Black Tom grunted. "About twelve gallons—and if those juices run out, we'll have to do some wholesale lemon and orange squeezing."
Joe started to turn.
Black Tom said: "Thanks, Joe, for the can suggestion. It may pull us through."
Joe nodded, went up with his tub for another load of juice.
When he had dumped the second load in, he said:
"Wick's got Whitey, Ronnie Guetschow and Keating squeezing lemons. This is the last of the loose juice." He shook his head to clear his mind, said briefly, "Excuse me," and hurriedly left the power room.
When he came back, his face pale, his limbs shaking from the retching stomach, Bairn and Ed Parman were talking to Black Tom.
Bairn looked serious. "Hell," he said. "It would boil down to that. The motor's okay, Ed says. But I don't know where in blue blazes we're going to get enough water. Timnson's got the hydraulic press from the workroom rigged up squeezing out the garbage we didn't dump."
He turned to Black Tom: "You're sure your sand filter will take all the solids out, so it won't plug up the water jets?"