It s only monotonous, grinding work that needs an eight-hour day. When a man is creating something, working to get results, twelve or fourteen hours a day doesn't hurt him."
Ford put this theory into practice as apparently he had done with all his theories. He himself worked more than fourteen hours a day.
From 6 to 6 he worked in the Edison plant, for his eight-hour régime did not apply to himself. Then he hastened home to the little house on Edison avenue, ate supper and hurried out to his improvised workshop in the old shed. He turned on the big electric lights and there in the glare lay materials for his self-propelling gasoline engine—his real work, which at last he could begin!
Until late at night the neighbors heard the sound of his tools and saw the glare of light through the cracks.
"The Smiths are giving a party to-night—I suppose we can't go?" Mrs. Ford said one evening, wistfully. "Oh, well—when the gasoline engine is finished—how long do you think it's going to take?"
"I don't know—I'm working on the cylinder now. I'll have to have a larger bore to get the speed—and then there'll be the transmission." Ford stopped speaking and was lost in the problems. He finished supper abstractedly and pushed back his chair.
"Oh, about the party. Too bad. I hope you
