That five-hundred-thousand-dollar military order from Williams Food Company spread throughout New York's business community overnight.
Coupled with the fact that Williams Food Company's canned goods almost dominated New York City, some busybodies called him 'The King of Cans'.
The next morning, just as dawn broke, a dense crowd had already gathered outside the factory's massive iron gate.
These people were dressed in various ways: there were dockworkers in coarse cloth shirts, displaced farmers with the smell of earth on them, and even some southern immigrants who had lost their jobs due to the outbreak of war.
Their only commonality was the yearning for a stable job written on their faces.
They had all heard from those who had entered the factory before that Williams Food Company's wages were, on average, ten percent higher than other factories, and most importantly, it included meals, and it was beef.
Such a good job and a good boss were not easy to come by.
Inside the factory, behind a temporarily set up recruitment desk, Production Supervisor Jones and Security Supervisor Miller sat upright.
Allen had completely delegated the power to recruit frontline workers to them.
Only those who had truly led soldiers and managed people could control these rough men seeking work.
"Next!" Jones shouted gruffly.
A tall, muscular man walked up, chest puffed out.
"What did you do before?" Jones asked without looking up.
"Docks, construction sites, everything," the burly man replied with a hint of arrogance. "I can do the work of two of your men."
Before Jones could speak, Miller, who had been watching the man, slowly spoke, his voice low but heavy.
"Why did you quit your last job?"
"The previous foreman was an idiot, I punched him and got fired," the burly man said nonchalantly.
Miller drew a small cross next to this person's name on the roster in front of him.
Then he gave Jones a look, and Jones immediately understood.
"Alright, we understand your situation. Go home and wait for news."
"Wait for news? Hey, do you people want workers or not?" the burly man grumbled unhappily.
"We want workers, not trouble," Miller's gaze swept over him coldly. "Next."
The burly man wanted to say something else, but seeing Miller's gaze, like he was looking at a dead man, he finally closed his mouth sullenly and walked away muttering.
The second applicant was a somewhat thin middle-aged man. His face was etched with the vicissitudes of life.
Jones scrutinized him, frowning.
"This is physical labor, twelve hours a day, two shifts. Can your body handle it?"
"Sir, I can, please!" the middle-aged man said eagerly.
"I used to drive a carriage, I have plenty of strength. I have two children and a bedridden wife to support at home.
As long as you give me a job, I'll do anything! I promise, I can endure hardship more than anyone, please, sir."
Miller examined him carefully, then stared into his eyes and asked, "Have you ever committed a crime? Or do you like to drink?"
The man shook his head like a rattle drum, he didn't want to lose the opportunity.
"No, absolutely not, I swear, sir!"
"I've never even stepped foot in a police station in my life, and I don't even touch alcohol. Every penny at home has to be used to buy bread and medicine."
Miller was silent for a moment, then nodded gently to Jones.
"You're hired."
Jones wrote his name on the roster upon hearing this.
"Report tomorrow morning at six o'clock sharp, go over there to get your employee badge and uniform."
"Thank you! Thank you, officer! Thank you!"
The middle-aged man was so excited he was incoherent, bowing deeply to the two men, his eyes red.
Recruitment proceeded at such a strict and efficient pace for the entire day.
Jones was responsible for evaluating physical strength, and Miller was responsible for background checks.
One was responsible for selecting parts for the machine, and the other was responsible for removing the parasites from the team.
At the same time, in the quiet office, Miss O'Brien's recruitment was a completely different scene.
"Hello, Miss Smith."
Catherine smiled, speaking to a neatly dressed but nervous young girl in front of her.
"I've reviewed your resume, you worked as a clerk in a commercial firm for two years?"
"Yes, Miss O'Brien," the girl replied nervously.
"Very good."
Catherine picked up a slip of paper from the table and handed it over.
"Now I need you to help me solve a simple math problem."
The girl took the slip of paper and saw written on it:
"The cost of an iron can is three cents, the cost of one pound of beef is eight cents, and the cost of one pound of vegetables is two cents. Each can of 'Standard Red Label' requires half a pound of beef and a quarter pound of vegetables.
The workers' wages and the factory's miscellaneous expenses, when spread across each can, are one cent. So, how much is the total cost for each 'Standard Red Label' can we produce?"
A fine layer of sweat beaded on the girl's forehead. She picked up a pen and quickly calculated on the paper.
"Half a pound of beef is four cents."
She muttered to herself.
"A quarter pound of vegetables is half a cent... plus three cents for the iron can and one cent for miscellaneous expenses... the total... the total cost is..."
"It's eight and a half cents, Miss," Catherine calmly said for her. "You can go back."
The girl's face instantly turned pale.
The next applicant was a smart-looking young man.
He calculated the answer accurately in less than a minute.
"Then, the second question. If our premium Gold Label series, due to using higher quality beef and ingredients, costs forty percent more than the Red Label, but its selling price is double that of the Red Label, which one do you think our factory should primarily produce?"
"The Gold Label, of course, because it earns more!"
Catherine looked at him, but she had already made her decision in her heart.
She needed not just an abacus that could do arithmetic, but a true assistant who could slightly understand Allen's business logic and help her with the company's refined management.
And these people, clearly, did not meet the requirements.
In the evening, when the recruitment concluded, Jones and Miller successfully recruited fifty qualified frontline workers and ten reserve workers for the factory.
They happily reported their achievements to Allen.
"Sir, the production department is fully staffed! With this new force, I guarantee we can set up a third production shift within three days. We're not far from our goal of five thousand cans a day!" Jones said excitedly.
"Very good," Allen nodded, then looked at Catherine, "How about your side?"
Catherine shook her head, a hint of disappointment on her face.
"Sir, I interviewed over a dozen people. They might become qualified bookkeepers, but... none of them are the kind of person I'm looking for, someone who can help me share the burden."
"No rush," Allen comforted her.
"Talent, you know, is harder to find than gold. Take your time. Until you find the right person, let some clerks help out with part of the office work."
Just then, the clamor of the night shift workers came from the factory's dining hall.
The new workers received their first dinner from Williams Food Company.
A large bowl of steaming, oily, real stewed beef, and two soft white bread rolls.
"My goodness... this... this is for us?"
A new worker looked at the meat in his bowl in disbelief.
"Of course it is!"
The old worker Sullivan said proudly.
"Williams never treats us like animals, the food we eat is what we make. Hurry and eat, kid! Only with a full belly can you have the strength to make the best canned goods for the company!"
The new workers looked at the stewed beef in their bowls, and then at the genuine pride on the faces of the old workers around them.
They devoured their food.
Some even shed tears as they ate.
Many of them couldn't remember the last time they had a full meal.
And by the office window, Allen and Catherine silently watched this scene.
"Mr. Williams," Catherine said softly, "I think I'm starting to understand why you earn their respect."
"Oh?"
"Because you give them more than just a paycheck."
A touching light flickered in Catherine's eyes.
"You give them dignity, the dignity to survive."
Allen couldn't help but smile at her words, "Oh... my dear Catherine, actually, I haven't done that well, it's just that this era is too rotten."