“Easy,” answered Johnny slangily.
“Now, here,” they had paused in the center of an aisle, “please note your exact position. Got it?”
“Yes.”
Johnny’s employer nodded approval.
“Have you a watch and flashlight? It’s dark where you’re going.”
“No flashlight.” In spite of his best efforts, Johnny’s knees trembled.
“Here’s a small one. Now prepare yourself for a surprise. In five minutes stand up. Watch me.”
The magnate reached up and gave a pull on an electric lamp wire just above his head. The next instant Johnny felt himself shoot rapidly downward, to land at last with no perceptible shock upon some flat object. All about him was pitch darkness. At once his trembling hand snapped on the flashlight. As its welcome gleam shot out before him, he saw that he was in a narrow, cement-walled chamber. One glance downward and his tense muscles relaxed.
“Humph!” he grunted. “The scrap-conveyor!”
It was true. Beneath this up-to-date factory, a tunnel had been cut, through which a broad, flat conveyor ran. On this conveyor, from every point in the factory, scraps of iron, steel, brass, cloth, wire, rubber and what-not were carried without the lifting of a human hand, direct to the scrap-room.