The following day John woke up feeling refreshed. The first thing that greeted him was the unmissable sound of a city at work. And while it was a distance away from the part of the city his family house was in the sound was only slightly muted.
Putting on rather plain attire he got ready. When packing his grandfather made him bring clothes that could get dirty as he would visit the factory, it would not make sense to get a lovely outfit dirty to keep up appearances. Heading downstairs he realized that it was still quite early and his grandfather was not awake yet.
Having time on his hands he explored the house for a while. Just by the layout, it was easy to tell that this house was to be used for business. The first floor was entirely made up of offices, and large meeting rooms, filled with shelves upon shelves of business records. The only exception is the kitchen next to the staircase. The second floor was the opposite, it had 3 bedrooms, a private dining room, and a small library.
Deciding to wait and read John worked through a few chapters of "The Theory of Moral Sentiments" a new book only a few years old by philosopher Adam Smith.
Hearing a stirring from down the hall he was greeted by William in modest attire, nicer than his but far from the extravagant clothes most of the wealthy merchants of the Middle colonies wear.
"Morning John, how did you sleep." He says still sounding quite tired and groggy.
"I am feeling quite well today," John said back.
They both ate breakfast and headed out for the day. Getting in the carriage it pulled out into the streets of Philadelphia. John had little memories from the times he was in the city as his brain was still too undeveloped to create long-term memories. Traveling through the shopping district of the city the scene was one to truly behold.
Hundreds of people made their way through the streets going about their days. He saw one man carrying a sack of something walk into a nearby store. A woman holding her son's hand as they shop in a stall on the street. But among all this, John sees something that startles him.
Walking out of a store was a man wearing affluent clothing carrying a small bag but behind him was an African man in poor-looking clothing carrying a large bag of something following him.
John knew that slavery existed, it was a fact of this era. But the memories and sensibilities of his former life combined with the Quaker sensibilities that his grandfather and mother instilled in him made it feel like a knife was plunged into his heart.
Feeling a bit sick he feels the blood drain from his face. Looking over to William he says. "Hey Grandpa"
"Yes John," he says looking slightly startled at his grandson's suddenly sickly disposition. "What is wrong"
"Thank you for not stooping to owning people," John says in the most sincere way of saying it.
Hearing this William understands his grandson's reason for looking sick as he thinks that he finally saw slavery for the first time and given his upbringing it made him sick.
Giving a small smile he looks at him, "Of course John. All human life has value, no matter the culture, faith or how uncivilized." Turning to look out of the window he continues, "But unlike many other men and women who share our faith, I do not believe in passivity. When we are threatened or need to keep our values and dignity. We must stand up and fight for what we believe in." Turing toward John again looks stern, "That is why I have been having you trained in how to fight, and soon how to lead if necessary. You are of the colonies upper class and it would be likely that if we are called to war, you may be forced to take l leading role."
But as they turned a corner in the carriage and the two men were jostled around his disposition changed almost instantly.
"Oh, we're almost to the factory. Get ready to step outside soon." William says straightening his collar.
Pulling up outside of a large building on the west bank of Philadelphia William opens the carriage door and steps out onto the paved cobblestone street in front of them.
Hopping out as well he stumbles from the drop to the street. Picking himself up and brushing off the dirt on his pants he looks up at the building.
Above the door hung a sign "J.C Pencil Company" Looking startled John turned to his grandfather who was wearing the biggest grin he had ever seen.
"Grandpa, what is that" he said pointing at the sign above the door with a look of visible shock plastered on his face.
"That my genius of a grandson," he said pausing for a second to build suspense, "is your gift for all you've done for me these past few years."
"WHAT," John said shocked.
"This company, while technically owned by me is yours." William said looking too smug, "You can buy the materials at cost from the mines and mills, and in return, you get to run it and keep 90% of profits."
This stunned John, he had his source of income he could use for his projects. While he knew that his grandfather would be willing to help him, to have his finances would put him at great ease.
"Well, enough waiting around," William says as he starts walking toward the front door. "It is time to see what your idea has given us."
Quickly following his grandpa inside the building he sees tables set up from one side of the building. There are furnaces in the corner for the creation of cores. There are carving stations for making the shells. And there are big buckets of paste being mixed. In the far corner, there are books of pencils bound together in packs of 12 sitting in large boxes.
Standing between the tables, moving boxes, and doing many other things associated with the pencil-making process are around a dozen workers. Giving a smile at the industry taking place he walks to the factory floor with his grandpa.
"How much money are we making" he asks looking up as his grandfather still towers over him.
"We sell a box of 240 for three pounds a piece. It costs us around 15 shillings to make a box so that is a good profit per box. We are already selling hundreds of boxes across the 13 colonies and a few merchants from around America including the Spanish and French are beginning to take notice. It is only a matter of time before we start selling these beauties to mainland Europe." Getting a smile on his face, "They will soon be importing from us, that is a nice change of pace from the normal way of things."
This also causes John to smirk, even though he was technically born a British citizen he still considered himself to be an American, an unfamiliar concept now, but not one that is too far off from forming.