Tom was therefore on duty for the
whole twenty-four hours, with what snatches of sleep he could catch in
the initial stage of each drying and at odd moments.
The process requires great skill and attention; at first he and I,
with what little knowledge I had, puzzled it out together, he having
had no previous experience, and night after night I sat up with him
till the load came off the kiln at midnight. A slight excess of heat,
or an irregular application of it, will spoil the hops, the principle
being to raise the temperature, very gradually at first, to 30 or 40
degrees higher at the finish. Hops should be _blown_ dry by a blast of
hot air, not baked by heat alone. The drier, of course, has to keep a
watchful eye on the thermometer on the upper floor among the hops--Tom
always called it the "theometer"--regulating his fire accordingly and
the admission of cold air through adjustable ventilators on the
outside walls. This regulation varies according to the weather, the
moisture of the air, and the condition of the hops, and calls for
critical judgment and accuracy. Often, tired out with the previous
ordinary day's work, we had much ado to keep awake at night, and it
was fatal to arrange a too comfortable position with the warmth of the
glowing fire and the soporific scent of the hops. Then Tom would
announce that it was "time to get them little props out," which, in
imagination, were to support our wearied eyelids.
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