that kind of forced smile on his face that seemed to 

 ask: "Have you come to order paper?" but not a 

 word spoken. 



I handed him my letter of introduction, which he 

 opened holding it in his left hand, alternately reading 

 a few words and scanning me. As he read on his 

 brows contracted, his flabby cheeks became taut, the 

 muscles at the corners of his mouth twitched; his 

 shock-head rocked from side to side, his right arm 

 jerked with a kind of pawing motion, calling forcibly 

 to mind a bull lashing himself into a dangerous rage. 

 Suddenly with a blow of the fist of his right hand, he 

 crushed the letter into the palm of his left, and burst 

 forth: "What does De la Rue mean by writing this 

 to me, if he did write it? He knows as well as any 

 man that I never admit strangers to my mill. I've 

 told him so a hundred times, and now to send here 

 and expect me to show my mill to (something that 

 sounded like) a d d Yankee." 



In spite of disappointment, the disposition to laugh 

 outright at the impotent passion the man had lashed 

 himself into was almost irrepressible. I stood a 

 moment in hopes the froth and scum would boil over, 

 but, seeing no indication, I said that if I had been 

 made aware of his rules and regulations I should not 

 have intruded; that I had visited many manufac- 

 tories, and heretofore had met with courtesy. I then 

 added that on the way to his mill I had noticed 

 crowds of people in hop fields, which was something 

 new to me, and if I could venture, without danger of 

 being expelled or arrested for trespass, I should like 

 to learn something of the management of a hop crop. 



He said, "You can go where you like, so it is outside 

 of this mill, and the sooner you are off the better." 

 On this, as we say here in the West, I sloped. 



As I walked into the nearest hop field I tried to 

 make excuses for the man's rudeness and insolence, it 

 being the first case of the kind I had met with in 

 England. I had learned that the man had worked 

 up from a hand in a paper mill to become a proprietor 

 of a mill, mainly through his skill in making with 

 uniformity the beautiful neutral tinted papers then 

 the rage for the kind of work turned out by Dobbs 

 and the De la Rues. I had understood that this 

 portion of the work was always done by himself, not 

 communicating his secrets to any one of his employees; 

 this would account for his exclusiveness — the dread of 

 interlopers — but was no excuse for his insolence. 



Looking back towards the mill, I saw him get into 

 the gig, and drive off towards Maidstone, venting his 

 passion through his whip on his horse, that he was 



urging on at a furious rate. The question with myself 

 was how far I would be justified in surreptitiously 

 obtaining the information I was in search of. By my 

 understanding with Mr. Ibotson, if I found the pulp 

 dresser was anything likely to supplant his and my 

 father's, nothing further was to be done: but if 

 Crusty's (as I must now call him) was an infringe- 

 ment on Ibotson that could legally be enjoined and 

 damages recovered, then our trade was to be con- 

 summated. By it, Ibotson was to pay all expenses of 

 securing a patent, as introducer, or to suppress my 

 father's, at his option, to pay £200 — £50 cash, the 

 remainder in royalties — as the machines were intro- 

 duced, whether under the Ibotson patent or my 

 father's plan. 



I felt that by spending a few days at Maidstone I 

 could make the acquaintance of some of the operatives 

 in the machine room, and by a little money in a social 

 way get at the secret of the pulp dresser. Such a 

 thought would not have been entertained for a 

 moment had I been treated with common civility 

 in being refused admittance. While studying on 

 this, I again chanced to look towards the mill, and 

 saw a plank thrown from a window of the machine 

 room across the mill race, and a man. with the con- 

 ventional paper-maker's square cap on his head, 

 cross on the plank, and quickly run to a cottage 

 nearby. I hurried to intercept him as he would 

 return, and was just in time to meet him as he came 

 out of the cottage. 



Pointing to the mill, I asked him if he could tell me 

 what that building was. 



"A paper mill." 



I then asked, "Do they make the long paper in 

 sheets, as they do in America?" 



"Do you be an American?" 



"Yes." 



"Did you ever happen to see John Hani 



He 



a papermaker, and he says in his letter that he works 

 for Mr. Robinson, near Philadelphia." 



"No, I have never met him; but I know Mr. Robin- 

 son." I said I had often seen them making sheets of 

 paper in his mill. I took out my memorandum book, 

 asked the man his name, and offered to carry any 

 message to his friend Hanlon, through Mr. Robinson, 

 whom I should certainly see on my return to America. 



This opened the flood-gates, and had there been 

 time, and I inclined to listen, I should have had a 

 whole family genealogy, as well as that of the Han- 

 Ions, and how the man was saving every penny he 



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