The following day, the Argyle & Co. Foods factory achieved full-line operation for the first time. Twenty newly recruited workers, positioned at their respective stations, began assembly under Felix's rigorous guidance.
However, the inexperience of the workers quickly exposed the system's flaws.
"Sir, the cutting area can't keep pace! The cooking section has two large pots sitting idle, waiting for meat!" Jones, the frantic production supervisor, jogged over to Felix with the report. Felix, having just come from the canning area where an entire pot of valuable stewed beef had been spoiled, was already grim.
Throughout the morning, reports of bottlenecks, backlogs, and waste were constant. Each segment of the process was like a randomly strung bead, colliding and hindering, completely failing to form the smooth "line" Felix had envisioned.
At noon, Catherine presented the first production report, her expression serious. "Sir, these are the statistics for the four hours this morning." She pointed to the ledger. "We only produced one hundred and ninety-two qualified cans in total. At this rate, our entire day's output won't even reach two hundred. This is less efficient than our work in the basement."
Silence filled the office. Miller and Jones both hung their heads, dismayed that their grand expansion had resulted in diminished efficiency.
"Where is the problem?" Felix's voice was calm, betraying no emotional fluctuation.
"The problem lies in coordination," Catherine stated incisively. "The meat cutters work furiously regardless of the cook's capacity. The meat cooks only focus on filling their own pots, ignoring the canning section. Everyone is working hard, but their efforts haven't combined into a cohesive whole; they've only created backlogs, waiting, and waste."
"Well said," Felix nodded, walking to the new blackboard he had installed. Catherine always managed to pinpoint the essence of a problem with the most concise language.
When his core team gathered, Felix drew a straight line. "This line is our production line. It is not made up of twenty independent points, but a single entity. Its speed doesn't depend on the fastest segment, but on the slowest segment."
He looked at them and began to elaborate on a concept that would subvert the era's production knowledge. "Starting this afternoon, we implement a new model I call 'Beat Production.'"
"Beat?"
"Yes." Felix drew several equidistant nodes on the line. "I will hang a brass bell in the factory center. Jones, every fifteen minutes, you will ring it. The bell is the command; it is the heartbeat of our entire factory."
He explained the strict rhythm. "When the bell rings for the first time, the raw materials area must send fifty pounds of cleaned beef to the cutting area. When it rings for the second time, the cutting area must finish processing that beef and send it to the cooking area. When it rings for the third time, the cooking area must send the previous batch of stewed meat to the canning area, and so on."
"No segment is allowed to be early or late. Your task is not to complete your work as quickly as possible, but to complete your work just right, no more, no less, before the beat. The entire production line will, like a single person, have a unified breath and rhythm. Do you understand?"
Miller and Jones listened in a daze, but Catherine's eyes shone. She immediately grasped the terrifying efficiency inherent in this ultimate control over time, processes, and manpower.
In the afternoon, when the crisp sound of the bell first echoed through the factory, the new system began with a stumble. "The bell rang, and my meat isn't cut yet!" "Quick, we're going to be late!" The workers struggled to adapt to being chased by time.
Felix, like a strict drill sergeant, constantly ran the line, directing and adjusting workloads. In the first hour, efficiency was even lower than the morning.
But by the second hour, things began to shift. The workers, past their initial panic, slowly started to find the rhythm. They stopped working in isolation and subconsciously paid attention to the speed of their neighbors.
By the third hour, a miracle occurred. When the bell rang again, all segments, almost in unison, executed their perfect handovers. Raw materials flowed smoothly along the line; there was no backlog, no waiting.
Catherine, recording the numbers, was ecstatic. In that single hour, they produced one hundred and ten cans! A spontaneous cheer erupted from the line, they had witnessed a revolution in efficiency.
By the end of the workday, the total output reached eight hundred and thirty-two cans. That evening, Felix paid all workers their daily wages in advance, plus a twenty-five cent bonus. The workers' cheers nearly lifted the factory roof.
In the quiet office that night, Felix and Catherine conducted their final review.
"Sir, based on this afternoon's output, we can produce over eight thousand cans in a week. We can fulfill the Bowery District orders in less than seven days." Catherine's tone was filled with excitement. "However, a new problem has also arisen. Our warehouse will soon be full, and we must open up new sales channels."
Felix agreed. The more shipments, the more money earned. The current output of the adjusted line meant they could soon produce four hundred thousand cans a year, enough to satisfy the entire New York market.
"You are right, Catherine." Felix looked at the small Bowery District on the map and shook his head. "This pond can no longer hold our fish. Our next target is Upper Manhattan."
Catherine's brow furrowed. "The high-end grocers near Fifth Avenue and Madison Square cater to New York's wealthiest. Their customers exclusively trust expensive European imports and will instinctively disdain a local, new brand like ours."
"Therefore, we cannot go door-to-door selling as we did in the Bowery District," Felix countered. "We must reverse the dynamic and make them come to us. We must create demand, not satisfy existing demand."
"How?"
"I will rent the most prominent storefront next to Union Square for one week," Felix announced, his plan bold and imaginative. "We won't sell anything; we will only offer a free tasting."
"We will hire the best chefs, dressed in the whitest uniforms. Using the most beautiful silver tableware and fine china, we will offer our heated canned beef for free to every passing gentleman and lady. We want that enticing aroma to fill the entire square."
He turned his gaze to Miller. "At the entrance, I need two men, in the sharpest uniforms, to stand guard like Buckingham Palace sentinels. They are not security guards; they are symbols of 'quality and exclusivity.'"
"Sir," Catherine breathed, captivated by the creative idea. "You are a genius at selling goods."
"No, Catherine," he smiled. "I am just a canner who happens to know a little bit more than others, that's all."
A week later, following final adjustments and optimization, the "Rhythm Production Line" could stably produce 1,500 cans of high-quality stewed beef per workday. The warehouse, for the first time, held a significant mountain of inventory.
Catherine delivered the weekly financial report. "Sir, our net profit margin has stabilized at thirty percent." This was an astonishing figure for any physical manufacturing industry. It meant a net income of over two hundred dollars per day, six thousand a month.
"How much inventory do we have?" Felix asked.
"Approximately three thousand cans, sir. And that number is increasing daily. As predicted, the Bowery District market is nearing saturation. We must find new buyers immediately, or our cash flow will be crushed by this mountain of inventory."
"You are right," Felix confirmed, his finger tracing the map to Fifth Avenue. "It's time to execute that plan and let New York's high society also taste our flavor."
Two days later, on the busiest corner adjacent to Union Square, a previously vacant shop quietly opened. Its elegant golden script on the glass simply read: "Argyle & Co. Foods · New York Free Tasting Event."
At the entrance, two imposing security men, personally selected by Miller, stood like silent sentinels, impeccably dressed in sharp, dark blue uniforms and white gloves, their presence a deliberate symbol of exclusivity.
Inside, no goods were displayed. In the center, a long white-clothed table held gleaming silver platters, delicate bone china plates, and fine wine. Catherine, in an elegant, custom-made dark blue suit, stood gracefully behind the table like a salon hostess. Beside her, a high-salaried chef from Delmonico's Restaurant placed a steaming pot of canned beef into an ornate copper chafing dish.
Immediately, an indescribably rich, mellow aroma wafted from the chafing dish, an invisible hand guiding every passing, well-dressed pedestrian toward the shop.
Initially, high-society pedestrians held a natural disdain for such street-side free events. But soon, curiosity and the aroma overcame them.
"Oh, my goodness, Harold, do you smell that? What is that smell? It's simply… too fragrant!" A bejeweled lady stopped, pulling her portly banker husband.
As they hesitated, one of the guards stepped forward with a ritualistic gait, opened the door, and offered a silent, respectful invitation. This ritual satisfied the vanity of the upper-class individuals, and they walked in.
"Good day, sir, madam," Catherine greeted them, her demeanor flawless. "Welcome to the Argyle & Co. Foods's tasting event. We are offering a complimentary sample of our latest product, Argyle Premium Stewed Beef, to the connoisseurs of New York."
The banker was initially reserved, but his wife was eager. She elegantly speared a small piece of beef. The next second, her eyes narrowed in bliss.
"Oh, my God," she sighed. "Harold, this is incredible! This beef practically melts on my tongue! And this broth is more savory than any consommé I've ever tasted, even in Paris!"
The banker, now convinced, took a bite. His usually stern face showed identical shock and enjoyment. "This is really canned food?"
"Yes, sir." Catherine handed him a beautiful brochure. "Our company uses unique lead-free mechanical sealing technology and a segmented steam cooking process, safely preserving the freshest, most delicious moment of the ingredients within the can."
The couple's reaction was a signal. More upper-class individuals, drawn by the aroma, the guards, and the elegant decor, began to enter. Exclamations of praise rose and fell: "Better than what my French chef makes!" "A work of art!"
Catherine maintained a composed smile, giving the same polite answer to every customer who inquired about purchasing: "I am sorry, madam, but our premium canned goods are not yet officially on the market. We are currently searching for the most suitable sales partner to represent this level of quality in New York."
Then, she would add the ingenious final touch: "However, if you would kindly leave your name and the address of the fine shop where you typically purchase your goods, we will ensure you can buy our product there as soon as we confirm a partnership."
This clever strategy not only collected an accurate list of wealthy potential customers but subtly shifted the pressure of carrying the product onto the high-end food store owners who had not yet arrived.
On the evening of the sixth day, a well-dressed, distinguished middle-aged man, who had been observing the success of the event for days, finally entered the shop.
"A brilliant performance, Mr. Argyle." He walked directly to Felix, who had been observing from the back.
"You flatter me. A good product deserves a good stage. May I ask who you are?"
"Charles Tilford. Owner of Parker & Tilford Food Merchants."
Parker & Tilford, New York's most high-end and renowned food merchants!
"Dozens of my oldest customers sent their butlers to my shop this afternoon, demanding an 'Argyle Premium Canned Good' I'd never heard of. You've caused me no small disruption."
"No, no, no, sir," Felix retorted with a smile. "I think what I've brought you is a huge business opportunity."
Tilford nodded, direct as always. "I wonder if you could come to my office tomorrow morning. I want to secure the exclusive distribution rights for this product throughout the Upper City. However, I hope you will have a sufficiently sincere cooperation plan."
Felix smiled; the big fish had taken the bait. "Of course, I am always sincere with potential partners."
After seeing Mr. Tilford off, Catherine ran over, her eyes shining. "Sir, we succeeded! We've opened the door to New York's most exclusive market."
"Yes, Catherine, we succeeded." Felix looked at the gas lamps lighting up Union Square. From a street hero in the Bowery to a new elite on Fifth Avenue, all he needed was one meticulously planned tasting event.