"What's the trouble, Mac?" asked Kennely.
"Trouble! That fool Jackson was in this morning. He swore up and down that we don't know a blueprint from the linoleum on the floor. He said we hadn't made his model according to the prints, same as you."
"Well, look, Mac — those models are a lot better than we designed them. We can't figure out who could build them that good. Why do you think no one will admit working on them?"
"You've got me. As if I didn't have enough trouble trying to build Goldbergs, now I have to put up with screwballs who build stuff and say they never saw it before."
"Well — mind if we walk around some more?"
"You can't make much more trouble than I've already got, I guess."
The two engineers moved into the shop. On their left was Mac's pride, the powerful, new, six thousand dollar brake. A small turret lathe was located farther along, and beside it, a heavy drill press. Other, smaller machine tools were lined up along the wall farther to the left. On the right was the assembly division where rows of girls wired the jobs.
Straight ahead was a materials receiving room. A huge packing crate which formed a cube nearly ten feet on a side dwarfed everything else on the floor of the room.
"Wonder what that gadget is," said Kennely. "Another monster like this brake that gets used about once a week?"
"Mac ought to clean the place up," said Devon. "It looks like bug tracks all over."