Henry Ford's Own Story. Rose Wilder Lane

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      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4057664620934

Table of Contents

       CHAPTER I ONE SUMMER’S DAY

       CHAPTER II MENDING A WATCH

       CHAPTER III THE FIRST JOB

       CHAPTER IV AN EXACTING ROUTINE

       CHAPTER V GETTING THE MACHINE IDEA

       CHAPTER VI BACK TO THE FARM

       CHAPTER VII THE ROAD TO HYMEN

       CHAPTER VIII MAKING A FARM EFFICIENT

       CHAPTER IX THE LURE OF THE MACHINE SHOPS

       CHAPTER X “WHY NOT USE GASOLINE?”

       CHAPTER XI BACK TO DETROIT

       CHAPTER XII LEARNING ABOUT ELECTRICITY

       CHAPTER XIII EIGHT HOURS, BUT NOT FOR HIMSELF

       CHAPTER XIV STRUGGLING WITH THE FIRST CAR

       CHAPTER XV A RIDE IN THE RAIN

       CHAPTER XVI ENTER COFFEE JIM

       CHAPTER XVII ANOTHER EIGHT YEARS

       CHAPTER XVIII WINNING A RACE

       CHAPTER XIX RAISING CAPITAL

       CHAPTER XX CLINGING TO A PRINCIPLE

       CHAPTER XXI EARLY MANUFACTURING TRIALS

       CHAPTER XXII AUTOMOBILES FOR THE MASSES

       CHAPTER XXIII FIGHTING THE SELDON PATENT

       CHAPTER XXIV “THE GREATEST GOOD TO THE GREATEST NUMBER”

       CHAPTER XXV FIVE DOLLARS A DAY MINIMUM

       CHAPTER XXVI MAKING IT PAY

       CHAPTER XXVII THE IMPORTANCE OF A JOB

       CHAPTER XXVIII A GREAT EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTION

       CHAPTER XXIX THE EUROPEAN WAR

       CHAPTER XXX THE BEST PREPAREDNESS

CHAPTER I

       ONE SUMMER’S DAY

       Table of Contents

      It was a hot, sultry day in the last of July, one of those Eastern summer days when the air presses heavily down on the stifling country fields, and in every farmyard the chickens scratch deep on the shady side of buildings, looking for cool earth to lie upon, panting.

      “This weather won’t hold long,” William Ford said that morning, giving the big bay a friendly slap and fastening the trace as she stepped over. “We’d better get the hay under cover before night.”

      There was no sign of a cloud in the bright, hot sky, but none of the hired men disputed him. William Ford was a good farmer, thrifty and weather-wise. Every field of his 300-acre farm was well cared for, yielding richly every year; his cattle were fat and sleek, his big red barns the best filled in the neighborhood. He was not the man to let ten acres of good timothy-and-clover hay get caught in a summer shower and spoil.

      They put the big hay-rack on the wagon, threw in the stone water jugs, filled with cool water from the well near the kitchen door, and drove out to the meadow. One imagines them working there, lifting great forksful of the clover-scented hay, tossing them into the rack, where, on the rising mound, the youngest man was kept busy shifting and settling them with his fork. Grasshoppers whirred up from the winrows of the dried grass when they were disturbed, and quails called from the fence corners.

      Now and then the men stopped to wipe the sweat from their foreheads and to take long swallows from the water jugs, hidden, for coolness, under a mound of hay. Then, with a look at the sky, they took up their forks.

      William Ford worked with the others, doing a good day’s task with the best of them, and proud of it. He was the owner, and they were the hired men, but on a Michigan farm the measure of a man is the part he takes СКАЧАТЬ