Devon (England) -- Fiction; Husband and wife -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Paper mills -- Fiction
They visited the Arts and Crafts Exhibition, where the new Dene
water-mark pictures created daily admiration, completed their holiday
and so returned; and their homecoming was anticipated in various ways,
showing, though ignorance is the root of all evil, as Jordan never
wearied of declaring, that even ignorant hearts may soar to heights of
distinguished humanism.
CHAPTER XIV
THE DRYING LOFTS
A dozen great piles of “water leaf” had come up from the vat room to
the hand presses, and here the paper, from which tons of crystal water
had already been expressed below, under new and tremendous pressure
yielded still more. Indeed, with half a dozen men bearing on the levers
of the presses, the “water leaf,” that had appeared so dry, beaded and
glittered and then exuded further rivulets of moisture. For the last
turn of the screw a great beam was thrust into the press and as many
men as could get purchase upon it lent their united strength. Ernest
Trood, passing through the pressing room, gave a hand, and a stack of
newly made paper was subjected to such strain that one had thought it
must disintegrate beneath it.
Here, under this tremendous impost, the grain mark, or pattern imparted
to each sheet by the felts at the first pressing in the vat room, was
removed.
For the drying lofts the paper was next destined and hither Ernest
Trood now found himself summoned by a messenger. Mr. Trenchard desired
to speak with him.
The drying lofts were enormous airy chambers that ascended to an
unceiled roof. Through the twilight gloom of these apartments,
the sheets of paper, large and small, glimmered, hanging aloft in
multi-coloured reams like fairy washing; pink and blue, yellow and
snow-white. The paper seemed to make dim rainbows aloft, where it
ascended tier on tier in many thousands of separate pieces. Every sheet
was suspended over ropes, strung across transverse beams on light
scaffolding, that filled the lofts and ascended into the dark dome of
the roof. Above them spun drying fans, to expel the exhausted air and
suck away the moisture exuding from the masses of paper; while on the
floors beneath there wound and twisted an elaborate system of hot-air
pipes, which raised the temperature at will.
Drying is a process that demands watchfulness and judgment, for wet
paper suspended here on the tackle does not respond in all its parts
simultaneously. From the deckle edge it dries inward and the last spot
to dry is the centre of each sheet. The dry workers, with a hand-tool
like a T square, hang their sheets over the russet, cow-hair ropes;
then when the rope is loaded, pull it aloft; but the art of drying lies
in the regulation of heat and air. The heat is great, yet regular;
every operation is ordered for cleanliness and purity, so that not a
speck of dust may fall to mar a sheet.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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