Everybody Works

Two nights a week, promptly at 6 p.m., a small, slight man wearing a sweater and overalls over grey slacks checks in at a British arms factory. For three hours he works at a bench turning out parts for R.A.F. guns. His foreman calls him "proficient." His people call him George VI, by the Grace of God, of Great Britain, Ireland and the British Dominions beyond the Seas King, Defender of the Faith, Emperor of India.

Britons, proud of their ruler's gesture of wartime solidarity with the working classes, were told last week how the King got his job. On an official inspection tour of the factory, the King asked how long it would take to learn to operate one of the machines. "That depends entirely on your aptitude, sir," he was told. The King took off his coat. "I think I'll start at once," he said. He did.

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