Then
she fainted in a crumpled heap at his feet.
CHAPTER XXVI
The new munition plant was nearing completion. Situated on the
outskirts of the city, it spread over a vast area of what had once
been waste land. Of the three long buildings, two were already in
operation and the third was well under way.
To Clayton Spencer it was the realization of a dream. He never
entered the great high-walled enclosure without a certain surprise
at the ease with which it had all been accomplished, and a thrill
of pride at the achievement. He found the work itself endlessly
interesting. The casts, made of his own steel, lying in huge rusty
heaps in the yard; the little cars which carried them into the plant;
the various operations by which the great lathes turned them out,
smooth and shining, only to lose their polish when, heated again,
they were ready for the ponderous hammer to close their gaping jaws.
The delicacy of the work appealed to him, the machining to a
thousandth of an inch, the fastidious making of the fuses, tiny
things almost microscopic, and requiring the delicate touch of
girls, most of whom had been watchmakers and jewelry-workers.
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