The monotype girl wrote these words on her keyboard, where they made tiny holes in a roll of paper. The roll went to the casting-room where it guided a machine to make the type much as a perforated music-roll guides a piano to play a tune.]

The type is kept in a case at which the compositor stands. This case is divided into shallow compartments, each compartment containing a great many e's or m's as the case may be. The "upper case" contains capitals; the "lower case," small letters. Those letters which are used most often are put where the compositor can reach them most readily. He stands before his case with a "composing stick" in his hand. This "stick" is a little iron frame with a slide at the side, so that the line can be made of any length desired. The workman soon learns where each letter is, and even an apprentice can set the type in his stick reasonably rapidly. On one side of every piece of type there is a groove, so that he can tell by touch whether it is right side up or not. He must look out especially to make his right-hand margins regular. You will notice in books that the lines are all of the same length, although they do not contain the same number of letters. The compositor brings this about by arranging his words and s.p.a.ces skillfully. The s.p.a.ces must be as nearly as possible of the same length, and yet the line must be properly filled. If a line is too full, he can sometimes place the last syllable on the following line; if it is not full enough, he can borrow a syllable, and he can at least divide his s.p.a.ce so evenly that the line will not look as if it were broken in two.

Not many years ago all type was set in this manner; but several machines have now been invented which will do this work. In one of the best of them the operator sits before a keyboard much like that of a typewriter. When he presses key _a_, for instance, a mould or matrix of the letter _a_ is set free from a tube of _a_'s, and slides down to its place in the stick. At the end of the line, the matrices forming it are carried in front of a slot where melted type metal from a reservoir meets them. Thus a cast is made of the matrices, and from this cast the printing is done. This machine is called a linotype because it casts a whole line of type at a time.

Most book work is done on the monotype machine. When a ma.n.u.script goes to the press to be set up in this way, the copy is given to the keyboard operator who sets it up on a machine which looks much like a typewriter. Instead of writing letters, however, the machine punches tiny holes in a strip of paper which is wound on a roll. When the roll is full it goes to the casting room where it is put on another machine containing hot type metal and bronze matrices from which the letters of the words are to be cast. The holes in the paper guide the machine to make the type much as a perforated music roll guides a piano to play a tune. The reason why the machine is called a monotype is that the letters are made one at a time, and _monos_ is the Greek word for _one_.

By the linotype and monotype machines type can be set in a "galley,"

a narrow tray about two feet long, with ledges on three sides. When a convenient number of these galleys have been filled, long slips are printed from them called "galley proofs." These have wide margins, but the print is of the width that the page of the book will be. They are read by the proof-readers, and all such mistakes as the slipping in of a wrong letter, or a broken type, the repet.i.tion of a word, or the omission of s.p.a.ce between words are corrected. Then the proof goes to the author, who makes any changes in his part of the work which seem to him desirable; and it is also read by some member of the editorial department. If there are many changes to be made, another proof is usually taken and sent to the author.

The reason for this extreme carefulness is that it costs much less to make changes in the galley proof than in the "page proof." This latter is made by dividing the galley into pages, leaving s.p.a.ce for the beginnings of chapters and for pictures, if any are to appear on the printed pages, and setting up the numbers of the pages and their running t.i.tles. Page proof also goes to proof-readers and to the author. Corrections on page proof are more expensive than on galley proof because adding or striking out even a few words may make it necessary to change the arrangement on every page to the end of the chapter.

Years ago all books were printed directly from the type; and some are still printed so. After printing, the letters were returned to their compartments. If a second edition was called for, the type had to be set again. Now, however, books are generally printed not from type, but from a copper model of the type. To make this, an impression of the page of type is made in wax and covered with graphite, which will conduct electricity. These moulds are hung in a bath of copper sulphate, where there are also large plates of copper. A current of electricity is pa.s.sed through it, and wherever the graphite is, a sh.e.l.l of copper is deposited, which is exactly like the face of the type. This sh.e.l.l is very thin, but it is made strong by adding a heavy back of melted metal. From these plates the books are printed. A correction made in the plate is more expensive than it would have been if made in the galley or in the page, because sawing out a word or a line is slow, delicate work; and even if one of the same length is subst.i.tuted, the types spelling it have to be set up, a small new plate cast, and soldered in.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Courtesy The Riverside Press._

WHERE THIS BOOK WAS PRINTED

The girls are feeding big sheets of paper into the presses, thirty-two pages being printed at one time. The paper is fed into many modern presses by means of a machine attached to the press. The pressmen see that the printing is done properly.]

Printing one page at a time would be altogether too slow; therefore the plates are arranged in such a way that sixteen, thirty-two, or sometimes sixty-four pages can be printed on one side of the paper, and the same number on the other side. Every page must come in its proper place when the sheet is folded for binding. Try to arrange a sheet of even sixteen pages, eight on each side, so that when it is folded every page will be in the right place with its printing right side up, and you will find that it is not very easy until you have had considerable experience. If the sheet is folded into four leaves, the book is called a "quarto," or "4to"; if into eight, it is an "octavo,"

or "8vo"; if into twelve, a "duodecimo," or "12mo." Books are sometimes advertised in these terms; but they are not definite, because the sheets of the different varieties of paper vary in size.

Of late years, publishers have often given the length and width of their books in inches.

After the sheets come from the press, they are folded to page size.

Sometimes this is done by hand, but more often by a folding machine through which the sheet of paper travels, meeting blunt knives which crease it and fold it. If you look at the top of a book you will see that the leaves are put together in groups or "signatures." These signatures usually contain eight, sixteen, or thirty-two pages. If the paper is very thick, not more than eight leaves will be in a signature; if of ordinary thickness, sixteen are generally used. The signatures are piled up in order, and a "gatherer" collects one from each pile for every book.

The book is now gathered and "smashed," or pressed enough to make it solid and firm for binding. Next the signatures are sewed and the book is trimmed so the edges will be even. If the edges are to be gilded, the book is put in a gilding press and a skillful workman covers the edges with a sizing made of the white of eggs. Gold leaf is then laid upon them and they are burnished with tools headed with agate and bloodstone or instruments of various sorts until they are bright.

Sometimes the edges are "marbled," and this is an interesting process to watch. On the surface of a vat of thin sizing the marbler drops a little of many colors of paint. Then he draws a comb lightly across the surface, making all sorts of odd figures, no two alike. The book is held tight and the edges are allowed to touch the sizing. All these odd figures are now transferred to the edges of the leaves and will stand a vast amount of hard use before they will wear off.

Thus far the book is flat at the edges of the leaves and at the back.

Books are sometimes bound in this way, but the backs are usually rounded into an outward curve, and the fronts into an inward curve.

This is done by a machine. At each end of the outward curve a deep groove is pressed to receive the cover. To make the covers of a cloth-bound book, two pieces of pasteboard of the right size are cut and laid upon a piece of cloth coated with glue. The edges of the cloth are turned over and pressed down, as you can often see if the paper lining of the cover is not too heavy. The cover needs now only its decorations to be complete. A die is made for these, and the lettering and ornamentation are stamped on in colors. If more than one color is used, a separate die has to be made for each. If this work is to be done in gold, the design is stamped on lightly and sizing made of white of eggs is brushed on wherever the gold is to come. Gold leaf is laid upon this sizing, and the cover is stamped again. The same die is used, but this time it is hot enough to make the gold and egg stick firmly to the cover. To put the cover on, a piece of muslin called a "super" is glued to the back of the book with its ends projecting over the sides, and a strip of cartridge paper is glued over the super. Then the book is pasted into the cover. It is now kept under heavy pressure for a number of hours until it is thoroughly dry and ready to be sent away for sale.

So it is that a well-made cloth-bound book is manufactured.

Leather-bound books are more expensive, not only because their materials cost more, but also because the greater part of the work of binding and decorating has to be done by hand. If a book is to be ill.u.s.trated, this must also be attended to, the number and style of the pictures decided upon, and the artist engaged before the book is put in press, in order that there may be no delay in completing it.

Many publishers do not print at all, but have their work done at some printing establishment. Where all the making of a book, however, from ma.n.u.script to cover, is in the hands of one firm, there is a certain fellow-feeling among the different departments, and a wholesome pride in making each one of "our books" as excellent as possible in every detail. As one of the women workers in such an establishment said to me, "I often think that we become almost as interested in a book as the author is."

VI

FROM GOOSE QUILLS TO FOUNTAIN PENS AND LEAD PENCILS

Whenever there was a convenient goosepond on the way to school, the children of less than one hundred years ago used to stop there to hunt for goose quills. They carried these to the teacher, and with his penknife--which took its name from the work it did--he cut them into the shape of pens. The points soon wore out, and "Teacher, will you please mend my pen?" was a frequent request.

When people began to make pens of steel, they made them as nearly like quill pens as possible, with pen and holder all in one. These were called "barrel pens." They were stiff, hard, and expensive, especially as the whole thing was useless as soon as the pen was worn out, but they were highly esteemed because they lasted longer than quills and did not have to be mended. After a while separate pens were manufactured that could be slipped into a holder; and one improvement after another followed until little by little the cheap, convenient writing tool that we have to-day was produced.

A pen is a small thing, but each one is worked upon by twenty to twenty-four persons before it is allowed to be sold. The material is the best steel. It comes in sheets five feet long and nineteen inches wide, and about one fortieth of an inch thick, that is, three times as thick as the finished pen. The first machine cuts the sheet crosswise into strips from two to three inches wide, varying according to the size of the pen to be made. These strips are put into iron boxes and kept at a red heat for a number of hours to anneal or soften them. Then they pa.s.s between heavy rollers, a process which not only helps to toughen them, but also stretches the steel so that it is now fifty inches long instead of nineteen.

At least six or seven people have handled the material already, and even now there is nothing that looks like pens; but the next machine cuts them out, by dies, of course. The points interlap; and the cutting leaves odd-shaped openwork strips of steel for the sc.r.a.p-heap.

This part of the work is very quick, for the machine will cut thousands of pens in an hour. Now is when the little hole above the slit is punched and the side slits cut. To make the steel soft and pliable, it must be annealed again, kept red hot for several hours, and then cooled. Thus far it has looked like a tiny fence paling, but at length it begins to resemble a pen, for it is now stamped with whatever letters or designs may be desired, usually the name of the maker and the name and number of the variety of pen, and it is pressed between a pair of dies to form it into a curve. The last annealing left the metal soft so that all this could be done, but too soft to work well as a pen; and it has to be heated red hot again, and then dropped into cold oil to harden it. Centrifugal force, which helps in so many manufactures, drives the oil away, and the pens are dried in sawdust. They are now sufficiently hard, but too brittle. They must be tempered. To do this, they are placed in an iron cylinder over a fire, and the cylinder revolved till the pen is as elastic as a spring.

The pen is of the correct shape, is tough and elastic; and now it is put into "tumbling barrels" which revolve till it is bright and ready for the finishing touches. If you look closely at the outside of a steel pen just above the nib, you will see that across it run tiny lines. They have a use, for they hold the ink back so that it will not roll down in drops, and they help to make the point more springy and easier to write with.

The pen must be slit up from the point. This is done by a machine, and a most accurate one, for the cut must go exactly through the center of the point and not reach beyond the little hole that was punched. Only one thing is lacking now to make the pen a useful member of society, ready to do its work in the world; and that is to grind off the points and round them in order to keep them from sticking into the paper.

After so much careful work, it does seem as if not one pen out of a thousand could be faulty; but every one has to be carefully examined to make sure that the cutting, piercing, marking, forming, tempering, grinding, and slitting, are just what they should be. These pens carry the maker's name, and a few poor ones getting into the market might spoil the sale of thousands of boxes; therefore the examiner sits before a desk covered with black gla.s.s and looks at every pen. The faulty ones are heated so that they cannot be used, and they go to the sc.r.a.p-heap.

Now the pens are ready so far as usefulness goes, but people have preferences in color. Some prefer bronze, some gray, and some black; so off the pens go to the tempering-room, their last trip, and there are heated in a revolving cylinder till the right color appears; then they are chilled and lacquered, put into boxes, labeled, packed, and sold for such low prices that the good folk of a century ago, who paid from twenty-five to fifty cents for a pen, would have opened their eyes in amazement. When the typewriter was invented, some people said, "That will be the death of the steel pen"; but as a matter of fact, it has greatly increased its sale. The typewriter makes writing so easy and so quick that many more letters are written than formerly. All these letters have to be answered, and few people compared with the whole number own typewriters, and therefore the pen still holds its place.

The lacquer on a steel pen protects it until it has been used for a while. After that, it will rust, if it is not wiped, and it will wear out whether it is wiped or not. All that the gold pen asks is not to be bent or broken, and it will last almost forever. It has the flexibility of the quill, but does not have to be "mended." Gold pens are made in much the same way as are steel pens; but just at the point a tiny shelf is squeezed. Upon this shelf a bit of the alloy of two exceedingly hard metals, iridium and osmium, is secured by melting the gold around it; and it is this bit which stands all the wear of rubbing on the paper. When gold pens were first made, tiny bits of diamonds or rubies were soldered on for points; but they were expensive, and they had a disagreeable fashion of falling off.

A century ago, writers would have thought it the height of luxury to have a gold pen; but now they are not satisfied unless they can be saved the trouble of dipping it into an inkstand, and they look upon the fountain pen as their special friend. The fountain pen carries its supplies with it. The pen itself is like any other gold pen, but the barrel is full of ink. A little tube carries the ink to the point, and the slight bending back of the pen as one writes lets it run out upon the paper. At the end of the slit, at the back of the pen, is a hole to let air into the barrel as the ink runs out. A perfect fountain pen ought to be prepared to write--without shaking--whenever the cap is taken off, and not to refuse to work so long as a drop of ink remains in the barrel. It should never drop ink at the point and, whether the point is up or down, it should never leak there or anywhere else.

The stylographic pen is quite a different article. There is no pen to it; the writing is done with the end of a needle which projects through a hole at the point. The barrel and point are full of ink; but even if the pen is held point down, it will not leak because the needle fills up the hole. When you press the point on paper to write, the needle falls back just enough to let out what ink is needed. The flow stops the instant the pen ceases to touch the paper. The special advantage of the stylographic is that the mere weight of the pen is sufficient pressure, and therefore many hours of writing do not tire the muscles of the hand. The advantage of the fountain pen is that it has the familiar action of the gold pen, and that it will adapt itself to any style of handwriting.

A pen of almost any kind is a valuable article, but for rough-and-ready use we should find it hard to get on without its humble friend, the lead pencil. A lead pencil, by the way, has not a particle of lead in it. The "lead" is all graphite, or plumbago. Years ago sticks of lead were used for marking, and made a pale-gray line.

When graphite was introduced, its mark was so black that people called it black lead, and the name has stuck. No one who has ever tried to use a pencil of real lead could fail to appreciate graphite, and when a graphite mine was discovered in England, it was guarded by armed men as watchfully as if it had been a mine of diamonds. That mine was exhausted long ago, but many others have been found. The best graphite in the world comes from Ceylon and Mexico.

When graphite was first used for pencils, it was cut into slabs and these slabs into small strips. The broken and powdered graphite was not used until it was discovered that it could be mixed with clay and so made into sticks. In a lead pencil there are only three substances, graphite, clay, and wood, but a really good one must be manufactured with as much care as if it were made up of twenty. First of all, the graphite is ground and ground and ground, until, if you take a pinch of it between your thumb and finger, you can hardly feel that anything is there. It is now sifted through fine silk and mixed with water and finely powdered clay, and becomes a wet, inky ma.s.s. This clay comes from Austria and Bohemia and is particularly smooth and fine. The amount put in is carefully weighed. If you have a hard pencil, it was made by using considerable clay; if your pencil is soft, by using very little; and if it is very soft and black, it is possible that a little lampblack was added.

This inky ma.s.s is ground together between millstones for several weeks. Then it goes between rollers, and at length is squeezed through a die and comes out in soft, doughy black strings. These are the "leads" of the pencils. They have been thoroughly wet, and now they must be made thoroughly dry. They are laid on boards, then taken off, cut into pieces the length of a pencil, and put into ovens and baked for hours in a heat twenty times as great as that of a hot summer day. They certainly ought to be well dried and ready for the wood. The red cedar of Florida, Tennessee, Georgia, and Alabama is the best wood for pencils because it is soft and has a fine, straight grain. It is cut into slabs about as long as one pencil, as wide as six, and a little thicker than half a pencil. Every piece must be examined to make sure that it is perfect, and it must be thoroughly seasoned and kiln-dried to free it from oil. Then it goes through a grooving-machine which cuts out a groove half as deep as the lead.

The lead is laid into one piece, another is glued on top of it; and there is a pencil ready for work.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Courtesy Joseph Dixon Crucible Co._

HOW THE LEAD GETS INTO A PENCIL

(1) The cedar slab. (2) Planed and grooved. (3) The leads in place.

(4) Covered with the other half of the slab. (5) The round pencils cut out. (6) The pencil separated and smoothed. (7) The pencil varnished and stamped.]

Such a pencil would be useful, but to sell well it must also be pretty; and therefore it goes through machinery which makes it round or oval or six-sided, as the case may be, rubs it smooth, and varnishes it, and then, with gold leaf or silver leaf or aluminum or ink, stamps upon it the name of the maker, and also a number or letter to show how hard the lead is.

The pencil is now ready for sale, but many people like to have an eraser in the end, and this requires still more work. These erasers are round or flat or six-sided or wedge-shaped. They are let into the pencil itself, or into a nickel tip, or drawn over the end like a cap, so that any one's special whim may be gratified. Indeed, however hard to please any one may be, he ought to be able to find a pencil to suit his taste, for a single factory in the United States makes more than six hundred kinds of pencils, and makes so many of them that if they were laid end to end they would reach three times across the continent.

There are many exceedingly cheap pencils, but they are expensive in the end, because they are poorly made. The wood will often split in sharpening, and the lead is of poor materials so badly mixed that it may write blacker in one place than another, and is almost sure to break. Good pencils bearing the name of a reliable firm are cheapest.

VII

THE DISHES ON OUR TABLES