3 P.M.
Now , here a week or ten days ago , when I leaves Vee and my peaceful little home after a week-end swing , I expects to be shot up to Amesbury , Mass. , to inspect a gun-limber factory . Am I ? Not at all . By 3 P.M. I 'm in Bridgeport , Conn. , wanderin ' about sort of aimless , and tryin ' to size up a proposition that I 'm about as well qualified to handle as a plumber 's helper called in to tune a pipe organ . Why was it that some three thousand hands in one of our sub-contractin ' plants was bent on gettin ' stirred up and messy about every so often , in spite of all that had been done to soothe 'em ? Does that listen simple , or excitin ' , or even interestin ' ? It did n't to me .