“Very well, thank you, Clayton. I have some friends with me who wish to see the plant.”
“Drive right in,” the gateman invited, swinging open the barrier.
The taxi rolled through the gate, and drew up in front of one of the buildings. Inside, fluorescent lights gave the effect of daylight. Overhead carriers were lifting newly blanked and formed airplane parts from power presses, carrying them to sub-assembly lines.
“Raw materials, brought up-river by boats, enter one end of the building,” Mr. Gandiss explained proudly. “Miraculously they come out the other end as finished airplanes ready for testing.”
The plant had four main assembly lines along which the wings, fuselages, engines, tail surfaces, pilot and bombardier floors were assembled, he explained. In one room the party paused to watch row upon row of fuselages being put together ready for transfer to the main assembly line.
“You have a wonderful factory here, Mr. Gandiss,” Penny’s father praised, much impressed. “It must be a job to keep tab on the personnel.”
“Oh, everything has been reduced to a system. One department meshes into another. But if production falls down in any one department, results could be serious.” Mr. Gandiss frowned and added: “Now take those petty brass thefts. In a way it is a trivial matter, but the practice is spreading.”
“The disappearance of parts hasn’t curtailed production to any extent?”
“Not as yet, but it has caused our stockrooms serious annoyance. Then the loss on a yearly basis will become considerable. The guilty persons must be caught, and the organizers broken up before it gets more serious.”
Mr. Gandiss escorted the visitors into another large room where hundreds of girls in slacks, their hair bound by nets, worked over machines with concentrated attention.