Albert camus the stranger the stranger b

1. Albert Camus THE STRANGER
THE
Stranger
By ALBERT CAMUS
Translated from the French
by Stuart Gilbert
VINTAGE BOOKS
A Division of Random House
NEW YORK
1
Albert Camus THE STRANGER

2. VINTAGE BOOKS
are published by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.
and Random House, Inc.
Copyright 1942 by Librairie Gallimard as L’ÉTRANGER
Copyright 1946 by ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC. All rights
reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form
without permission in
writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote
brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine or
newspaper. Manufactured
in the United States of America. Distributed in Canada by
Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
2
Albert Camus THE STRANGER
Contents
Contents
...............................................................................................
......................... 3
Part One
...............................................................................................
......................... 4
I.............................................................................................

3. ..................................... 4
II
...............................................................................................
............................... 14
III
...............................................................................................
.............................. 18
IV....................................................... ....................................
.................................. 24
V
...............................................................................................
............................... 28
VI.............................................. .............................................
.................................. 32
Part
Two........................................................................................
.............................. 40
I.............................................................................................
................................... 40
II
...............................................................................................
............................... 46
III
...............................................................................................
.............................. 52
IV...........................................................................................
.................................. 62
V
...............................................................................................
............................... 68
About the Author
...............................................................................................
......... 77

4. 3
Albert Camus THE STRANGER
Part One
I
MOTHER died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can’t be sure. The
telegram from the
Home says: YOUR MOTHER PASSED AWAY. FUNERAL
TOMORROW. DEEP
SYMPATHY. Which leaves the matter doubtful; it could have
been yesterday.
The Home for Aged Persons is at Marengo, some fifty miles
from Algiers. With
the two o’clock bus I should get there well before nightfall.
Then I can spend the
night there, keeping the usual vigil beside the body, and be back
here by tomorrow
evening. I have fixed up with my employer for two days’ leave;
obviously, under the
circumstances, he couldn’t refuse. Still, I had an idea he looked
annoyed, and I said,
without thinking: “Sorry, sir, but it’s not my fault, you know.”
Afterwards it struck me I needn’t have said that. I had no reason
to excuse myself;
it was up to him to express his sympathy and so forth. Probably
he will do so the day

5. after tomorrow, when he sees me in black. For the present, it’s
almost as if Mother
weren’t really dead. The funeral will bring it home to me, put
an official seal on it, so
to speak. ...
I took the two-o’clock bus. It was a blazing hot afternoon. I’d
lunched, as usual, at
Céleste’s restaurant. Everyone was most kind, and Céleste said
to me, “There’s no
one like a mother.” When I left they came with me to the door.
It was something of a
rush, getting away, as at the last moment I had to call in at
Emmanuel’s place to
borrow his black tie and mourning band. He lost his uncle a few
months ago.
I had to run to catch the bus. I suppose it was my hurrying like
that, what with the
glare off the road and from the sky, the reek of gasoline, and the
jolts, that made me
feel so drowsy. Anyhow, I slept most of the way. When I woke I
was leaning against
a soldier; he grinned and asked me if I’d come from a long way
off, and I just
nodded, to cut things short. I wasn’t in a mood for talking.
The Home is a little over a mile from the village. I went there
on foot. I asked to
be allowed to see Mother at once, but the doorkeeper told me I
must see the warden
first. He wasn’t free, and I had to wait a bit. The doorkeeper
chatted with me while I
waited; then he led me to the office. The warden was a very
small man, with gray
hair, and a Legion of Honor rosette in his buttonhole. He gave

6. me a long look with
his watery blue eyes. Then we shook hands, and he held mine so
long that I began to
feel embarrassed. After that he consulted a register on his table,
and said:
“Madame Meursault entered the Home three years ago. She had
no private means
and depended entirely on you.”
4
Albert Camus THE STRANGER
I had a feeling he was blaming me for something, and started to
explain. But he
cut me short.
“There’s no need to excuse yourself, my boy. I’ve looked up the
record and
obviously you weren’t in a position to see that she was properly
cared for. She
needed someone to be with her all the time, and young men in
jobs like yours don’t
get too much pay. In any case, she was much happier in the
Home.”
I said, “Yes, sir; I’m sure of that.”
Then he added: “She had good friends here, you know, old folks
like herself, and
one gets on better with people of one’s own generation. You’re
much too young; you
couldn’t have been much of a companion to her.”

7. That was so. When we lived together, Mother was always
watching me, but we
hardly ever talked. During her first few weeks at the Home she
used to cry a good
deal. But that was only because she hadn’t settled down. After a
month or two she’d
have cried if she’d been told to leave the Home. Because this,
too, would have been a
wrench. That was why, during the last year, I seldom went to
see her. Also, it would
have meant losing my Sunday—not to mention the trouble of
going to the bus,
getting my ticket, and spending two hours on the journey each
way.
The warden went on talking, but I didn’t pay much attention.
Finally he said:
“Now, I suppose you’d like to see your mother?”
I rose without replying, and he led the way to the door. As we
were going down
the stairs he explained:
“I’ve had the body moved to our little mortuary—so as not to
upset the other old
people, you understand. Every time there’s a death here, they’re
in a nervous state for
two or three days. Which means, of course, extra work and
worry for our staff.”
We crossed a courtyard where there were a number of old men,
talking amongst
themselves in little groups. They fell silent as we came up with
them. Then, behind
our backs, the chattering began again. Their voices reminded me

8. of parakeets in a
cage, only the sound wasn’t quite so shrill. The warden stopped
outside the entrance
of a small, low building.
“So here I leave you, Monsieur Meursault. If you want me for
anything, you’ll
find me in my office. We propose to have the funeral tomorrow
morning. That will
enable you to spend the night beside your mother’s coffin, as no
doubt you would
wish to do. Just one more thing; I gathered from your mother’s
friends that she
wished to be buried with the rites of the Church. I’ve made
arrangements for this; but
I thought I should let you know.”
I thanked him. So far as I knew, my mother, though not a
professed atheist, had
never given a thought to religion in her life.
I entered the mortuary. It was a bright, spotlessly clean room,
with whitewashed
walls and a big skylight. The furniture consisted of some chairs
and trestles. Two of
the latter stood open in the center of the room and the coffin
rested on them. The lid
5
Albert Camus THE STRANGER
was in place, but the screws had been given only a few turns
and their nickeled heads

9. stuck out above the wood, which was stained dark walnut. An
Arab woman—a
nurse, I supposed—was sitting beside the bier; she was wearing
a blue smock and
had a rather gaudy scarf wound round her hair.
Just then the keeper came up behind me. He’d evidently been
running, as he was a
little out of breath.
“We put the lid on, but I was told to unscrew it when you came,
so that you could
see her.”
While he was going up to the coffin I told him not to trouble.
“Eh? What’s that?” he exclaimed. “You don’t want me to ...?”
“No,” I said.
He put back the screwdriver in his pocket and stared at me. I
realized then that I
shouldn’t have said, “No,” and it made me rather embarrassed.
After eying me for
some moments he asked:
“Why not?” But he didn’t sound reproachful; he simply wanted
to know.
“Well, really I couldn’t say,” I answered.
He began twiddling his white mustache; then, without looking at
me, said gently:
“I understand.”
He was a pleasant-looking man, with blue eyes and ruddy
cheeks. He drew up a
chair for me near the coffin, and seated himself just behind. The
nurse got up and
moved toward the door. As she was going by, the keeper

10. whispered in my ear:
“It’s a tumor she has, poor thing.”
I looked at her more carefully and I noticed that she had a
bandage round her head,
just below her eyes. It lay quite flat across the bridge of her
nose, and one saw hardly
anything of her face except that strip of whiteness.
As soon as she had gone, the keeper rose.
“Now I’ll leave you to yourself.”
I don’t know whether I made some gesture, but instead of going
he halted behind
my chair. The sensation of someone posted at my back made me
uncomfortable. The
sun was getting low and the whole room was flooded with a
pleasant, mellow light.
Two hornets were buzzing overhead, against the skylight. I was
so sleepy I could
hardly keep my eyes open. Without looking round, I asked the
keeper how long he’d
been at the Home. “Five years.” The answer came so pat that
one could have thought
he’d been expecting my question.
That started him off, and he became quite chatty. If anyone had
told him ten years
ago that he’d end his days as doorkeeper at a home at Marengo,
he’d never have
believed it. He was sixty-four, he said, and hailed from Paris.
When he said that, I broke in. “Ah, you don’t come from here?”
I remembered then that, before taking me to the warden, he’d
told me something

11. about Mother. He had said she’d have to be buried might y
quickly because of the
6
Albert Camus THE STRANGER
heat in these parts, especially down in the plain. “At Paris they
keep the body for
three days, sometimes four.” After that he had mentioned that
he’d spent the best part
of his life in Paris, and could never manage to forget it. “Here,”
he had said, “things
have to go with a rush, like. You’ve hardly time to get used to
the idea that
someone’s dead, before you’re hauled off to the funeral.”
“That’s enough,” his wife
had put in. “You didn’t ought to say such things to the poor
young gentleman.” The
old fellow had blushed and begun to apologize. I told him it was
quite all right. As a
matter of fact, I found it rather interesting, what he’d been
telling me; I hadn’t
thought of that before.
Now he went on to say that he’d entered the Home as an
ordinary inmate. But he
was still quite hale and hearty, and when the keeper’s job fell
vacant, he offered to
take it on.
I pointed out that, even so, he was really an inmate like the
others, but he wouldn’t

12. hear of it. He was “an official, like.” I’d been struck before by
his habit of saying
“they” or, less often, “them old folks,” when referring to
inmates no older than
himself. Still, I could see his point of view. As doorkeeper he
had a certain standing,
and some authority over the rest of them.
Just then the nurse returned. Night had fallen very quickly; all
of a sudden, it
seemed, the sky went black above the skylight. The keeper
switched on the lamps,
and I was almost blinded by the blaze of light.
He suggested I should go to the refectory for dinner, but I
wasn’t hungry. Then he
proposed bringing me a mug of café au lait. As I am very partial
to café au lait I
said, “Thanks,” and a few minutes later he came back with a
tray. I drank the coffee,
and then I wanted a cigarette. But I wasn’t sure if I should
smoke, under the
circumstances—in Mother’s presence. I thought it over; really,
it didn’t seem to
matter, so I offered the keeper a cigarette, and we both smoked.
After a while he started talking again.
“You know, your mother’s friends will be coming soon, to keep
vigil with you
beside the body. We always have a ‘vigil’ here, when anyone
dies. I’d better go and
get some chairs and a pot of black coffee.”
The glare off the white walls was making my eyes smart, and I
asked him if he

13. couldn’t turn off one of the lamps. “Nothing doing,” he said.
They’d arranged the
lights like that; either one had them all on or none at all. After
that I didn’t pay much
more attention to him. He went out, brought some chairs, and
set them out round the
coffin. On one he placed a coffeepot and ten or a dozen cups.
Then he sat down
facing me, on the far side of Mother. The nurse was at the other
end of the room,
with her back to me. I couldn’t see what she was doing, but by
the way her arms
moved I guessed that she was knitting. I was feeling very
comfortable; the coffee had
warmed me up, and through the open door came scents of
flowers and breaths of
cool night air. I think I dozed off for a while.
7
Albert Camus THE STRANGER
I was wakened by an odd rustling in my ears. After having had
my eyes closed, I
had a feeling that the light had grown even stronger than before.
There wasn’t a trace
of shadow anywhere, and every object, each curve or angle,
seemed to score its
outline on one’s eyes. The old people, Mother’s friends, were
coming in. I counted
ten in all, gliding almost soundlessly through the bleak white
glare. None of the
chairs creaked when they sat down. Never in my life had I seen
anyone so clearly as

14. I saw these people; not a detail of their clothes or features
escaped me. And yet I
couldn’t hear them, and it was hard to believe they really
existed.
Nearly all the women wore aprons, and the strings drawn tight
round their waists
made their big stomachs bulge still more. I’d never yet noticed
what big paunches
old women usually have. Most of the men, however, were as
thin as rakes, and they
all carried sticks. What struck me most about their faces was
that one couldn’t see
their eyes, only a dull glow in a sort of nest of wrinkles.
On sitting down, they looked at me, and wagged their heads
awkwardly, their lips
sucked in between their toothless gums. I couldn’t decide if
they were greeting me
and trying to say something, or if it was due to some infirmity
of age. I inclined to
think that they were greeting me, after their fashion, but it had a
queer effect, seeing
all those old fellows grouped round the keeper, solemnly eying
me and dandling their
heads from side to side. For a moment I had an absurd
impression that they had come
to sit in judgment on me.
A few minutes later one of the women started weeping. She was
in the second row
and I couldn’t see her face because of another woman in front.
At regular intervals
she emitted a little choking sob; one had a feeling she would
never stop. The others
didn’t seem to notice. They sat in silence, slumped in their

15. chairs, staring at the
coffin or at their walking sticks or any object just in front of
them, and never took
their eyes off it. And still the woman sobbed. I was rather
surprised, as I didn’t know
who she was. I wanted her to stop crying, but dared not speak to
her. After a while
the keeper bent toward her and whispered in her ear; but she
merely shook her head,
mumbled something I couldn’t catch, and went on sobbing as
steadily as before.
The keeper got up and moved his chair beside mine. At first he
kept silent; then,
without looking at me, he explained.
“She was devoted to your mother. She says your mother was her
only friend in the
world, and now she’s all alone.”
I had nothing to say, and the silence lasted quite a while.
Presently the woman’s
sighs and sobs became less frequent, and, after blowing her
nose and snuffling for
some minutes, she, too, fell silent.
I’d ceased feeling sleepy, but I was very tired and my legs were
aching badly. And
now I realized that the silence of these people was telling on my
nerves. The only
sound was a rather queer one; it came only now and then, and at
first I was puzzled
by it. However, after listening attentively, I guessed what it
was; the old men were
8

16. Albert Camus THE STRANGER
sucking at the insides of their cheeks, and this caused the odd,
wheezing noises that
had mystified me. They were so much absorbed in their
thoughts that they didn’t
know what they were up to. I even had an impression that the
dead body in their
midst meant nothing at all to them. But now I suspect that I was
mistaken about this.
We all drank the coffee, which the keeper handed round. After
that, I can’t
remember much; somehow the night went by. I can recall only
one moment; I had
opened my eyes and I saw the old men sleeping hunched up on
their chairs, with one
exception. Resting his chin on his hands clasped round his stick,
he was staring hard
at me, as if he had been waiting for me to wake. Then I fell
asleep again. I woke up
after a bit, because the ache in my legs had developed into a
sort of cramp.
There was a glimmer of dawn above the skylight. A minute or
two later one of the
old men woke up and coughed repeatedly. He spat into a big
check handkerchief, and
each time he spat it sounded as if he were retching. This woke
the others, and the
keeper told them it was time to make a move. They all got up at
once. Their faces
were ashen gray after the long, uneasy vigil. To my surprise

17. each of them shook
hands with me, as though this night together, in which we
hadn’t exchanged a word,
had created a kind of intimacy between us.
I was quite done in. The keeper took me to his room, and I
tidied myself up a bit.
He gave me some more “white” coffee, and it seemed to do me
good. When I went
out, the sun was up and the sky mottled red above the hills
between Marengo and the
sea. A morning breeze was blowing and it had a pleasant salty
tang. There was the
promise of a very fine day. I hadn’t been in the country for
ages, and I caught myself
thinking what an agreeable walk I could have had, if it hadn’t
been for Mother.
As it was, I waited in the courtyard, under a plane tree. I sniffed
the smells of the
cool earth and found I wasn’t sleepy any more. Then I thought
of the other fellows in
the office. At this hour they’d be getting up, preparing to go to
work; for me this was
always the worst hour of the day. I went on thinking, like this,
for ten minutes or so;
then the sound of a bell inside the building attracted my
attention. I could see
movements behind the windows; then all was calm again. The
sun had risen a little
higher and was beginning to warm my feet. The keeper came
across the yard and
said the warden wished to see me. I went to his office and he
got me to sign some
document. I noticed that he was in black, with pin-stripe
trousers. He picked up the

18. telephone receiver and looked at me.
“The undertaker’s men arrived some moments ago, and they will
be going to the
mortuary to screw down the coffin. Shall I tell them to wait, for
you to have a last
glimpse of your mother?”
“No,” I said.
He spoke into the receiver, lowering his voice. “That’s all right,
Figeac. Tell the
men to go there now.”
9
Albert Camus THE STRANGER
He then informed me that he was going to attend the funeral,
and I thanked him.
Sitting down behind his desk, he crossed his short legs and
leaned back. Besides the
nurse on duty, he told me, he and I would be the only mourners
at the funeral. It was
a rule of the Home that inmates shouldn’t attend funerals,
though there was no
objection to letting some of them sit up beside the coffin, the
night before.
“It’s for their own sakes,” he explained, “to spare their feelings.
But in this
particular instance I’ve given permission to an old friend of
your mother to come
with us. His name is Thomas Pérez.” The warden smiled. “It’s a

19. rather touching little
story in its way. He and your mother had become almost
inseparable. The other old
people used to tease Pérez about having a fiancée. ‘When are
you going to marry
her?’ they’d ask. He’d turn it with a laugh. It was a standing
joke, in fact. So, as you
can guess, he feels very badly about your mother’s death. I
thought I couldn’t
decently refuse him permission to attend the funeral. But, on
our medical officer’s
advice, I forbade him to sit up beside the body last night.”
For some time we sat there without speaking. Then the warden
got up and went to
the window. Presently he said:
“Ah, there’s the padre from Marengo. He’s a bit ahead of time.”
He warned me that it would take us a good three quarters of an
hour, walking to
the church, which was in the village. Then we went downstairs.
The priest was waiting just outside the mortuary door. With him
were two
acolytes, one of whom had a censer. The priest was stooping
over him, adjusting the
length of the silver chain on which it hung. When he saw us he
straightened up and
said a few words to me, addressing me as, “My son.” Then he
led the way into the
mortuary.
I noticed at once that four men in black were standing behind
the coffin and the
screws in the lid had now been driven home. At the same

20. moment I heard the warden
remark that the hearse had arrived, and the priest starting his
prayers. Then
everybody made a move. Holding a strip of black cloth, the four
men approached the
coffin, while the priest, the boys, and myself filed out. A lady I
hadn’t seen before
was standing by the door. “This is Monsieur Meursault,” the
warden said to her. I
didn’t catch her name, but I gathered she was a nursing sister
attached to the Home.
When I was introduced, she bowed, without the trace of a smile
on her long, gaunt
face. We stood aside from the doorway to let the coffin by;
then, following the
bearers down a corridor, we came to the front entrance, where a
hearse was waiting.
Oblong, glossy, varnished black all over, it vaguely reminded
me of the pen trays in
the office.
Beside the hearse stood a quaintly dressed little -man, whose
duty it was, I
understood, to supervise the funeral, as a sort of master of
ceremonies. Near him,
looking constrained, almost bashful, was old M. Pérez, my
mother’s special friend.
He wore a soft felt hat with a pudding-basin crown and a very
wide brim—he
10
Albert Camus THE STRANGER

21. whisked it off the moment the coffin emerged from the
doorway—trousers that
concertina’d on his shoes, a black tie much too small for his
high white double collar.
Under a bulbous, pimply nose, his lips were trembling. But what
caught my attention
most was his ears; pendulous, scarlet ears that showed up like
blobs of sealing wax
on the pallor of his cheeks and were framed in wisps of silky
white hair.
The undertaker’s factotum shepherded us to our places, with the
priest in front of
the hearse, and the four men in black on each side of it. The
warden and myself came
next, and, bringing up the rear, old Pérez and the nurse.
The sky was already a blaze of light, and the air stoking up
rapidly. I felt the first
waves of heat lapping my back, and my dark suit made things
worse. I couldn’t
imagine why we waited so long for getting under way. Old
Pérez, who had put on his
hat, took it off again. I had turned slightly in his direction and
was looking at him
when the warden started telling me more about him. I remember
his saying that old
Pérez and my mother used often to have a longish stroll together
in the cool of the
evening; sometimes they went as far as the village, accompanied
by a nurse, of
course.
I looked at the countryside, at the long lines of cypresses
sloping up toward the
skyline and the hills, the hot red soil dappled with vivid green,

22. and here and there a
lonely house sharply outlined against the light—and I could
understand Mother’s
feelings. Evenings in these parts must be a sort of mournful
solace. Now, in the full
glare of the morning sun, with everything shimmering in the
heat haze, there was
something inhuman, discouraging, about this landscape.
At last we made a move. Only then I noticed that Pérez had a
slight limp. The old
chap steadily lost ground as the hearse gained speed. One of the
men beside it, too,
fell back and drew level with me. I was surprised to see how
quickly the sun was
climbing up the sky, and just then it struck me that for quite a
while the air had been
throbbing with the hum of insects and the rustle of grass
warming up. Sweat was
running down my face. As I had no hat I tried to fan myself
with my handkerchief.
The undertaker’s man turned to me and said something that I
didn’t catch. At that
same time he wiped the crown of his head with a handkerchief
that he held in his left
hand, while with his right he tilted up his hat. I asked him what
he’d said. He pointed
upward.
“Sun’s pretty bad today, ain’t it?”
“Yes,” I said.
After a while he asked: “Is it your mother we’re burying?”
“Yes,” I said again.
“What was her age?”
“Well, she was getting on.” As a matter of fact, I didn’t know

23. exactly how old she
was.
11
Albert Camus THE STRANGER
After that he kept silent. Looking back, I saw Pérez limping
along some fifty yards
behind. He was swinging his big felt hat at arm’s length, trying
to make the pace. I
also had a look at the warden. He was walking with carefully
measured steps,
economizing every gesture. Beads of perspiration glistened on
his forehead, but he
didn’t wipe them off.
I had an impression that our little procession was movi ng
slightly faster. Wherever
I looked I saw the same sun-drenched countryside, and the sky
was so dazzling that I
dared not raise my eyes. Presently we struck a patch of freshly
tarred road. A
shimmer of heat played over it and one’s feet squelched at each
step, leaving bright
black gashes. In front, the coachman’s glossy black hat looked
like a lump of the
same sticky substance, poised above the hearse. It gave one a
queer, dreamlike
impression, that blue-white glare overhead and all this
blackness round one: the sleek
black of the hearse, the dull black of the men’s clothes, and the
silvery-black gashes

24. in the road. And then there were the smells, smells of hot
leather and horse dung
from the hearse, veined with whiffs of incense smoke. What
with these and the
hangover from a poor night’s sleep, I found my eyes and
thoughts growing blurred.
I looked back again. Pérez seemed very far away now, almost
hidden by the heat
haze; then, abruptly, he disappeared altogether. After puzzling
over it for a bit, I
guessed that he had turned off the road into the fields. Then I
noticed that there was a
bend of the road a little way ahead. Obviously Pérez, who knew
the district well, had
taken a short cut, so as to catch up with us. He rejoined us soon
after we were round
the bend; then began to lose ground again. He took another
short cut and met us
again farther on; in fact, this happened several times during the
next half-hour. But
soon I lost interest in his movements; my temples were
throbbing and I could hardly
drag myself along.
After that everything went with a …
UV1726
LAMBETH CUSTOM CABINETS (A)
Jack Lambeth, a master cabinetmaker, owned and operated a
shop where he sold custom- made cabinets. At the beginning of

25. September, he had no outstanding debts, and the following
amounts were on his books:
1. Raw-materials inventory, $2,150
2. Supplies inventory, $620
3. Work-in-process inventory, $5,650
Job
Materials
Labor
Overhead (50% of
labor)
A-3
$ 750
$1,100
$ 550
A-4
900
650
325
A-5
325
700
350
Total
$1,975
$2,450
$1,225
$5,650

26. 4. All other assets as of September 1, $16,890
During the month, Lambeth’s woodworking crew finished jobs
A-3, A-4, and A-6, but did not finish A-5. Job A-7 was started
but not finished during September. Overhead costs (pertaining
primarily to equipment and shop depreciation, cleaning
supplies, and insurance) were applied to every job at the end of
the month unless the job was finished during the month, in
which case overhead was applied when the job was finished.
This case was prepared by Professor Francis J. Spreng of
McKendree College, with minor revisions by Professor Mark
Haskins of the Darden Graduate School of Business
Administration, University of Virginia. It was written as a
basis for class discussion rather than to illustrate effective or
2004 by the University of Virginia Darden School Foundation,
Charlottesville, VA. All rights reserved. To order copies ,send
an e-mail to [email protected]No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, used in a spreadsheet,
or transmitted in any form or by any means— electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the
permission of the Darden School Foundation.

27. -2- UV1726
During September, the following direct-materials and direct-
labor costs were incurred:
Job
Direct Materials
Direct Labor
A-3
$ 280
$ 750
A-4
350
1,300
A-5
180
550
A-6
375
490
A-7
590
370
$1,175
$3,460
Other important financial factors in September were as follows:
1. Raw materials costing $1,675 were purchased during the
month.
2. Supplies costing $580 were purchased, of which $490 were
used and thus transferred to the manufacturing-overhead
account.

28. 3. Total increases to the labor-general-ledger account were
$5,460 (apparently, $2,000 of indirect-labor costs were
charged).
4. General and administrative expenses for the month were
$3,420.
5. Collections received from customers on jobs A-3, A-4, and
A-6 amounted to $6,125,
$8,600, and $1,750, respectively, for a total of $16,475.
6. At the end of the month, Lambeth Custom Cabinets had no
outstanding debts.
While Lambeth was reviewing the September data, he became
concerned about the manufacturing-overhead variance (MOV).
Because he never wanted to lay off an employee, the MOV was
always large in months when business was slow. (Lambeth
assigned idle workers to general cleanup and repair work, and
charged their wages to indirect labor.) Of course, Lambeth
realized why the MOV was so large. What he was worried
about, however, was Mrs. Carter.
Mrs. Carter, a neighbor, had stopped by the shop one day in
early September to get a price on some cabinets she wanted
built. Lambeth’s son, Jack Jr., spoke with her. Jack Jr. was
working in the shop while on summer vacation between his first
and second year of graduate business school. He studied Mrs.
Carter’s plans, and estimated the cost of building her cabinets
to be $1,625. His job-estimation sheet showed the following:
Lumber $590
Finishing materials 75
Direct-labor cost 640
Overhead
320
$1,625

29. -3- UV1726
When Jack Jr. quoted a price of $1,900 ($1,625 cost plus $275
profit) to Mrs. Carter, she said that she could get the same thing
built by Walworth Custom Kitchens for $1,500. Furthermore,
she informed him, “I would throw the dumb economics books
away before I would pay a penny more than $1,500 for book
cabinets to store them.”
Jack Jr. simply told her that his best price was $1,900. He
explained all about labor, materials, profit, overhead, and
competitive capitalism. In addition, he told Mrs. Carter that
Walworth could not make money on a $1,500 price, and if
Walworth was really willing to build the shelves for $1,500, she
would be stealing from Mr. Walworth!
Mrs. Carter was very angry when she left. Jack Jr. later told his
father the whole story, and laughed as he said, “Heck, we can’t
build stuff that costs $1,625 and sell it at a price of
$1,600, let alone $1,500, can we?” At the time, Lambeth did not
think much about the incident, but he began to wonder whether
Jack Jr. had learned anything at graduate business school.
Lambeth became especially concerned when he saw Bob
Walworth, who said, “Mrs. Carter saved me last month.”
Walworth had just delivered Mrs. Carter’s new cabinets, for
which she paid $1,500. Lambeth wondered who was right: Jack
Jr. or Walworth?
Assignment
1. Show, in a series of ledger accounts, the transactions for
September (you may use the T- accounts below).
2. In the greatest detail possible, prepare balance sheets as of
September 1 and September 30 and an income statement for
September (do not consider taxes).

30. -4- UV1726
Raw Materials Work-in-Process Finished Goods
Manufacturing Expense &
Supplies Inventory Overhead Inc. Summary
Labor All Other Assets
9-192-063
R E V: O C T O B E R 19, 2004
Hilton Manufacturing Company
In February 2004, George Weston was appointed general
manager by Paul Hilton, president of Hilton Manufacturing
Company. Weston, age 56, had wide executive experience in
manufacturing products similar to those of the Hilton Company.
The appointment of Weston resulted from management problems
arising from the death of Richard Hilton, founder and, until his
death in early 2003, president of the company. Paul Hilton had

31. only four years’ experience with the company, and in early 2004
was 34 years old. His father had hoped to train Paul over a 10-
year period, but the father’s untimely death had cut short this
seasoning period. The younger Hilton became president after his
father’s death and had exercised full control until he hired Mr.
Weston.
Paul Hilton knew that he had made several poor decisions
during 2003 and that the morale of the organization had
suffered, apparently through lack of confidence in him. When
he received the 2003 income statement (Exhibit 1), the loss of
almost $200,000 during a good year for the industry convinced
him that he needed help. He attracted Weston from a competitor
by offering a stock option incentive in addition to salary,
knowing that Weston wanted to acquire financial security for
his retirement. The two men came to a clear understanding that
Weston, as general manager, had full authority to execute any
changes he desired. In addition, Weston would explain the
reasons for his decisions to Mr. Hilton and thereby train him for
successful leadership upon Weston’s retirement.
Hilton Manufacturing Company made only three industrial
products, 101, 102, and 103, in its single plant. These were sold
by the company sales force for use in the processes of other
manufacturers. All of the sales force, on a salary basis, sold the
three products but in varying proportions. Hilton sold
throughout New England, where it was one of eight companies
with similar products. Several of its competitors were larger and
manufactured a larger variety of products. The dominant
company was Catalyst Company, which operated a plant in
Hilton’s market area. Customarily, Catalyst announced prices,
and the other producers followed suit.
Price cutting was rare; the only variance from quoted selling
prices took the form of cash discounts. In the past, attempts at
price cutting had followed a consistent pattern; all competitors

32. met the price reduction, and the industry as a whole sold about
the same quantity but at the lower prices. This continued until
Catalyst, with its strong financial position, again stabilized the
situation following a general recognition of the failure of price
cutting. Furthermore, because sales were to industrial buyers
and the products of different manufacturers were similar, Hilton
was convinced it could not unilaterally raise prices without
suffering volume declines.
HBS cases are developed solely as the basis for class
discussion. Cases are not intended to serve as endorsements,
sources of primary data, or illustrations of effective or
ineffective management.
Copyright © 1991 President and Fellows of Harvard College. To
order copies or request permission to reproduce materials, call
1-800-545-7685, write Harvard Business School Publishing,
Boston, MA 02163, or go to http://www.hbsp.harvard.edu. No
part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, used in a spreadsheet, or transmitted in any form or by
any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise—without the permission of Harvard Business School.
192-063 Hilton Manufacturing Company
During 2003, Hilton’s share of industry sales was 12 percent for
type 101, 8 percent for 102, and 10 percent for 103. The
industrywide quoted selling prices were $9.41, $9.91, and
$10.56, respectively.

33. Weston, upon taking office in February 2004, decided against
immediate major changes. Rather, he chose to analyze 2003
operations and to wait for results of the first half of 2004. He
instructed the accounting department to provide detailed
expenses and earnings statements by products for 2003 (See
Exhibit 2). In addition, he requested an explanation of the
nature of the costs including their expected future behavior (see
Exhibit 3).
To familiarize Paul Hilton with his methods, Weston sent copies
of these reports to Hilton, and they discussed them. Hilton
stated that he thought product 103 should be dropped
immediately as it would be impossible to lower expenses on
product 103 as much as 83 cents per hundredweight (cwt.). In
addition, he stressed the need for economies on product 102.
Weston relied on the authority arrangement Hilton had agreed to
earlier and continued production of the three products. For
control purposes, he had the accounting departme nt prepare
monthly statements using as standard costs the actual costs per
cwt. from the 2003 profit and loss statement (Exhibit 2). These
monthly statements were his basis for making minor marketing
and production changes during the spring of 2004. Late i n July
2004, Weston received from the accounting department the six
months’ statement of cumulative standard costs including
variances of actual costs from standard (see Exhibit 4). They
showed that the first half of 2004 was a successful period.
During the latter half of 2004, the sales of the entire industry
weakened. Even though Hilton retained its share of the market,
its profit for the last six months would be small. For January
2005, Catalyst announced a price reduction on product 101 from
$9.41 to $8.64 per cwt. This created an immediate pricing
problem for its competitors. Weston forecast that if Hilton
Manufacturing Company held to the $9.41 price during the first
six months of 2005, its unit sales would be 750,000 cwt. He felt

34. that if Hilton dropped its price to $8.64 per cwt., the six
months’ volume would be 1,000,000 cwt. Weston knew that
competing managements anticipated a further decline in
activity. He thought a general decline in prices was quite
probable.
The accounting department reported that the standard costs in
use would probably apply during the first half of 2005, with two
exceptions: materials and supplies would be about 5 percent
above standard; and light and heat would increase about 7%.
Weston and Hilton discussed the product 101 pricing problem.
Hilton observed that especially with the anticipated increase in
materials and supplies costs, a sales price of $8.64 would be
below cost. He therefore wanted to hold the price at $9.41,
since he felt the company could not be profitable w hile selling a
key product below cost.
Questions
1. If the company had dropped product 103 as of January 1,
2004, what effect would that action have had on the $158,000
profit for the first six months of 2004?
2. In January 2005, should the company reduce the price of
product 101 from $9.41 to $8.64?
3. What is Hilton’s most profitable product?
4. What appears to have caused the return to profitable
operations in the first six months of 2004?
2
Hilton Manufacturing Company 192-063
Exhibit 1 Hilton Manufacturing Company, Income Statement
for Year Ending December 31, 2003.
Gross Sales

35. $40,690,234
Cash discount
622,482
Net sales
40,067,752
Cost of sales
25,002,386
Gross margin
15,065,366
Less: Selling expense
$7,058,834
General administration
2,504,597
Depreciation
5,216,410
Operating income
285,525
Other income
78,113
Income before interest
363,638
Less: interest expense
555,719
Income (loss)

36. $ (192,081)
3
(
.
)
192-063 Hilton Manufacturing Company

37. Exhibit 2 Hilton Manufacturing Company, Analysis of Profit
and Loss by Product, Year Ended December 31, 2003
Product 101
$ per
Product 102
$ per
Product 103
$ per
Total
Thousands
Cwt.
Thousands
Cwt.
Thousands
Cwt.
Thousands
Rent
721
0.3383
603
0.5856
718
0.7273
2,042
Property taxes
240

38. 0.1125
192
0.1862
153
0.1555
585
Property insurance
201
0.0941
153
0.1486
202
0.2047
556
Compensation insurance
317
0.1486
167
0.1620
172
0.1747
656
Direct labor
4,964
2.3282
2,341
2.2740
2,640
2.6746
9,945
Indirect labor
1,693
0.7941
814
0.7903
883

39. 0.8947
3,390
Power
86
0.0403
96
0.0929
116
0.1171
298
Light and heat
57
0.0269
49
0.0472
39
0.0392
145
Building service
38
0.0180
30
0.0288
28
0.0288
96
Materials
2,935
1.3766
1,809
1.7572
1,862
1.8862
6,606
Supplies
201

40. 0.0941
183
0.1774
135
0.1363
519
Repairs
68
0.0319
57
0.0557
39
0.0396
164
Total
11,522
5.4036
6,493
6.3059
6,986
7.0787
25,002
Selling expense
3,496
1.6397
1,758
1.7069
1,805
1.8286
7,059
General administration
1,324
0.6209
499
0.4850
681

41. 0.6904
2,505
Depreciation
2,169
1.0172
1,643
1.5955
1,404
1.4223
5,216
Interest
201
0.0941
153
0.1490
202
0.2043
556
Total cost
18,711
8.7755
10,546
10.2423
11,078
11.2243
40,338
Less other income
39
0.0184
20
0.0192
19
0.0192
78
18,672

42. 8.7571
10,526
10.2231
11,059
11.2051
40,260
Sales (net)
19,847
9.3084
9,977
9.6900
10,243
10.3784
40,068
Profit (loss)
1,175
0.5513
(549)
(0.5331)
(816)
(0.8267)
(192)
Unit sales (cwt.)
2,132,191
1,029,654
986,974
Quoted selling price Cash discounts taken,
percent of selling price
$9.41
1.08%
$9.91
2.22%
$10.56

43. 1.72%
Note: Figures may not add exactly because of rounding.
4
Hilton Manufacturing Company 192-063
Exhibit 3 Accounting Department’s Commentary on Costs
Direct Labor: Variable. Nonunion shop at going community
rates. No abnormal demands foreseen.
It may be assumed that direct labor dollars is an adequate
measure of capacity utilization.

44. Compensation insurance: Variable. Five percent of direct and
indirect labor is an adequate estimate.
Materials: Variable. Exhibit 2 figures are accurate. Includes
waste allowances.
Power: Variable. Rates are fixed.
Supplies: Variable. Exhibit 2 figures are accurate.
Repairs: Variable. Varies as volume changes within normal
operating range. Lower and upper limits are fixed.
General administrative, selling expense, indirect labor, interest:
Almost nonvariable. Can be changed by management decision.
Cash discount: Almost nonvariable. Average cash discounts
taken are consistent from year to year.
Percentages in Exhibit 2 are accurate.
Light and heat: Almost nonvariable. Heat varies only with fuel
cost changes. Light is a fixed item regardless of level of
production.
Property taxes: Almost nonvariable. Under the lease terms,
Hilton Manufacturing Company pays the taxes; assessed
valuation has been constant, the rate has risen slowly. Any
change in the near future will be small and independent of
production volume.
Rent: Nonvariable. Lease has 12 years to run.
Building service: Nonvariable. At normal business level,
variances are small.
Property insurance: Nonvariable. Three-year policy with fixed

45. premium.
Depreciation: Nonvariable. Fixed dollar total.
5
192-063 -6-
Exhibit 4 Hilton Manufacturing Company, Profit and Loss by
Product, at Standard, Showing Variations from January 1 to
June 30, 2004.
Product 101 Product 102 Product 103
Standard per
Cwt.
Total at
Standard
Standard per
Cwt.
Total at

46. Standard
Standard per
Cwt.
Total at
Standard
Total Standard
(thousands)
Total Actual
(thousands)
Variance
Rent
0.3383
337
0.5856
417
0.7273
365
1,119
1,021
+ 98
Property taxes
0.1125
112
0.1862
133
0.1555
78
323
307
+ 16
Property insurance
0.0941
94
0.1486
106

47. 0.2047
103
302
278
+ 24
Compensation insurance
0.1486
148
0.1620
115
0.1747
88
351
348
+ 3
Direct labor
2.3282
2,321
2.2740
1,619
2.6746
1,341
5,281
5,308
- 27
Indirect labor
0.7941
792
0.7903
563
0.8947
448
1,803
1,721
+ 82
Power

48. 0.0403
40
0.0929
66
0.1171
59
165
170
- 5
Light and heat
0.0269
27
0.0472
34
0.0392
20
80
83
- 3
Building service
0.0180
18
0.0288
21
0.0288
14
53
50
+ 3
Materials
1.3766
1,372
1.7572
1,251
1.8862
946

49. 3,569
3,544
+ 25
Supplies
0.0941
94
0.1774
126
0.1363
68
288
288
--
Repairs
0.0319
32
0.0557
40
0.0396
20
91
88
+ 3
Total production cost
5.4036
5,387
6.3059
4,490
7.0787
3,548
13,425
13,206
+219
Selling expense
1.6397
1,635

50. 1.7069
1,215
1.8286
917
3,767
3,706
+ 62
General administration
0.6209
619
0.4850
345
0.6904
346
1,310
1,378
- 68
Depreciation
1.0172
1,014
1.5955
1,136
1.4223
713
2,863
2,686
+177
Interest
0.0941
94
0.1490
106
0.2043
102
302
290

51. + 12
Total cost
8.7755
8,748
10.2423
7,294
11.2243
5,626
21,668
21,266
+402
Less other income
0.0184
18
0.0192
14
0.0192
10
42
42
--
8.7571
8,730
10.2231
7,280
11.2051
5,617
21,626
21,224
+402
Actual sales (net)
9.3084
9,279
9.6900
6,900

52. 10.3784
5,202
21,382
21,382
--
Profit or loss
0.5513
550
(0.5331)
(380)
(0.8267)
(414)
(244)
158
+402
Unit Sales (cwt.)
996,859
712,102
501,276
Note: Figures may not add exactly because of rounding.

53. Essay #2 on The Stranger by Albert Camus
Word Count 700, Times New Roman, 12 font, double spaced
Works cited to be done by MLA standards
Topic: Absurd world or absurd central character?
In the book, The Stranger, the indispensable theme of absurdity
and how one
is supposed to react to it is revealed to us in every chapter. One
can argue
that Meursault himself is the one who is absurd, but much of the
world in
which he lives is equally strange and irrational. Explain how the
world
aroundMeursault is strange, absurd and/or reflective of
existentialism. Give
specific examples and quotes from the book that show how odd
and
meaningless life is viewed and lived by Meursault andthose who
surround this
absurd central character. (Think of the setting, the culture,
customs and
traditions, lifestyle, beliefs and behaviors of the society
Meursault lived in.
How are those elements also viewed as absurd). Please do not
only write
about how absurd Meursault's character is.