“There’s nothing like leather. Leather is a product of Nature. Take a piece of leather and observe the way the fibres are knit together. It is Nature’s work. It is so wonderful that man cannot hope to reproduce it. He cannot even re-create it. Boil a piece of hide or skin. It will turn to gelatine. No power known to man can turn that gelatine back into leather. Shred it. No machine can reweave the fibres into their former wonderful fabric. Take all the chemicals which go to make up a piece of leather, and mix them in all the ways that can be imagined, and man cannot make a single inch of leather. Synthetic leather seems farther away than the synthetic diamond.”

The person who enters a glove shop of reputation—or the glove department of any high class store—to buy gloves, probably has a very limited notion of the variety of fabrics and workmanship represented by the goods before him. To this single line of merchandise nearly every country in the world contributes to-day; not merely in the historical sense, in which we have watched the glove evolve through the centuries, but also in point of materials and processes actually used. The glove counter, little as we may appreciate it, brings together the riches and skill of the Orient, of Africa, of Europe, and of the Western World. A glance at some of the names, familiar to us all, as cape and mocha, immediately suggests their origin in far distant countries.

And yet, perhaps for economy of expression—if not from positive ignorance—the general public divides all leather dress gloves into just two classes, “dressed kid” and “undressed kid.” Everything with the grain surface, or smooth finish, is designated by the former term; the latter is popularly applied to gloves with the grain surface removed, or finished on the flesh side of the skin. To the initiated, however, gloves are distinguished primarily by the different kinds of leather of which they are made; and, still further, by the great variety of qualities which each kind of leather is capable of exhibiting.

In the glove trade men talk of “cape,” “suede,” “doeskin,” “lambskin,” “kid”—nor is the meaning of each of these nearly so obvious, nor so simple, as would casually appear. If, in every case, the name were properly applied to skins which came from a distinct type of animal, grown in one particular district, whose hide was tanned into leather by its own peculiar process, then the quality and character of each kind of leather would be practically uniform. But such is far from being the fact. When first used, no doubt, each of these terms meant a certain, well-defined thing. Now, however, in the evolution of processes of production, the meaning has been enlarged; and virtually any of these designations covers a much wider scope, even departing radically, in many instances, from its original application.

Let us take, for example, the “cape” glove. In the first place this name was used to distinguish a glove made of skins from the Cape district of South Africa. These skins were large spread, heavy, rather tight grained, and are still used in the production of genuine cape gloves. But the soft, pliable, widely-worn glove, in various weights, now commercially known as cape, is manufactured from sheep and lamb skins grown in many lands, and tanned and dressed by the method called “napa dipped.” What was once the name for a glove made from one type of skins is now the designation for hand-wear made from leather of a particular tannage, for which skins of many types, grown in many lands, are used.

Probably the best types of these skins come from Russia to-day—the district furnishing the most desirable qualities being the province of Kasan and the nearby territory of the Volga River. Others of varying degrees of merit emanate from Spain, as well as from the European Orient—Turkey, Roumania, Bulgaria, Montenegro and Servia; and, to a small extent, from some other vicinities. All these are called Oriental skins. Those with the finest grades of wool, oddly enough, are inferior, usually, to those which have hairy, wiry wool—as far as their desirability for glove leather is concerned. Evidently, then, the place of origin, the character of the pelt, and the method of its tannage, all have important bearing on the quality of the cape glove.

But if the cape is made from lamb skin, what, then, is the distinguishing feature between the lamb glove and the cape glove? How are we to tell them apart? Up to that stage in tannage referred to as “in the white,” these two leathers are practically the same—except that the skins which are to go into the capes are heavier and larger. It is in the finishing and coloring processes that the distinction occurs. The dressing and coloring—which, in fact, is a part of the tannage of the capes and completes this process—is done by the “drum” or “dipped” method. This colors the skin all the way through; whereas, leather for the so-called lamb glove has the color brushed on the grain surface only, leaving the flesh side of the leather, which is to be the inside of the glove, in the white.

Thus, the visible marks of difference between the cape glove and the lamb glove, so-named, are in the weight of the stock, and in the fact that the cape, when colored, is dyed through the skin, instead of merely on the grain surface.

German tanners have been the largest converters of lamb and sheep skins into cape leather by the napa tannage, which is an alum process. And it is the German stock which, until recently, was chiefly used in the American-made cape gloves. In the year 1913, however, several American tanners devised a chrome cape tannage, which appears to be even superior to the napa process, and possesses the added merit that it may be cleansed in water free of alkali of any temperature up to 212° Fahrenheit. It is this leather—really an American discovery—which goes into the gloves popularly known as washable capes. Since the outbreak of the European War, in 1914, chrome tanning has been further improved in this country; and as real Cape of Good Hope leather is used, the United States is producing to-day the best cape gloves ever known, and the German tanned napa cape is fast being discarded.

While mocha is made from skins grown in far distant lands, mocha gloves are distinctly of American origin. With the march of civilization westward in the United States, and the disappearance of the antelope from the western plains of North America some thirty-five years ago, a skin was sought by glove manufacturers in this country to take the place of the antelope, which was used in making a glove in those days known as doeskin. After patient search, and much experimenting with various species of skins and different tanning processes, a tannage was perfected for the skin of the Arabian hair sheep which produced the strong, but soft, velvety finished mocha.

The skin derives its name, no doubt, from Mocha, a seaport town of Arabia on the Red Sea, whence, it is said, these skins were first brought. The Mocha hair sheep is a distinct type, and is not a species resulting from cross breeding between the Mocha goat and a kind of wool sheep, as often has been stated. While the Mocha goat and the Mocha sheep herd together, they do not interbreed. The mocha market of the world is Aden, at the southern end of Arabia. The buyers here keep native collectors at the chief points to which skins are conveyed by caravans. These points are Moka, Berbera, Bulhar, Djibouti and Zeylah in Africa, and Hodeidah in Arabia. The skins are sorted and graded according to size, weight and condition; then they are baled, about three hundred in a lot. First, however, they are sun-dried, and are treated with naphthaline to protect them from damage by worms.

In the vernacular of the trade, these skins are referred to as white-heads, black-heads and red-heads. They are thus classified in reference to the color of the hair on the heads of the animals, the bodies being black and white, red and white, or all white. However, as the head colors denote a type of skin with more or less well defined characteristics, these designations are more scientific than would appear. For glove leather the black-heads rank first in quality, the white-heads second, and the red-heads third. The black-head type, which comes principally from the African districts mentioned, is more distinctly a hair skin than the other two types, and has a tighter, firmer texture. With the white-heads, which are chiefly Arabian skins, the hair is of a more woolly character and the fibre of the skin is looser. This last is also true of the red-heads, in which these elements are even more pronounced. Certain other kinds of sheep skins—notably those found in the district between Cairo and Khartum, known as “Sudans”—have been adapted for the manufacture of mocha leather. These yield a much larger spread, coarser fibre skin than the mocha hair sheep; but when tanned by the mocha process, sudans sufficiently resemble the mocha to be sold for that article—except to the expert.

No other glove leather passes through so many different processes in tanning and dressing as does the mocha. This is chiefly due to the fact that the skins, at their source, are handled by the natives in a crude sort of way, and under the crusted, sun-dried surface there are often many defects which do not show until the skin is subjected to the tanning process. Mocha skins invariably are scratched, scarred and imperfect on the grain surface; for this reason the grain is removed. At the same time, as much of the grain strength as possible must be preserved while eliminating the imperfections.

This method, which is called “friezing,” distinguishes the mocha from the suede glove. Though in appearance, when finished, they are very similar, mocha and suede actually are extremely different in character. In the friezed mocha, the outer or wearing surface of the glove, which receives the finish, is on the grain and not on the flesh side of the leather. Friezing merely removes the grain to take the finish, thus leaving much of the strength of the outer skin—while in suede or other “undressed” finishes, this strength is entirely lacking.

The name suede is derived purely from the sueding process, and not from the kind of leather used. Skins with perfect grain usually are finished on the grain surface side and are called glacÉ. But many with imperfect grain are finished on the flesh side of the skin, by the sueding process. Suede, then, is exactly the reverse of mocha, in that what was the inside of the skin becomes the outside of the glove. Suede leather, obviously, is inferior in strength, if not in appearance, to the same types of skins dressed on the grain side. It has by no means the durability of mocha—though a high-grade suede strikingly resembles mocha.

Although “chamois” is not chamois, it is by no means a sham. And that the “doeskin” is most likely a eweskin is nothing to its discredit. The chamois of commerce is not the skin of the Switzerland animal known by that name, nor is the doeskin of to-day the skin of the one-time antelope. Both are sheep skins, or parts of sheep skins, tanned and dressed as chamois and doeskins. Collectors and dealers in sheep skins at their source, in some districts find it necessary, or advantageous, to split the skins edgewise, making two thinner skins. The upper part, with the grain surface, is termed a “skiver,” and the lower section a “flesher.” It is from these flesher sheepskins that the leathers commercially known as chamois and doeskin are produced.

The tanning processes of chamois are many, the most common being the oil tannage, alum and chrome. The finest selections of fleshers, split from sheepskins of the Scotch mountains, and from France, Spain and Turkey, are oil tanned and are used for the production of the washable chamois glove. Another, and comparatively recent, tannage of fleshers, is the formaldehyde process which supplies the leather commercially known as doeskin. Properly tanned for that purpose, these leathers will wash perfectly under the prescribed rules for washing. Trade in these gloves, however, has suffered from intense competition which has forced a cheap, quicker tannage, and one which will preserve the largest possible spread to the skin. And sometimes the washing quality has been sacrificed to secure a finer “face” to the leather. Tannages even are used which render the leather not washable but actually impervious to water—simply for the sake of the pleasing appearance of the skin when new. These things, coupled with the wearer’s careless disregard of proper methods of washing, have cast some measure of discredit upon what are really meritorious gloves.

But, as regards the really reputable chamois glove of to-day! In the first place, how absurd to the initiated is the question, so often asked by the customer, “Is this genuine chamois?” Think of it! An animal grown in the Swiss Alps, and, like the American buffalo, now almost extinct, is supposed by many people to produce chamois gloves for the whole, civilized world! As we have seen, “genuine chamois” is sheep or lamb skin, tanned by a simple process similar to that used on the real chamois, many, many years ago. Sheep skins give the best results; but lamb skins are used to a limited extent. The latter make finer gloves, but not so durable, as these skins scarcely can stand the hard usage this leather requires in preparation.

The entire tanning process of chamois leather calls for absolutely nothing but fish oil. No dye, no acid, no alkali goes into this leather, and thus its washing qualities are unquestioned. After the skins have remained in the vats in this oil a sufficient length of time—a month or more, as is determined by experts—they are wrung out and hung up in drying rooms, without ventilation, and a few fagots of wood kept burning. When thoroughly dry they have what is known as the “natural” or yellow color, and no two tannings come out alike in shade. When a cream color, or white, is desired, another process follows. An expert goes through the skins, selecting those that have body and strength enough to stand the severe washing they are to get. These skins are put into vats or tubs of clear water and washed “French fashion”—which means, beaten with a club—and are then wrung out again and laid on the grass in the sun to bleach.

If cream color is wanted, a day or two on the grass in the sun will suffice. But if white is desired—and it mostly is preferred—a week or ten days is required for this bleaching, depending, of course, on the weather. Good, sunshiny weather means good, white chamois leather; while a long spell of dull, cloudy weather means a poor shade of white, with plenty of white chalk rubbed into the skins to make them appear whiter. Irrespective of the sun, they will all get some chalk, however. It is interesting to note that these skins are supposed to imbibe a great deal of nourishment from the grass as they lie exposed to the sunlight. White chamois gloves, which have been put away for some time in boxes, will begin to turn back to a dull yellow; but if placed in the light, in a store or in a window, they will turn white again.

After the yellowing or bleaching process, the chamois skins—natural, cream or white—have only to go to the doler to be ready for the cutter’s knife. At the best, this glove is rather rough looking, but it is simple and artistic, and especially in keeping with the travelling or sport costume. Also, at the end of the journey, or after the out-of-door game, such a glove may be washed as easily and successfully as a pocket-handkerchief. So, its popularity is enduring.

Already we are somewhat familiar with kid gloves, from our detailed study of the great industry of Grenoble, including the dressers’ works at Annonay. Nearly all the kid skins used in glove-making are procured in Europe, and the production really is limited to a very few countries. As we have seen, France leads. Next comes Italy, then Germany, Austria, and—up to the disaster of August, 1914—Belgium. Several months are consumed, and a dozen or more processes are necessary, before kid skins are in the market as glove leather. These operations have been fully described in the chapter immediately preceding. When the finished skins appear “in the white” they are ready for the dyer.

An expert goes through the skins and assorts them for the different colors for which they are best adapted. For instance, some skins will make good tan shades, but would not make greys—and so on, through the entire list of colors. As all skins take the black dye well, it follows that the last sortings go into black. Black and white are the easiest of all to dye; and perfect skins, dyed white, show to the best advantage of any—while grey is a color which is a bÊte noir to all manufacturers and dyers. Hundreds of dollars have been literally thrown away in an attempt to produce some particular shade. Suede leather yields more readily and accurately to the dyer’s art than glacÉ, and furnishes a greater variety of shades. For this reason, and because of their fine, velvety surface, they are considered by many the most beautiful of all gloves; and by the fastidious are preferred for opera and evening wear.

Kid skins produced in other countries than France all have about the same characteristics. But French Nationals remain invariably the best. It may be added that kids raised in low, flat countries, like Belgium, while presenting a fine appearance, never have the strength of the highland skins.

Lambskins, like kid, are nearly all found in Europe, but they cover a much wider range of territory. Like kid skins, they are carefully nurtured and guarded against imperfections. They are grown in Italy, Sicily, Sardinia, Corsica, Spain, France, Germany, Austria, Russia and the Balkan States, the product of the latter being known—like the sheepskins for “cape” purposes—as “Oriental leather.” For fine lambskin gloves the best leather of all comes from northern Italy, and is termed, commercially, “Tuscany skins”; these rival kid skins for fine grain and durability. Next in value comes the fine French lamb known as “Rigord.” Then follow the Spanish skins. The Russian (Kasan) and Oriental skins are of equal value with some of the above named, many of them running very fine in grain and producing remarkably durable gloves. As they tend to be heavier in weight, however, the larger part of this class of lambskins finds its way into men’s gloves. It is said that fully 80% of Oriental leather goes to German and English tanneries, which prepare more especially materials for the heavier grades of gloves.

In the tanning or dressing of lambskins, the processes are practically the same as in the preparation of kid and goat skins for the glove manufacturer. Lambskins also are subjected to the same examination by experts to determine the colors they will take best. In fact, the only real difference between fine kid and fine lamb gloves is that the former is of a more delicate, yet firmer, grain, and produces a better wearing article with more intrinsic value.

Nearly all colors, applied in dyeing both kid and lamb gloves, are put on with a brush. The skins are laid on marble slabs, and the color brushed on, a sufficient number of coats being given to produce the desired shade and to fix it thoroughly and evenly. This explains why colored gloves remain white on the inside, as the dyes do not strike through. Some of the light, or extremely delicate tints, however—as pink, cream, azure, lilac—will not take the color with brushing. In such cases, the skin must be immersed in the dye, or “dipped”; and then the color shows, of course, on both exterior and interior.

After the dyer’s work is done, and the skins would appear to a novice ready for the cutter, still another process has to be gone through, requiring an entirely different kind of skilled labor. This is the process of “doling”—mentioned a few paragraphs back, in connection with chamois—and it consists in reducing each skin to a uniform thickness throughout, as nearly as possible. The doler lays the skin on a marble slab and with a broad, flat knife, sharp as a razor, goes over the inner surface, planing or doling off the uneven places. A thoroughly good cutter always doles his own skins. Some manufacturers, however, employ dolers for this purpose exclusively.

Such are the leading leathers used in the making of fine gloves. Developments in tanning have also brought into use the skins of many animals ordinarily considered of no value to the glove trade. While deer, sheep, kid and calf skins in former days were used exclusively, in our times the skins of dogs, foxes, bears, the cow, the colt, the kangaroo—and almost every hair animal—are employed to some extent. Most of these, however, could never pass for fine products, even among the uninitiated—with the possible exception of colt; and they are used only by inferiors in the trade, with whom the present discussion of glove-making has nothing to do. These coarse leathers are honest enough, however, in the hands of Esquimaux, backwoodsmen, and people who are obliged to provide out of the materials within reach warm coverings for the hands. But, in such cases, the fur is usually left on the hide, deceiving no one.

And now we come to the actual turning of the leather into gloves. Since Xavier Jouvin’s invention, the glove cutter has not actually cut out gloves. The old method of tracing the pattern and following it with the scissors has completely vanished. But the glove cutter, still so-called, exercises a great deal of care and skill in cutting oblong-shaped pieces of leather which will make exactly the size he stamps on them when, later, the gloves are cut out by means of steel dies. In doing this, the cutter uses pasteboard patterns, to be sure; but these are simply guides to enable him to put exactly the right amount of leather into each piece that he cuts, in order to produce the size desired. To the cutter each skin he takes up becomes a new problem. As no two faces are alike, so also no two skins are alike—not even those of the same class.

The cutter first stretches the skin carefully to ascertain or measure its elasticity. Then he applies his pattern to see how he can get the best results quantitatively. In other words, a cutter must exercise the utmost ingenuity to get as many gloves as possible out of the skins he is working on, and not let any of the leather go to waste. In many glove factories, the foreman “taxes” the skins as they are given out to the cutters; that is, he fixes the number of pairs of gloves the cutter must turn out for a certain quantity of skins. After the cutter has stretched, pulled, measured, and finally cut out his oblong piece of leather, he marks the size on it and lays it aside for the calibres, which will be shown in operation later on.

The skilled cutter’s work is done, and the pieces of leather he has cut are called tranks. The cutter must know, of course, whether the tranks he is producing are for overseam, piquÉ or prick-seam gloves, as each requires a different pattern. The fragments of leather left from the skins after the tranks are cut are used as far as possible for cutting hems, bindings, fourchettes and “hearts,” which latter is the technical name for the little “stay” at the bottom of the wrist opening. And certainly there is very little of the skin which is not utilized after all these items are subtracted. One would hardly realize what a jig-saw puzzle, and in how many intricately fitting parts, a glove actually is, until he paused to examine one and to count the different sections which must be shaped and cut out to go into its making.

Next, the calibres demand our attention. These are the knives which really cut the tranks into the shape of gloves and might, perhaps, be called dies. They run, of course, in sizes; and the process might be likened to the old-fashioned way of cutting cakes out of dough with a tin cover, except that in stamping out gloves the position is reversed. The calibre is locked into a heavy machine with the sharp steel knife-edges up, and the tranks laid on top. A lever is pulled, a heavy weight descends, and the cut gloves are then ready to sew.

Calibres are by no means uniform. That is to say, all manufacturers do not use the same kind; and among the leading, large manufacturers, each has his own cut, or set of calibres, differing from all others in some one or more points. For example, one manufacturer will have the fingers of his gloves made longer or shorter than the average; another will have all the fingers gussetted, while another will have no gussets, not even at the gore of the thumb. Still another has a cut with a specially short little finger—and so on. This results in a very wide variety of “cuts” in gloves, and each manufacturer of standard make is satisfied, and thinks his own is the best. It is the discriminating woman who finds out what cut or make fits her particular hand, and then sticks to that manufacturer’s gloves.

Gloves are sewed in three different ways. First, the two edges are brought together and sewed over and over. This is called overseam, and sometimes round-seam, and is the method used on all fine, dressy gloves. A second way laps the edges one over the other and sews through and through. This is lap-seam, or piquÉ, and is popular on gloves for street wear. Third, and last, the seams are brought together, the same as in overseam sewing, but are sewed through and through. This method is called prick-seam, and sometimes sadlers sewn, and is used only on heavy leathers.

The first machine invented for glove sewing was put on the market about forty-five years ago and did overseam work only. It was fought by many of the best manufacturers who continued to make the boast of their hand-sewn gloves. Time has overcome this feeling, and the invention of piquÉ and prick-seam sewing machines has done away with all handsewing—with the exception of a few sadlers sewn, made in England, and their quantity so small as to be negligible. Even the embroidery on the backs of gloves to-day is done almost entirely by machine. There are one or two styles still shown that are sewn by hand, called tambour. Tambour work is very handsome and cannot be done except by hand—yet; but the limit of machines has by no means been reached.