mill, but the
foreman had his own theory and proposed to initiate the young man by
easy stages.

"You've seen the storehouses and the hacklers," he said. "Now if you
just look into the works and get a general idea of the scheme of things,
that's enough for one day."

In the great building two sounds deafened an unfamiliar ear: a steady
roar, deep and persistent, and through it, like a staccato pulse, a
louder, more painful, more penetrating din. The bass to this harsh
treble arose from humming belts and running wheels; the crash that
punctuated their deep-mouthed riot broke from the drawing heads of the
machines.

A lofty, open roof, full of large sky-lights, covered the operating
room, and in its uplifted dome supports and struts leapt this way and
that, while, at the height of the walls, ran rods supporting rows of
silver-bright wheels from which the power descended, through endless
bands, to the machinery beneath. The floor was of stone, and upon it
were disposed the various machine systems--the Card and Spreader, the
Drawing Frames, Roving Frames, Gill Spinners and Spinning Frames.

The general blurred effect in Raymond's mind was one of disagreeable
sound, which made speech almost impossible. The din drove at him from
above and below; and it was accompanied by a thousand unfamiliar