Gloves, Past and Present

by Willard M. Smith

Just as the chamoisette, or cotton doeskin, provides an acceptable substitute for cape and lambskins for general wear, so the silk glove—the Italian or Milanaise—becomes the dress glove for summer and is appropriate for all except the most formal occasions. The silk glove, indeed, has recently been brought to a very high state of perfection through the growing skill of textile experts and inventors, and by the application of the best glove-cutting and sewing methods; the latter, which have worked such changes in the style and fit of kid gloves, have done no less, proportionately, for the elevating of the silk glove. The soft, delicate, yet firm Milanaise silk fabric now clothes the hands as smoothly, and renders their shape as comely and as full of character, as the kid glove long has been wont to do. Indeed, it disguises the hand even less, and is a real test of shapely knuckles and tapering finger tips. Also, the glistening silk itself is peculiarly seductive, at the same time that it delights the wearer with its luxurious and cleanly contact.

While kid gloves must be regarded as an art whose secrets are best known to the French, fabric, and particularly silk, gloves are manufactured with enviable success in our own country. Doubtless one of the most interesting glove mills to visit is a well-known factory located in the Alleghany industrial district of Pennsylvania, which, though occupying a comparatively small area, is wonderfully complete and efficient, and turns out by the latest approved methods a large output of high class Milanaise gloves. The president of this company, who is hands, feet and brains to his mill—also a practical inventor and a lover of machines—has made it possible, by courteous attention to every requirement of the trade, to place upon the market a superior product, and to win and hold the confidence of his business associates.

A visit to this particular mill is doubly affording to the student of glove-making because here they weave and dye their own silk fabric. We are able to follow the process from a skein of raw silk to the finished glove in all its accuracy and beauty. Every step in its evolution is attended with admirable carefulness and despatch—the glove emerging almost miraculously from the crude material as it is passed swiftly from one operator to another, each worker contributing one factor more to its final perfection.

The silk strand arrives “in the raw” from Japan, packed in straw bales, and might easily be mistaken for a shipment of tea. In this state the silk resembles fine white hair or, even more closely, spun sugar. It is sent in quantities, as needed, to the spinners, and on its return is put through a boiling process to remove a gummy substance inherent in the crude product.

The strand is now ready to make the acquaintance of the machines. First of all, it must be wound by machinery upon spools. This process is known, simply, as the winding process. The neatly, evenly wound silk is then conveniently fed from the spools onto other machines which transform it into the warp or foundation for the silk fabric. These warps vary greatly in width—some being like ribbons, measuring about six inches across, others measuring 144 and even 168 inches. They are delicate webs of shining silk with the threads running in a single direction—vertically, to be exact.

Weaving machines next receive the warped silk. Each of these machines is equipped with four thousand needles, or twenty-eight needles to every inch, which knit up the silken web into cloth. As fast as woven, it is dropped and rolled upon a long cylinder; it is very soft and satiny and astonishingly resembles a mass of molasses candy which has been “pulled” until it is snowy white and of glistening smoothness. It is now ready to be dyed. The dyeing is one of the few primitive steps retained in the entire process. This operation is performed by hand, and the material is lifted and worked on long sticks to ensure evenness of color. No machine is capable of giving such satisfactory results.

The final step in preparing the fabric, however—the dressing or finishing—is done by means of an elaborate machine, consisting of sets of copper cylinders or rollers. The wet, freshly dyed silk cloth is brought to the dressing machine a hopeless looking mass of soppiness and wrinkles. It is rolled upon a large cylinder which passes it on to one smaller in diameter, which, in turn, feeds it off onto a rectangular frame provided with rows of sharp points, like pin points, on both edges. Between these points the silk is stretched as tight as the inflated skin of a balloon. The frame bearing the taut silk is then carried through a long, narrow, heated tent, some twelve feet in extent. It emerges at the opposite end, thoroughly pressed, smooth and finished, and is again rolled on cylinders with layers of paper between the breadths of the silk, in case the fabric may still be a trifle damp, in order to ensure the perfection of the silk.

The Milanaise or Italian silk is now ready for the glove makers. First it passes into the hands of the cutters, who block out and cut by means of dies pieces of silk of the right size for each glove. These dies vary according to the many different sizes of gloves. Another set of cutters takes these pieces and places them in punches which mechanically cut out the shapes of the fingers and the reinforcements for the tips of the first three fingers. These reinforcements hang onto the ends of the fingers. Still other cutters cut out gussets, fourchettes and thumbs from scraps of the silk cloth, to be fitted into the glove when it is sewn together later. In this way every morsel of the silk is utilized.

Before the gloves at this stage are handed over to the sewers they are stamped in a press with the name of the company which has ordered them for its trade. Aluminum leaf is used in this process, and silver lettering is the result.

Women seated at sewing machines now receive the cut, marked gloves, and the first step toward joining their many parts consists in stitching the reinforcements onto the ends of the fingers. This, of course, gives the double finger tip and is a protection against wear. The backs of the gloves next are finished with fancy embroidery stitchery. In the simplest and cheapest gloves this is accomplished by a single operation. But as gloves rise in quality and price, the embroidered backs become more elaborate.