The Efficiency Expert — Edition Insights
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Before opening The Efficiency Expert — Edition Insights, the edition data offers a quick orientation: 54,107 words, 3 hr 56 min estimated reading time, and 6 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 16.7 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Chicago (Ill.) -- Fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
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Read the Text
The gymnasium was packed as Jimmy Torrance stepped into the ring for the final event of the evening that was to decide the boxing championship of the university. Drawing to a close were the nearly four years of his college career--profitable years, Jimmy considered them, and certainly successful up to this point. In the beginning of his senior year he had captained the varsity eleven, and in the coming spring he would again sally forth upon the diamond as the star initial sacker of collegedom.
His football triumphs were in the past, his continued baseball successes a foregone conclusion--if he won to-night his cup of happiness, and an unassailably dominant position among his fellows, would be assured, leaving nothing more, in so far as Jimmy reasoned, to be desired from four years attendance at one of America's oldest and most famous universities.
The youth who would dispute the right to championship honors with Jimmy was a dark horse to the extent that he was a freshman, and, therefore, practically unknown. He had worked hard, however, and given a good account of himself in his preparations for the battle, and there were rumors, as there always are about every campus, of marvelous exploits prior to his college days. It was even darkly hinted that he was a professional pugilist. As a matter of fact, he was the best exponent of the manly art of self-defense that Jimmy Torrance had ever faced, and in addition thereto he outweighed the senior and outreached him.
The boxing contest, as the faculty members of the athletic committee preferred to call it, was, from the tap of the gong, as pretty a two-fisted scrap as ever any aggregation of low-browed fight fans witnessed. The details of this gory contest, while interesting, have no particular bearing upon the development of this tale. What interests us is the outcome, which occurred in the middle of a very bloody fourth round, in which Jimmy Torrance scored a clean knock-out.
It was a battered but happy Jimmy who sat in his room the following Monday afternoon, striving to concentrate his mind upon a college text-book which should, by all the laws of fiction, have been 'well thumbed,' but in reality, possessed unruffled freshness which belied its real age.
"I wish," mused Jimmy, "that I could have got to the bird who invented mathematics before he inflicted all this unnecessary anguish upon an already unhappy world. In about three rounds I could have saved thousands from the sorrow which I feel every time I open this blooming book."
He was still deeply engrossed in the futile attempt of accomplishing in an hour that for which the college curriculum set aside several months when there came sounds of approaching footsteps rapidly ascending the stairway. His door was unceremoniously thrown open, and there appeared one of those strange apparitions which is the envy and despair of the small-town youth--a naturally good-looking young fellow, the sartorial arts of whose tailor had elevated his waist-line to his arm-pits, dragged down his shoulders, and caved in his front until he had the appearance of being badly dished from chin to knees. His trousers appeared to have been made for a man with legs six inches longer than his, while his hat was evidently several sizes too large, since it would have entirely extinguished his face had it not been supported by his ears.
"Hello, Kid!" cried Jimmy. "What's new?"
"Whiskers wants you," replied the other. "Faculty meeting. They just got through with me."
"Hell!" muttered Jimmy feelingly. "I don't know what Whiskers wants with me, but he never wants to see anybody about anything pleasant."
"I am here," agreed the other, "to announce to the universe that you are right, Jimmy. He didn't have anything pleasant to say to me. In fact, he insinuated that dear old alma mater might be able to wiggle along without me if I didn't abjure my criminal life. Made some nasty comparison between my academic achievements and foxtrotting. I wonder, Jimmy, how they get that way?"
"That's why they are profs," explained Jimmy. "There are two kinds of people in this world--human beings and profs. When does he want me?"
Jimmy arose and put on his hat and coat. "Good-by, Kid," he said. "Pray for me, and leave me one cigarette to smoke when I get back," and, grinning, he left the room.
From the opening gymnasium scene, Burroughs establishes Jimmy Torrance through physical action rather than interior reflection. The boxing match is described with brisk, concrete verbs—"stepped," "scored," "battered"—that align with Jimmy's own self-assessment: he measures college success by athletic triumphs and social dominance. The narrator's aside that the fight's "details... have no particular bearing" signals a deliberate narrative economy, yet the physicality remains the primary lens for character.
When Jimmy later fabricates credentials for a job, his bluffing relies on the same confidence displayed in the ring. Burroughs renders this shift from athlete to imposter through dialogue that is terse and transactional, with little psychological exposition. The reader infers Jimmy's resourcefulness from his actions and words alone.
Athletic Diction as Character Shorthand
Burroughs introduces Jimmy Torrance almost entirely through his physical achievements: captain of the varsity eleven, star first baseman, boxing champion. The prose mirrors this focus, using short, punchy sentences during the fight scene: "a very bloody fourth round, in which Jimmy Torrance scored a clean knock-out." The narrator's voice adopts the clipped rhythms of sports reporting, avoiding any deep interiority. Even Jimmy's musings on mathematics—"I wish that I could have got to the bird who invented mathematics"—are framed as a fighter's grievance, not an intellectual complaint. This consistent athletic diction primes the reader to expect action over introspection, a pattern that carries into his later schemes.
Dialogue as a Tool of Deception
When Jimmy presents himself to Mr. Compton, his speech is measured and confident, but Burroughs undercuts it with a telling physical detail: "the face of the applicant was slightly flushed." The dialogue itself is sparse—Jimmy says little, letting forged letters speak for him. Compton's own language is direct and businesslike, asking for "an experienced man who can come in here and find out just what is wrong with us." The contrast between Jimmy's flushed face and his calm words creates a subtle tension. Burroughs trusts the reader to notice the discrepancy without authorial comment, a technique that recurs in later scenes where Jimmy's bluffing is tested.
The Efficiency Expert as a Verbal Construct
The term "efficiency expert" itself becomes a narrative device. Compton uses it as a neutral job title, but Harold Bince immediately frames it as a threat: "These fellows usually do nothing more than disrupt an organization." Burroughs lets the characters define the term through their conflicting attitudes. Jimmy, who has no actual expertise, must embody the label through performance. The novel's title thus points to a role that is entirely constructed through dialogue and appearance. Burroughs does not explain what efficiency expertise entails; instead, he shows characters negotiating its meaning, leaving the reader to gauge Jimmy's improvisational skill against the expectations set by Compton and Bince.
Setting as a Mirror for Social Mobility
The excerpts move from a university gymnasium to a manufacturing office, each setting rendered with minimal but telling detail. The gym is "packed" and the fight is witnessed by "low-browed fight fans," a phrase that hints at class distinctions. The office, by contrast, is a space of paperwork and guarded conversation: Bince insists on handling the payroll himself, and Compton speaks of "leaks" and "red tape." Jimmy's transition between these worlds is marked by his ready-made suit, which "had all the appearance of faultlessly tailored garments." Burroughs uses setting and costume to underscore the performative nature of class mobility, without ever stating it directly.
Readers attentive to Burroughs's craft will notice how he builds suspense not through plot twists but through the gap between what Jimmy says and what his body reveals. The flushed face, the battered appearance after the fight, the unruffled textbook—these details accumulate into a portrait of a man who relies on physical presence to compensate for inexperience. The novel rewards close attention to such authorial choices, which shape the story as much as the action itself.
Burroughs’s athlete talks his way through Chicago, bluffing with words where his fists would do, and I’m reminded of a quieter cunning in the wanderers of Stories by English Authors: The Orient (Selected by Scribners) — Text and Context. Both collections whisper that what we say is often merely the shadow of what we are—a comforting, wry little truth for a slow afternoon.
Isabella Roberts
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