The children had often seen the building before but had never been inside.
They entered and their father asked to see the manager. Soon he came bustling in—a round smiling little man, dressed in a spotless white suit.
“Good evening, Mr. Duwell,” he said, shaking hands.
“Good evening, Mr. Baker,” replied Mr. Duwell. “This is Ruth, and this is Wallace. They want to see how bread is baked, if you are not too busy for visitors.”
“I shall be delighted to show you,” said Mr. Baker, smiling and shaking hands with both children; “this way, please.”
Up a narrow winding stair they climbed to the sifting room on the fourth floor.
“Every bit of flour starts on its journey through these sifters,” said the manager, pointing to a row of box-like sifting machines.
On the floor stood a huge pile of bags of flour. “Each one of these bags holds one hundred and forty pounds,” he explained.
Passing down the stairway they saw the store-room piled high with more bags of flour. “There are more than a thousand of them,” said the manager.