News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1883-08-23
An Engineers Yarn.

I am a practical mechanical engineer.
Let me see. 1t was sixteen years ago
this summer that [ came to New York
in search of employment. 1 had been
running an engine in big tannery in
the western part of the State, and doing
irst-rate till the company failed, and
[ was thrown out of work. So was
looking about town for something to do.
MOney-gauge so low that I was ready
for anything after a fortnight of search
ing and waiting. L happened to be
walking through down town cross
street, when L saw placard in the win
dow of a paper-box factory: Engineer
wanted; good salary"
"That's just me-" says I. SO I went
into the Office and asked if I would do.
The manager said he would try me. He
did try me, and it seems I must have
satisfied him, for he told me to stay.
Now, It is about this manager and this
paper-box factory that my story, such
as it is, will be; and to make things all
straight and plain "a sort of oiling up at
the start), let me attempt to describe
them both.
First, then, the manager, Mr.. Samuel
Hardness, also sole owner of the factory.
This Mr.. Samuel Hardness was the
greatest villain lever came across. He's
dead now, poor man, and hate to speak
y,F+
see, its much the same as chinning be-
hind 4 mans back; but he was villain
all the same. Not one of your story
book Williams, either. have read lots
of novels, romances and such stuff lately,
but I haven't seen anything about their
villains that applies to my villain. Theirs
are invariably thin, dark men: of 1.-THE,
serpentine motion; with yellow faces,
straight black hair, and deepest inquisi-
tive eyes. Something of the Evil One
cropping out CT every point. Why, Lord
bless you, you'd recognize this kind of
villain soon as ever you clapped eyes on
him, just as you would patent machine,
with every bit of metal labeled My
villain wasn't tall, wasn't dark at all;
was tolerably stout, in fact, and well-to-
do looking; didn't squirm a bit; and, to
cut this description short, was just like
most anybody else you meet. When [
engaged under him, of course didn't
know anything about his villainy. How
cOuldI? He wasn't labeled.
And now for the factory itself. 1t was
a somewhat dilapidated fve-stOry brick
concern. Engine in cellar Cmost every
manufacturer had his own power then,
instead of just betting on to the one big
engine of the block as they do now; Of
flee and samples, first floor; clipping
and folding machines, second floor; girls
pasting, sorting and trimming on the
stock of all sorts on the fourth and fifth.
We used to turn out an immense deal of
work with very few hands. There were
about twenty-five or so girls, the man.
ager, his clerk and office boy, a man to
hoist and do odd jobs, the fireman and
myself Except when stock was taken
in, or work sent out, there was nobody
else in the building.
[ generally kept to my own business
and staid down in the cellar, nursing the
old engine. She sadly needed it, being
as rickety and patched-up a contrivance
as one cares to stay alongside of. She
always reminded me of some old people
you see, who are always in need of a pee
toral for a cough, or a liniment for
rheumatism or something or other.
This engine of mine was in such a state
that she always wanted ease somewhere,
a rivet here, plug there, new stuf1ing,
more felting, or a band around the whole
boiler. From boiler to hy-wheel she was
rickety, rickety. But there was nopres-
ent danger to be apprehendcd; all was
safe enough with proper care and atten-
ton. There was the rub. Ihad to exer-
else that same proper care and attention
all the time. But if | was so occupied,
could not help meeting the girls now
and then in the passage-way. But there
was one little, pale-faced girl / took to
straight off She wasn't a bit like the
others, and seemed as nice,,and quiet and
lady-like as they were noisy. As l said,
/ took to her, and she-well, she didn t
altogether snub me. We got to be fast
riends soon. She told me the tale Of her
sad life how her father had been a
prosperous mechanic, and they had lived
in such a dear little home how the
father died. and left her, a more mite of
of thing, in charge of her feeble mother
and baby sister, and how she cOntrived
to get along and keep grim famine from
the door on the pittance of her earnings.
| Whenever / could, without making a
/ fuss, I helped them along little. And
when we got well acquainted, | used to
hurry through my work so as to be able
to see her home every day after SIX
| o'clock Sometimes, too, we used to go
to concerts and lectures together; and
| very often found time to visit them all
of an evening. | hadn't said a word OF
| love to her yet, but was waiting till my
wages were increased enough to enable
me to keep a home of my own, and then
ask her to fill it, OF her state of fe7linP
toward me I knew nothing, except that
she looked upon and trusted me as g
brother.
One thing used to rile me, though,