Across the great sheds under the shafting--how fine it must look at
night!--the shells march, are shaped, cut, fitted with copper bands,
calibrated, polished, varnished....

Then we go on to another system of machines in which lead is reduced to
plastic ribbons and cut into shrapnel bullets as the sweetstuff
makers pull out and cut up sweetstuff. And thence into a warren of hot
underground passages in which run the power cables. There is not a cable
in the place that is not immediately accessible to the electricians. We
visit the dynamos and a vast organisation of switchboards....

These things are more familiar to M. Citroen than they are to me. He
wants me to understand, but he does not realise that I would like a
little leisure to wonder. What is interesting him just now, because it
is the newest thing, is his method of paying his workers. He lifts
a hand gravely: "I said, what we must do is abolish altogether the
counting of change."

At a certain hour, he explained, came pay-time. The people had done; it
was to his interest and their that they should get out of the works
as quickly as possible and rest and amuse themselves. He watched them
standing in queues at the wickets while inside someone counted; so many
francs, so many centimes. It bored him to see this useless, tiresome
waiting. It is abolished. Now at the end of each week the worker goes
to a window under the initial of his name, and is handed a card on which
these items have been entered:

Balance from last week. So many hours at so much. Premiums.