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In front of the barrelling-shop towered a mountain of washed barrels. There was a continuous dull noise of lids being hammered on the barrels. From the big vat the undiluted soy gushed with terrific force. Four-gallon barrels formed a row over the matting that had been spread for them. In the midst of all this, the workers of No. 11 kept up operations. They worked on into the night. Even the furnaces, kept burning incessantly, groaned under the strain.

In tying up the barrels, the foremen utilized competition as a means of increasing the efficiency of the farmers who had just become accustomed to the work. In the electric light the rope, as it was hauled at roughly and twisted round one barrel, looked like a wriggling snake.

Further off a tank of pulp bubbled under compressed air. A truck loaded with barrels, all with new labels on them, dashed along at full speed towards the pier; the sound of the wheels echoed in the concrete cavern.

Chiun’s ghost had hidden himself. The company, in its struggle against Yamaki had, at any cost, to fulfil all orders. Autumn was the rush time in the soy industry. The men were paid special rates for night work. For those who stayed in the company’s dormitory there were special rewards.

In other factories the men lived together in special quarters. 150 men slept in one room with fifty mats. That meant three men to one mat.