This was the great sporting gun
works. Hamilton was passionately fond of sport, and had owned a
Winchester ever since he was twelve years old. Indeed, he had read up on
guns a good deal, and it was one of his hobbies.
His delight was great, therefore, when at the end of a long day, after
he had turned in his schedule to his chief, the latter said:
"Noble, your work is good. Johnson is faster. Up to last night he had
turned in one, decimal five-two per cent more establishments than you,
but your proportion of capital invested is larger, showing that the
works you went to took more time. Your schedules are better. This takes
a little over one-fifth more of my own time than I had figured at first.
I was going to do the Winchester works myself. I think you can do it.
You had better go ahead. It's complicated, but they'll help you all they
can. There's not much time left."
"Very well, Mr. Burns," said Hamilton decisively with the
characteristic raising and lowering of his eyebrows, "I'll get all there
is, all right."
The next morning, about ten o'clock, Hamilton presented himself at the
general offices of the company on the outskirts of the town, about a
mile from the college.
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