The Story of Wool Part 22

"Here again we must exercise great care that the water is clean and the soap pure, or the wool will not dye perfectly. We use a kind of potash soap which we are sure is of the best make. Another thing which renders the scouring of wool difficult is that we must not curl or snarl it while we are was.h.i.+ng it."

"I don't see how you can help it," Donald said.

"We can if we take proper care," returned the bookkeeper.

"And what is this other machine for?" inquired Thornton, pointing to one at the end of the room.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WHAT IS THIS OTHER MACHINE?"]

"That machine is picking the wool apart so that the air can get through it and help it to dry. After it is picked up light and fluffy we pa.s.s it through these heavy rollers, which are like wringers and which squeeze out the remaining moisture. Yet during all these processes we must always be careful not to snarl the wool. See, here is where it comes out white and clean, ready to go to the dyeing room."

Donald regarded the snowy fleeces with wonder.

"You would never dream it could be the same wool!" he said. "Isn't it beautiful? It is not much the way it looks when it leaves the ranch, is it, Thornton?"

"I should say not," agreed the Westerner emphatically. "The sheep ought to see how handsome their coats are."

"So they should!" answered the young bookkeeper. "You have been on a ranch then?"

"We have just come from one," Donald answered.

"Have you, indeed! It is a free life--not much like being shut up inside brick walls."

"You have been West yourself, perhaps," ventured Thornton.

"Yes, years ago--when I was a boy; but not recently."

"Ah, you should see the sheep country now!" Thornton went on. "It is much improved, I reckon, since you were there."

"I imagine so," the young guide answered with a wistful smile. "It is so long since I have had a breath of real air that I have almost forgotten how it would seem."

"If you are wanting fresh air go out on the ranges and fill your lungs.

You will find plenty there," declared the ranchman.

"That is just what they are trying to make me do," the young man replied, "I have not been very well this year and Mr. Munger thinks the confinement in the mill is telling on me. He wants me to go West for a vacation."

"And should you like to?" questioned Donald.

The man did not answer; instead he said:

"Suppose we go on. We must not waste too much time here. In this next room you will see how the dyeing is done. We use centrifugal machines, and beside those we have these others to keep the wool spread and turned. With all our care not to snarl or curl it, it will get matted and must therefore be picked apart again. So we pa.s.s it through these revolving drums which, you see, have sets of spikes on them; as the spikes on the different drums turn they catch in the wool and pick it all apart so it is again light and fluffy as it was before."

"Doesn't so much was.h.i.+ng and dyeing take out all the yolk, and make the wool very dry?" inquired Thornton.

The young man conducting them seemed pleased at the question.

"Yes, it does! That is just the trouble. Therefore we are forced to set about getting some oil back into it; otherwise it would be so harsh and stiff that we could do nothing with it. So we put the thin layers of wool into these machines and carry them along to a spraying apparatus which sprays them evenly with oil. We use olive oil, but some other manufacturers prefer lard oil or oleine."

"How funny to have to put oil back into the wool after you have just washed it out!" Donald remarked.

"It is funny, isn't it?" nodded the bookkeeper. "Now on this side of the room they are blending the fleeces. Sometimes we blend different qualities of wool to get a desired effect, or sometimes we blend the wool with cotton or a different fiber. We take a thin layer of wool, then put another layer of a different kind over it. We then pick it all up together until we get a uniform mixture."

"It is a surprise to me that the wool has to go through so much red tape before it comes to spinning," Thornton said.

"It is a long process," responded their guide. "I remember when I first saw it, it seemed endless. Now I think little of it."

"We get used to everything in time, I suppose," Thornton answered; then he added whimsically: "Still, I don't think I should ever get used to riding in an automobile."

A hearty laugh came from behind them, and turning they saw Mr. Clark and Mr. Munger, the manager.

"I came to hunt you up," said Mr. Clark. "I have finished my interview with Mr. Bailey, and it seemed to me that by this time you must have finished spinning your next-winter's overcoat, Don."

"But I haven't, father," retorted Donald, smiling into his father's face. "I have not even begun to make the cloth at all."

"The yarn is not spun yet, sir," put in the young man who was with them.

"You are a slow guide, Mac, I fear," Mr. Munger laughed, laying a kindly hand on his bookkeeper's shoulder. "That is the chief fault with you Scotchmen--you are too thorough. Now let us hurry along. These gentlemen must get back to Boston to-day, you know."

Mr. Munger bustled ahead, conducting his visitors across a bridge and into the next mill.

Here was the carding room. Layers of wool entered the carding engine and were combed by a mult.i.tude of wire teeth until all the fibers lay parallel; the thin film of wool then pa.s.sed into a cone-like opening and came out later in a thick strand of untwisted fibers.

"It is now ready to go to the drawing-frames," Mr. Munger explained.

"You will notice how these drawing-frames pull the wool into shape for twisting and spinning, drawing it out to uniform size and finally winding it on bobbins. The machine is a complicated one to explain, but you can watch and see what it does."

"How wonderful it is that machinery can do all this work," Mr. Clark observed thoughtfully.

"Yes, it is," Mr. Munger agreed. "Years ago every part of the process was done by hand. Little by little, however, machines have been perfected until now we have contrivances that seem almost human. Shall we go now and see the yarn spun?"

When they reached the spinning room with its clatter of s.h.i.+fting bobbins Mr. Munger turned to Donald.

"I wonder if you know," he said, "that wool is worked into two different kinds of yarn--worsted yarn and woolen yarn. The fibers for worsted yarn are long and lie nearly parallel, and when woven result in a smooth surface. Broadcloth is made from worsted yarn. Woolen yarn, on the other hand, has its fibers lying in every direction and all these loose ends, when woven, give a rough surface. Of course after the cloth is milled it comes out smooth, but it is not as smooth and fine as a worsted cloth."

"I think I understand," Donald said. "Are we to see the cloth woven next?"

"Yes. You know we weave nothing but woolens; you must go to a worsted mill to see the other kinds of cloth made. The processes, though, are much alike."

Mr. Munger then hurried the party to the weaving mills, where amid an uproar of thousands of moving wheels, bobbins, and shuttles the threads of yarn traveled back and forth, back and forth, and came out of the looms as cloth. The cloth was then steamed, pressed, and rolled or folded.

"And now, young man," announced Mr. Munger to Donald jestingly, "you have seen the whole process, and there is no reason why your father should not give you some wool and let you make your own cloth for your next suit of clothes."

Although Donald was very tired he tried to smile.

"I think," he said, "that I would rather grow the wool on the ranch than make it into cloth here. It is far nicer out on the ranges."

"That is what I am trying to tell my young a.s.sistant," agreed Mr.

Munger. "He is getting f.a.gged, aren't you, Mac? You see he was brought up in the open country, and much as we think of him, we feel that he should go back to the Western mountains."

"Oh, I am all right, Mr. Munger," the bookkeeper hastened to say. "Just a bit tired, perhaps--that is all."