The Story of Silk Part 12

"No. About 1870 the Chinese silk dealers got it through their heads that what the American manufacturers demanded was a heavy silk thread. Now instead of selecting more carefully the coc.o.o.ns from which they wound their raw silk and reeling it more perfectly, they set their ingenuity to work to increase the weight of the fibre itself by loading it with acetate of lead."

"I should think the Americans would have been pretty angry at that!"

"They were. They told the Chamber of Commerce at Shanghai that the United States would refuse to buy silk of China unless this practice was stopped. That scared the people, and for a while the adulteration of the material ceased. But the reform was not for long. From time to time the natives went back to their old tricks until by and by not only America, but even the greater part of Europe, got all out of patience with them. When they finally remedied the evil it was too late. Other countries had learned the art of silk-raising and had stepped in and snapped up most of the trade. My father says that now America, which is the largest silk consumer of the world, buys only about a quarter of her raw silk from China."

"So the evil-doer does not always prosper," laughed Pierre.

"Evidently not. In contrast to China's actions see what j.a.pan did. That nation was enterprising enough to cultivate silk and foster its reeling; and when America sent the j.a.ps machinery they set it up and soon had tremendous filatures run by their own people. There were thousands of factories where whole j.a.panese families were employed in reeling silk from the coc.o.o.ns. The j.a.panese raw silk, however, was not always free from gum, and in time there was so much complaint about this from America that conditioning houses were established at Yokohama where the goods of each j.a.p merchant were examined and his personal trade-mark attached to his wares so if they did not come up to the standard they could be traced back to the owner who shipped them. Now more and more j.a.panese silk is sold, and in the main it is good, although America sometimes complains that it drops below the standard. Certainly no one can begrudge j.a.pan her prosperity, since she had the wit to grasp her opportunity for commerce."

"Surely not."

"I think the trading of different nations one with another is all very interesting, anyway," went on Henri. "Why, we are like one big family--or ought to be! My father has no patience with war. He thinks we should try and overlook the other's faults as we do at home, and live together in peace. We all need each other, and the products peculiar to each land. No one of us can get on without the rest, for as yet no one country has been able to turn out everything its people require. It takes every climate and every national characteristic to bring together the produce of the globe. Besides, trade brings the different races closer together. One of the greatest pities of this war is its interference with commerce through which avenue we were all building up bonds of universal friendship and sympathy. It stands to reason that we understand the people of China or America better if we have dealings with them and meet them sometimes, than if we always stay here in France and read about them, doesn't it? And surely trade brings about greater prosperity everywhere."

"It was to bring back to France that prosperity and peace that your family and mine went to the war," murmured Pierre gently.

"Yes. And if this can be accomplished, and this frightful war be the last war of the world it will be worth all that we have sacrificed,"

returned the older boy fervently. "But peace is a long time in coming."

He sighed.

"And prosperity will be still longer, I fear," added Pierre soberly.

There was an instant of tense silence.

Both boys were thinking.

"Speaking of commerce," resumed Henri, breaking in upon the serious tenor of the moment and speaking in his former tone, "you doubtless know that before the opening of the Suez Ca.n.a.l London was the great raw silk centre of the world; now our own Ma.r.s.eilles leads, or did before this fighting began. And we must not leave out Italy when talking of silk-growing nations, for our neighbors, the Italians, have done as much if not more silk exporting as has France. You see their climate is ideal for raising silkworms; and when they are not beset by a plague that destroys their crops, as it did between 1864 and 1878, the industry prospers wonderfully with them. The thread from the Italian coc.o.o.ns seems to be naturally stronger than ours, and some of the best quality raw silk in the world comes from small Italian villages. Then, too, of course Italian labor is cheap. While in France we pay unskilled reeling operatives from twenty to twenty-five cents a day Italian workmen doing the same thing get only fifteen or twenty cents. There is not so much American machinery used in Italy as here, however, and therefore some merchants in the United States prefer French to Italian thread. But generally speaking the very finest and highest priced silks made in America are manufactured from French or Italian material. For many purposes where less perfect thread is required the Americans use silk from the East. It is cheaper, and manufacturers cannot afford the more costly Italian and French thread for everything they make. Importing the material in bulk, even compactly as it is shipped, is enormously expensive. For you see there is always the chance of loss in the silk business."

"Why?"

"Because although silk is necessary in the manufacture of certain indispensable articles it is for the most part a luxury, and the demand for it fluctuates. When times are hard people go without silk gowns and silk stockings; nor do they expend their money in silk, satin, brocade, or velvet hangings. The fashion, too, has much to do with the demand.

Some seasons women wear only satins and that throws back on the manufacturers the silks they have on hand; or velvets are worn and the satins have to be shelved. The vogue of certain colors also often causes loss. It is a great lottery to be a silk merchant, my father says."

"Certainly the silkworm creates lots of business for people," declared Pierre smiling.

"And the thread for weaving sarsnet--or sateen, taffeta, satin, and velvet, as well as providing the fibres for sewing-silk is not all the little caterpillar gives, either. Had you thought of the oiled silk, used for a thousand and one purposes? Or of the silk-gut we use near the hooks of our fish-lines?"

"I fish with just a string," replied Pierre.

Henri chuckled.

"You are not an expert fisherman then, Pierre," he answered. "Still, one can land a very good fish with a pole and string; I have done it scores of times. But professional fishermen have a bit of silk-gut to connect the hook with the line. Not only is it very strong, but it is invisible when under water. Most of the silk-gut is made in Italy or Spain, the Spaniards surpa.s.sing all others at manufacturing it. Valencia is the chief centre for the industry."

"And how is it made? Spun from silk fibres?"

"Not at all. You remember how, before the silkworm begins to spin, the viscid secretion is stored in the two long ducts at each side of the little creature's body. It is that material which it unites into a single thread in the spinaret, you know. Well, before the worm has a chance to spin, it is put into vinegar and this jellied silk is extracted. It is first soaked in cold water and afterward in a caustic solution so that its outer covering can be loosened and taken off. Then the yellowish gum is dried in a shady place and bleached white by means of sulphur fumes. You can see that it is expensive because so many silkworms must be sacrificed, and because the thread produced is so small. Why, I have read that it takes as many as twenty or thirty thousand strings to make a pound."

Pierre gasped.

"No wonder I don't use silk-gut on my fish-line!" he exclaimed.

In the meantime the boys were pa.s.sing on amid the stifling atmosphere and whirling machines.

Suddenly the noon whistle blew and the busy wheels of the mill became still.

Pierre and Henri were only too glad to emerge with the others from the close, steamy air of the factory into the coolness of the outdoor world.

Down by the river's bank they unpacked their luncheon, a royal feast, for Madame Bretton had sent enough food for both hungry boys. They were in jubilant spirits.

"If I had a line with some silk-gut on it I might perhaps land a trout,"

said Pierre mischievously.

Henri shook his head.

"There are no fish in this stream, because the waste from the mill flows into it. But some day in the spring, when I have a holiday, I can show you a brook up in the hills where you can catch as many trout as you like--silk-gut or no silk-gut," he said.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A ROYAL FEAST]

"There are fishing-holes at Bellerivre, too," retorted Pierre proudly.

"Why should you not make the next visit? You could then see my mother and my sister Marie; and I could show you our silk-house."

The sounding of the whistle cut short further conversation and warned the boys that their day together was at an end. Henri had to go back to the mill and resume work at his machine from which the kindly foreman had released him in the morning; and Pierre must take his train home.

But what a perfect day it had been!

As the engine hurried him toward Bellerivre Pierre busied himself thinking how much he would have to tell his mother and Marie. The village was reached almost before he realized it, and as he descended from the train he was surprised to find Monsieur le Cure standing on the platform to greet him.

The face of the priest was pale, and with apprehension Pierre made his way toward him.

"My son!" was all the old man could say.

Instantly Pierre knew.

"You have bad news, Father," he cried quickly. "It is from the war. Tell me! Do not fear. I am no longer a child."

Trembling, the kindly friend put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"It came this morning--the message," he said. "I did not tell your mother, but waited for you. There has been another great battle and----"

"My father?"

"He is missing, Pierre."

"And Uncle Jacques?"

"He will come no more, my son. He has given his life for France."

[Ill.u.s.tration]