"We are over three hundred men short, and it's getting worse every day.

Let me tell you what munition factories are paying for good mechanics--" Mary still sat in her wicker chair, back of the flowers, and looked around at the paintings on the walls--of the Josiah Spencers who had lived and laboured in the past.

"They all look quiet, as though they never talked much," she thought.

"It seems so silly to talk, anyhow, when you know what you are going to do." But still the argument across the desk continued, and again Uncle Stanley began to gain his point.
"So you see," he finally concluded, "it's just as I said a few minutes ago.

I can manufacture bearings, but I can't manufacture men!" From behind the roses then a patient voice spoke.
"You don't have to manufacture men.