Part 3

Besides writing and wrapping papers and the various kinds of board, there are many sorts which are used for special purposes. India paper, for instance, is light, smooth, and strong, so opaque that printing will not show through it, and so lasting that if it is crumpled, it can be ironed out and be as good as new. This is used for books that are expected to have hard wear but must be of light weight. There are tissue papers, crêpe papers for napkins, and tarred paper to make roofs and even boats water-tight. If tar is brushed on, it may make bubbles which will break afterwards and let water in; but if tar is made a part of the paper itself, it lasts. Paper can easily be waxed or paraffined, and will then keep out air and moisture for some time. Better still, it can be treated with oil and will then make a raincoat that will stand a year's wear, or even, if put on a bamboo frame, make a very good house, as the Japanese found out long ago. Paper coated with powdered gum and tin is used for packing tea and coffee. Transfer or carbon papers so much used in making several copies of an article on the typewriter are made by coating paper with starch, flour, gum, and coloring matter. Paper can be used for shoes and hats, ties, collars, and even for "rubbers." It has been successfully used for sails for light vessels, and is excellent made into light garments for hospital use because it is so cheap that it can be burned after wearing. Wood pulp can be run through fine tubes into water and made so pliable that it can be twisted into cord or spun and woven into "silk." Not only water but also fire can be kept out by paper if it is treated with the proper substances. An object can be covered with a paste of wood pulp, silica, and hemp; and when this is dry, a coat of water-glass will afford considerable protection. There has been some degree of success in making transparent paper films for moving pictures; and if these are coated with water-glass, they will not burn. Paper can be so treated that it will either conduct electricity or become a nonconductor, as may be desired. In Germany, a "sandwich paper" has been made by pressing together four layers--felt, pulp, cotton, pulp--which is cheap and strong and useful for many purposes.

When we come to papier maché, there is no end to the kinds of articles that are made of it. The papier maché, or _paper pulped_, is made by kneading old newspapers or wrapping papers with warm water into a pulp. Clay and coloring are added and something of the nature of glue; and it is then put into a mould. Sometimes to make it stronger for large mouldings, bits of canvas or even wire are also used. The best papier maché is made of pure wood cellulose. The beautiful boxes and trays covered with lacquer which the Japanese and Chinese make are formed of this; but it has many much humbler uses than these. Paper screws are employed in ornamental wood work, and if a hole is begun for such a screw, it will twist its way into soft wood as well as steel would do. Barrels of paper reinforced with wire are common. Gear wheels and belt pulleys are made of papier maché, and even the wheels of railroad coaches; at least the body of the wheels is made of it, although the tire, hub, and axle are of cast-steel. Circular saws of pulp are in use which cut thin slices of veneer so smoothly that they can be used without planing. Papier maché is used for water pipes, the bodies of carriages, hencoops, and garages. Indeed, it is quite possible to build a house, shingle it, decorate it with elaborate mouldings and cornices, finish it with panels, wainscoting, imitation tiling, and furnish it with light, comfortable furniture covered with imitation leather, silk, or cloth, and spread on its floors soft, thick carpets or rugs woven in beautiful designs--and all made of wood pulp. Even the window panes could be made of pulp; and if they were not perfectly transparent, they would at least let in a soft, agreeable light, and they would not break. Pails, washtubs, bathtubs, and even dishes of paper can be easily found. There are not only the paper cups provided on railroad trains and the cheap picnic plates and saucers, but some that are really pretty. Ice cream is sometimes served in paper dishes and eaten with paper spoons. Milk bottles are successfully made of paper, with a long strip of some transparent material running up and down the side to show how much--or how little--cream is within. Napkins and tablecloths made of paper thread woven into "cloth" are cheaper than linen and can be washed as easily. Paper towels and dishcloths are already common; but when paper shall fully come to its own, it is quite possible that there will be little washing of dishes. They can be as pretty as any one could wish, but so cheap that after each meal they can be dropped into the fire. Indeed, there are few things in a house, except a stove, that cannot be made of some form of paper,--and perhaps that too will be some day.

V

HOW BOOKS ARE MADE

The first step in making ready to print a manuscript is to find out how many words there are in it, what kind of type to use, how much "leading" or space between the lines there shall be, and what shall be the size of the page. In deciding these questions, considerable thinking has to be done. If the manuscript is a short story by a popular author, it may be printed with wide margins and wide leading in order to make a book of fair size. If it is a lengthy manuscript which will be likely to sell at a moderate but not a high price, it is best to use only as much leading as is necessary to make the line stand out clearly, and to print with a margin not so wide as to increase the expense of the book. The printer prints a sample of the page decided upon, any desired changes are made, and then the making of the book begins.

[Illustration: _Courtesy The Riverside Press._

WHERE THIS BOOK WAS SET UP

The monotype girl wrote these words on her keyboard, where they made tiny holes in a roll of paper. The roll went to the casting-room where it guided a machine to make the type much as a perforated music-roll guides a piano to play a tune.]

The type is kept in a case at which the compositor stands. This case is divided into shallow compartments, each compartment containing a great many e's or m's as the case may be. The "upper case" contains capitals; the "lower case," small letters. Those letters which are used most often are put where the compositor can reach them most readily. He stands before his case with a "composing stick" in his hand. This "stick" is a little iron frame with a slide at the side, so that the line can be made of any length desired. The workman soon learns where each letter is, and even an apprentice can set the type in his stick reasonably rapidly. On one side of every piece of type there is a groove, so that he can tell by touch whether it is right side up or not. He must look out especially to make his right-hand margins regular. You will notice in books that the lines are all of the same length, although they do not contain the same number of letters. The compositor brings this about by arranging his words and spaces skillfully. The spaces must be as nearly as possible of the same length, and yet the line must be properly filled. If a line is too full, he can sometimes place the last syllable on the following line; if it is not full enough, he can borrow a syllable, and he can at least divide his space so evenly that the line will not look as if it were broken in two.

Not many years ago all type was set in this manner; but several machines have now been invented which will do this work. In one of the best of them the operator sits before a keyboard much like that of a typewriter. When he presses key _a_, for instance, a mould or matrix of the letter _a_ is set free from a tube of _a_'s, and slides down to its place in the stick. At the end of the line, the matrices forming it are carried in front of a slot where melted type metal from a reservoir meets them. Thus a cast is made of the matrices, and from this cast the printing is done. This machine is called a linotype because it casts a whole line of type at a time.

Most book work is done on the monotype machine. When a manuscript goes to the press to be set up in this way, the copy is given to the keyboard operator who sets it up on a machine which looks much like a typewriter. Instead of writing letters, however, the machine punches tiny holes in a strip of paper which is wound on a roll. When the roll is full it goes to the casting room where it is put on another machine containing hot type metal and bronze matrices from which the letters of the words are to be cast. The holes in the paper guide the machine to make the type much as a perforated music roll guides a piano to play a tune. The reason why the machine is called a monotype is that the letters are made one at a time, and _monos_ is the Greek word for _one_.

By the linotype and monotype machines type can be set in a "galley," a narrow tray about two feet long, with ledges on three sides. When a convenient number of these galleys have been filled, long slips are printed from them called "galley proofs." These have wide margins, but the print is of the width that the page of the book will be. They are read by the proof-readers, and all such mistakes as the slipping in of a wrong letter, or a broken type, the repetition of a word, or the omission of space between words are corrected. Then the proof goes to the author, who makes any changes in his part of the work which seem to him desirable; and it is also read by some member of the editorial department. If there are many changes to be made, another proof is usually taken and sent to the author.

The reason for this extreme carefulness is that it costs much less to make changes in the galley proof than in the "page proof." This latter is made by dividing the galley into pages, leaving space for the beginnings of chapters and for pictures, if any are to appear on the printed pages, and setting up the numbers of the pages and their running titles. Page proof also goes to proof-readers and to the author. Corrections on page proof are more expensive than on galley proof because adding or striking out even a few words may make it necessary to change the arrangement on every page to the end of the chapter.

Years ago all books were printed directly from the type; and some are still printed so. After printing, the letters were returned to their compartments. If a second edition was called for, the type had to be set again. Now, however, books are generally printed not from type, but from a copper model of the type. To make this, an impression of the page of type is made in wax and covered with graphite, which will conduct electricity. These moulds are hung in a bath of copper sulphate, where there are also large plates of copper. A current of electricity is passed through it, and wherever the graphite is, a shell of copper is deposited, which is exactly like the face of the type. This shell is very thin, but it is made strong by adding a heavy back of melted metal. From these plates the books are printed. A correction made in the plate is more expensive than it would have been if made in the galley or in the page, because sawing out a word or a line is slow, delicate work; and even if one of the same length is substituted, the types spelling it have to be set up, a small new plate cast, and soldered in.

[Illustration: _Courtesy The Riverside Press._

WHERE THIS BOOK WAS PRINTED

The girls are feeding big sheets of paper into the presses, thirty-two pages being printed at one time. The paper is fed into many modern presses by means of a machine attached to the press. The pressmen see that the printing is done properly.]

Printing one page at a time would be altogether too slow; therefore the plates are arranged in such a way that sixteen, thirty-two, or sometimes sixty-four pages can be printed on one side of the paper, and the same number on the other side. Every page must come in its proper place when the sheet is folded for binding. Try to arrange a sheet of even sixteen pages, eight on each side, so that when it is folded every page will be in the right place with its printing right side up, and you will find that it is not very easy until you have had considerable experience. If the sheet is folded into four leaves, the

## book is called a "quarto," or "4to"; if into eight, it is an "octavo,"

or "8vo"; if into twelve, a "duodecimo," or "12mo." Books are sometimes advertised in these terms; but they are not definite, because the sheets of the different varieties of paper vary in size. Of late years, publishers have often given the length and width of their books in inches.

After the sheets come from the press, they are folded to page size. Sometimes this is done by hand, but more often by a folding machine through which the sheet of paper travels, meeting blunt knives which crease it and fold it. If you look at the top of a book you will see that the leaves are put together in groups or "signatures." These signatures usually contain eight, sixteen, or thirty-two pages. If the paper is very thick, not more than eight leaves will be in a signature; if of ordinary thickness, sixteen are generally used. The signatures are piled up in order, and a "gatherer" collects one from each pile for every book.

The book is now gathered and "smashed," or pressed enough to make it solid and firm for binding. Next the signatures are sewed and the book is trimmed so the edges will be even. If the edges are to be gilded, the book is put in a gilding press and a skillful workman covers the edges with a sizing made of the white of eggs. Gold leaf is then laid upon them and they are burnished with tools headed with agate and bloodstone or instruments of various sorts until they are bright. Sometimes the edges are "marbled," and this is an interesting process to watch. On the surface of a vat of thin sizing the marbler drops a little of many colors of paint. Then he draws a comb lightly across the surface, making all sorts of odd figures, no two alike. The book is held tight and the edges are allowed to touch the sizing. All these odd figures are now transferred to the edges of the leaves and will stand a vast amount of hard use before they will wear off.

Thus far the book is flat at the edges of the leaves and at the back. Books are sometimes bound in this way, but the backs are usually rounded into an outward curve, and the fronts into an inward curve. This is done by a machine. At each end of the outward curve a deep groove is pressed to receive the cover. To make the covers of a cloth-bound book, two pieces of pasteboard of the right size are cut and laid upon a piece of cloth coated with glue. The edges of the cloth are turned over and pressed down, as you can often see if the paper lining of the cover is not too heavy. The cover needs now only its decorations to be complete. A die is made for these, and the lettering and ornamentation are stamped on in colors. If more than one color is used, a separate die has to be made for each. If this work is to be done in gold, the design is stamped on lightly and sizing made of white of eggs is brushed on wherever the gold is to come. Gold leaf is laid upon this sizing, and the cover is stamped again. The same die is used, but this time it is hot enough to make the gold and egg stick firmly to the cover. To put the cover on, a piece of muslin called a "super" is glued to the back of the book with its ends projecting over the sides, and a strip of cartridge paper is glued over the super. Then the book is pasted into the cover. It is now kept under heavy pressure for a number of hours until it is thoroughly dry and ready to be sent away for sale.

So it is that a well-made cloth-bound book is manufactured. Leather-bound books are more expensive, not only because their materials cost more, but also because the greater part of the work of binding and decorating has to be done by hand. If a book is to be illustrated, this must also be attended to, the number and style of the pictures decided upon, and the artist engaged before the book is put in press, in order that there may be no delay in completing it.

Many publishers do not print at all, but have their work done at some printing establishment. Where all the making of a book, however, from manuscript to cover, is in the hands of one firm, there is a certain fellow-feeling among the different departments, and a wholesome pride in making each one of "our books" as excellent as possible in every detail. As one of the women workers in such an establishment said to me, "I often think that we become almost as interested in a book as the author is."

VI

FROM GOOSE QUILLS TO FOUNTAIN PENS AND LEAD PENCILS

Whenever there was a convenient goosepond on the way to school, the children of less than one hundred years ago used to stop there to hunt for goose quills. They carried these to the teacher, and with his penknife--which took its name from the work it did--he cut them into the shape of pens. The points soon wore out, and "Teacher, will you please mend my pen?" was a frequent request.

When people began to make pens of steel, they made them as nearly like quill pens as possible, with pen and holder all in one. These were called "barrel pens." They were stiff, hard, and expensive, especially as the whole thing was useless as soon as the pen was worn out, but they were highly esteemed because they lasted longer than quills and did not have to be mended. After a while separate pens were manufactured that could be slipped into a holder; and one improvement after another followed until little by little the cheap, convenient writing tool that we have to-day was produced.

A pen is a small thing, but each one is worked upon by twenty to twenty-four persons before it is allowed to be sold. The material is the best steel. It comes in sheets five feet long and nineteen inches wide, and about one fortieth of an inch thick, that is, three times as thick as the finished pen. The first machine cuts the sheet crosswise into strips from two to three inches wide, varying according to the size of the pen to be made. These strips are put into iron boxes and kept at a red heat for a number of hours to anneal or soften them. Then they pass between heavy rollers, a process which not only helps to toughen them, but also stretches the steel so that it is now fifty inches long instead of nineteen.

At least six or seven people have handled the material already, and even now there is nothing that looks like pens; but the next machine cuts them out, by dies, of course. The points interlap; and the cutting leaves odd-shaped openwork strips of steel for the scrap-heap. This part of the work is very quick, for the machine will cut thousands of pens in an hour. Now is when the little hole above the slit is punched and the side slits cut. To make the steel soft and pliable, it must be annealed again, kept red hot for several hours, and then cooled. Thus far it has looked like a tiny fence paling, but at length it begins to resemble a pen, for it is now stamped with whatever letters or designs may be desired, usually the name of the maker and the name and number of the variety of pen, and it is pressed between a pair of dies to form it into a curve. The last annealing left the metal soft so that all this could be done, but too soft to work well as a pen; and it has to be heated red hot again, and then dropped into cold oil to harden it. Centrifugal force, which helps in so many manufactures, drives the oil away, and the pens are dried in sawdust. They are now sufficiently hard, but too brittle. They must be tempered. To do this, they are placed in an iron cylinder over a fire, and the cylinder revolved till the pen is as elastic as a spring.

The pen is of the correct shape, is tough and elastic; and now it is put into "tumbling barrels" which revolve till it is bright and ready for the finishing touches. If you look closely at the outside of a steel pen just above the nib, you will see that across it run tiny lines. They have a use, for they hold the ink back so that it will not roll down in drops, and they help to make the point more springy and easier to write with.

The pen must be slit up from the point. This is done by a machine, and a most accurate one, for the cut must go exactly through the center of the point and not reach beyond the little hole that was punched. Only one thing is lacking now to make the pen a useful member of society, ready to do its work in the world; and that is to grind off the points and round them in order to keep them from sticking into the paper.