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The Iron Boys in the Steel Mills; or, Beginning Anew in the Cinder Pits

by James R. Mears · English · Gutenberg #39807 · 301,630 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Iron Boys in the Steel Mills; or, Beginning Anew in the Cinder Pits

Author: James R. Mears


        
Release date: May 26, 2012 [eBook #39807]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39807

Credits: Produced by Dianna Adair, Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford,
        Dave Morgan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
        at http://www.pgdp.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IRON BOYS IN THE STEEL MILLS; OR, BEGINNING ANEW IN THE CINDER PITS ***




Produced by Dianna Adair, Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford,
Dave Morgan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net








    Illustration: Steve Tossed the Man Out of the Pit.
    _Frontispiece._




The Iron Boys in the
Steel Mills

OR

Beginning Anew in the Cinder Pits

By

JAMES R. MEARS

Author of The Iron Boys in the Mines, The Iron Boys as Foremen,
The Iron Boys on the Ore Boats, The Iron Boys on the Steel Rail
Job, etc.

Illustrated

PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY




COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY
HOWARD E. ALTEMUS




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                                   PAGE

      I. TOO SLOW FOR HIM                      7
     II. MAKING A NEW START                   24
    III. IN THE CINDER PIT                    33
     IV. LAYING HANDS ON THE BOSS             42
      V. ON THE BRINK OF A VOLCANO            53
     VI. BOB'S DIZZY FLIGHT                   63
    VII. AN UNJUST SENTENCE                   71
   VIII. IGNATZ ON THE WAR PATH               80
     IX. STEVE MEETS WITH DISAPPOINTMENT      93
      X. SOMETHING HAPPENS TO THE BOSS       103
     XI. READJUSTING THEIR FINANCES          112
    XII. THE BOYS MEET WITH A SURPRISE       121
   XIII. FACING THEIR ACCUSERS               130
    XIV. BY THE ROARING FURNACES             142
     XV. MENACED BY A DOUBLE PERIL           154
    XVI. THROUGH THE MELTING POT             164
   XVII. A HANG-OVER AND A FLAREBACK         173
  XVIII. IN A FIERY RAIN                     182
    XIX. RUSH MAKES A SUGGESTION             194
     XX. THE CHIEF EXPRESSES HIMSELF         203
    XXI. RAKED BY THE "PIG"                  213
   XXII. DIRECTORS GET A SHOCK               224
  XXIII. AN UNLOOKED-FOR PROMOTION           235
   XXIV. CONCLUSION                          250




The Iron Boys in the Steel Mills




CHAPTER I

TOO SLOW FOR HIM


The telephone bell rang sharply. Its very insistence seemed to indicate
the nervous haste of the person on the other end of the line.

"Hello!" growled the boy, looking longingly out of the office window as
he clapped the receiver to his ear. "What's that? What building? Pity
they couldn't pick out a hot day, while they were about it. Yes, I'll
tell him. 'Yes,' I said. Can't you hear?"

Several clerks, with coats and vests off, were lounging about the office
of the great steel works in the accident department. The sun beat down
on the building with relentless energy, and there was scarcely a breath
of air stirring. There was little incentive to work, and hardly any one
was making the slightest pretext at it.

Steve Rush and Bob Jarvis glanced inquiringly at the telephone
operator. Being in the accident department, they were interested every
time they heard the telephone bell ring. It was their duty, immediately
upon an accident being reported in any of the mills, to proceed to the
scene at once and gather all the facts for the future use of the
company. Furthermore, they were allowed considerable latitude in the
disposal of persons who had been injured.

"Anything doing?" questioned Jarvis.

"Accident," answered the operator in a tone that led one to believe that
the mere effort of speaking gave him pain.

"Where?"

"Number twenty-four," meaning the building bearing that number. "That's
in your district, Rush."

Bob Jarvis grinned.

"I am in luck that it isn't in my division. It's hot enough here, but
excuse me from going into the mills on a day like this. Want any help,
Steve?"

"No, thank you. And besides, you are too lazy to work to-day. You would
only be a handicap to me. What is the accident, did they say?"

The operator shook his head wearily.

Steve Rush, picking up a pad of paper which he stuffed in his pocket,
hurried from the office and started across the street on a run. As he
did so he saw a red light burning dimly at the peak of one of the long
row of soot-blackened mills that made up the plant of the Steelburgh
mills, a signal indicating that a disaster of some sort had occurred in
that building. Seeing that signal it was the duty of the Iron and Steel
Police, who kept order in the mills, to report the fact to the accident
department at once.

Steve did not need the red light to guide him. He was by this time
familiar with the location of all the buildings, though there were some,
such as the plate mills, where the armor plate was made for the ships of
the Navy, which he had never entered. No one save those who were
employed there were able to gain admission to the buildings where secret
processes were employed.

Steve dashed by the guard at the gate.

"Here, where are you going?" demanded the guard.

"Accident department."

"Let me see your card!" demanded the officious gate guard.

"Some other time. Can't you see I am in a hurry?" answered the lad,
running past the gate and into the yards at top speed.

The Iron and Steel Police like nothing better than an opportunity to
show their authority. The result was that Steve had gotten but a short
distance inside the yard when policemen, seeing him running, began
shouting at him from all sides to halt. Perhaps they had seen him
passing in and out, daily, for several weeks. But this made no
difference. He was running, and all persons going faster than a walk
must have a reason for so doing. It was their duty to stop the runner
and learn what it meant. At least, that was the way these guardians of
the mills construed their duty.

Steve merely pointed to the red light high up on number twenty-four, as
the best answer to their questions. He kept on running. So did some of
the policemen, but they were no match in speed, for the supple young
fellow, who realizing the necessity for haste, kept on at top speed.

As he neared the building, three uniformed officers dodged out from
behind a pile of steel bars, their attention having been called to the
sprinter by the shouts of their companions.

"Hold up!"

"I can't!" answered Steve, continuing on toward them.

"Ye'd better stop, if ye know what's good for ye."

"There has been an accident. I can't stop. I'm from the accident
department, and----"

"We'll stop ye!"

"The wooden-heads, they actually are going to hold me up! Well, I'll
teach them a lesson, even if I lose my job for it," gritted the boy.
"Get out of the way, I tell you! Don't you dare stop me here!"

The officers spread out a little, drawing their clubs as they executed
the movement, one stepping forward a little in advance of the others.

"There's only one way out of it," muttered Steve. "I've either got to
get by them or be called down at the office for being too slow. I don't
believe I'll be called down for being late to-day. At least, not for
anything that I see just now."

The foremost of the Iron and Steel Police made a grab for the fleeing
lad, catching and whirling the boy around, facing in the opposite
direction.

"Let go of me!"

A firmer grip was the answer. Rush made a quick turn. His right arm was
thrust forcibly against the neck of the policeman, followed by a sudden
kick on the shins. The policeman fell flat on the cinder-covered ground.

The other two men sprang forward with drawn clubs to attack the boy who
had used their companion so roughly. Their clubs were raised to strike,
but ere they could bring their weapons into use they too had dropped to
the ground.

"Now, maybe you'll learn to mind your own business," shouted the boy,
starting on a run for the building over which the red light still
glowed. "The idiots! Why, a man cannot go about his business without
their interfering with him. I wonder the company stands for such idiotic
nonsense."

Steve dashed in through the door of number twenty-four, which also was
guarded by a policeman.

"Accident department," said the boy as he ran in, at which the officer
nodded understandingly. "He has some sense," breathed Steve.

The lad's quick eyes caught sight of a group of men standing half way
down the centre of the dimly lighted building. It was the open-hearth
furnace building, and the group was a little to the right of the
furnaces that extended down nearly through the centre.

Hurrying up to the group Rush elbowed his way through to a point where
he saw half a dozen men lying on the floor groaning. The foreman was
there waiting, having sent for an ambulance to convey the men to a place
where they could be treated.

"Burned?" questioned Steve sharply.

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"Small ladle tipped over, spattering some hot metal on them," replied
the man, jerking a thumb toward the suffering men.

"Tell me exactly how it happened."

The foreman did so with evident reluctance. In the first place, an
accident in his department reflected on him and his management. Besides
this he was so used to seeing men injured, during his long service in
the steel mills, that the sight of human suffering did not make the same
impression upon him that might otherwise have been the case.

"Who else saw the accident?"

"All the men on the pit and ladles."

Steve quickly had the names of the witnesses and made brief notes of
their stories, after which he returned to the foreman to get the names
of the injured men. By the time he had completed this, only a few
minutes elapsed before the photographer arrived.

Steve pointed to the injured men, as indicating that they were to be
photographed first. Next he turned his attention to the ladle that had
been capsized. He made a quick examination of this, motioning to the
foreman to join him.

"The chain broke, did it not?"

"You can see that one of them did," answered the foreman gruffly.

"I am asking you. No matter what I see. How did it happen to break?"

"Too much strain on it, I suppose."

Rush picked his way gingerly around to the other side, for the ground
was covered with metal that in some cases was still red hot. Reaching a
point where he could do so without being burned he poked the broken
chain about with an iron bar that he had picked up, until he got the
break where he could see it more plainly. There was a dull mark across
the break, that seemed especially to interest him. The dull mark
extended clear to the surface of the link.

"Photographer, I want a picture, first of this break in the chain, and
next a general view of the upset ladle and chain. You had better use a
flash light on the link so your picture will show the break plainly."

"Say, what do you want to do that for?" demanded the foreman.

"What do I want to do that for?" repeated the boy, turning sharply.

"Yes, no need to give a fellow away like that. It was an accident."

"Bill Foley, what do you take me for? I'm not that kind of man. I would
help you if I could, but I am paid for gathering all the facts whenever
an accident occurs. You are the foreman of this open-hearth, and you
ought to be the very first one to demand an honest investigation."

"It just broke, that's all. They're all likely to do that."

"They are all supposed to be examined daily, too," answered Rush
quickly. "The company's first care is for the safety of its men. Still,
it's not the part of my duty to preach to you."

"Then _don't_!" growled Foley.

"No; I'll do my duty, old chap, though in this case it means some
trouble for you."

Two ambulances had arrived by this time and the surgeons were giving
first aid to the injured as the men lay stretched out on the still hot
cinders on the floor of the dingy mill.

The work of the mill had not ceased. It went on with a rush and a roar,
interspersed with reverberating crashes, here and there, that sounded as
though the steel roof were caving in.

"Any of them seriously hurt, Doctor?" demanded Steve.

"One is very badly burned. He won't get well. As for the others, I can't
promise."

"Should they all go to the hospital?"

"Yes."

"Then take them there, please. Do you need any more ambulances?"

"No; but I wish you would get some men to carry these poor fellows to
the ambulances."

"Foley, will you please assign men as litter-bearers?" requested Rush,
turning to the foreman of the open-hearth.

The foreman did so sullenly and grudgingly.

"They might better go home," he growled. "You fellows are trying to make
a mountain out of a mole-hill."

Four men were assigned to the task, however, and these, hurrying out,
soon returned with two litters. On them the injured men were placed and
in turn borne to the waiting ambulances, in which they were tenderly
placed. The first ambulance, being filled, was hurried away to the
company's hospital, a few doors from the main offices of the mills.

Steve pushed forward his inquiry with great energy. There seemed nothing
too trivial for him to inquire about, if it could possibly bear on the
accident. So persistent were his inquiries, into these accident cases,
as to cause those who were in any way responsible to feel a sense of
uneasiness the moment they saw the lad enter their building. Rush spared
no one when that person was in any way to blame. He did his work well
and conscientiously, without fear or favor. As a result he made many
bitter enemies as well as some life-long friends.

The men in the mills with whom he came in contact in these hurried
visits had come to regard Steve as one among many. He did not side with
the bosses, and, though he was the friend of the men, he did not side
with them unless their side chanced to be the right one.

The reader has already recognized in Steve Rush and Bob Jarvis, the Iron
Boys, who, as told in "THE IRON BOYS IN THE MINES," began their career
in the great industrial world, at the foot of the deep shaft in the
Cousin Jack Iron Mine. It will be remembered that they distinguished
themselves there in the beginning by their courage, resourcefulness and
persistent efforts to serve their employers in the best possible manner.
It was in this, their first employment, that the Iron Boys became
friends after a fight and from that moment began a friendship that was
destined to last for years, in fact as long as the lads lived. Their
escapes from death were many and thrilling, but because of their courage
and cool-headedness they came safely through their apprenticeship,
winning promotion and the confidence and respect of their employers.

Again, as narrated, in "THE IRON BOYS AS FOREMEN," Steve Rush and Bob
Jarvis met with new and exciting experiences. They became, as will be
remembered, involved in a great strike, and because of their fidelity to
what they believed to be the right, were expelled from the union, even
after they had by their heroic efforts saved the mine from destruction
by fire and dynamite, and thus saved the lives of many of their
companions. The Iron Boys through their further efforts exposed the
leader of the strike, proving him to be a dishonest man and a rascal of
the worst type, who, instead of working for the interests of the honest
but misguided members of the union, was seeking power and money,
regardless of the suffering that his unworthy ambition brought to
others. In the end the lads, after deeds of violence had been
perpetrated, saved the bridge that was the key to the transportation of
the company's product, for all of which they were handsomely rewarded by
their grateful employers.

From the mines the Iron Boys took the next step in their calling which
they were determined to learn from start to finish. This second step had
to do with the transportation of the ore from the mines to the mills. It
will be recalled by readers of "THE IRON BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES" that
the lads shipped on an ore boat; that they boarded the boat through an
ore chute, being dumped in the hold, and that they nearly lost their
lives before making their way to the upper deck of the ship. Their first
experience on shipboard had to do with the fire room in which they were
put to work as stokers, and where they had a most unique but desperate
battle with the "black gang" of the stoke hole. Collision and shipwreck
were a part of their early experiences, during which Steve Rush and his
companion again proved themselves heroes. And now, after a season on the
Great Lakes, they had moved on to the steel mills, where the red ore
that they had helped to take from the depths of the earth was worked up
into pig iron and steel. The boys had declined to take letters of
introduction to the mills, proceeding there like any one else and asking
for jobs.

However, unknown to them, the president of the mining company had
written to Mr. Keating, general superintendent of the mills, asking the
superintendent to give the boys the best possible opportunity to learn
the business. The president had recounted some of their achievements, so
that, though they did not know it, the superintendent was fully prepared
for their coming. He had taken a liking to the frank-faced, athletic
young fellows the moment he first saw them. He saw in them the making of
splendid men. He reasoned, however, that their rise would be quicker
were they to start in the offices of the company. It seemed too bad to
start them with the rank and file in the turbulent mills, where hard,
rough men toiled by day and by night at their hard labor.

Only the strongest could survive, and Mr. Keating, despite the athletic
appearance of the Iron Boys, did not believe they possessed the
endurance to stand up under the strain of work in the mills.

That was where he underrated the staying qualities of Bob and Steve.
They had been placed in the accident department, where they had
distinguished themselves almost at once. No such clear and thorough
reports had ever been made of accidents in the mills as had been turned
in by Steve Rush and Bob Jarvis. But Steve was not satisfied. There were
some features about the work that he did not like. In the short time
that he had been at the work he had witnessed scenes that had stirred
him profoundly. Where his duty called him there was always suffering,
and in many cases, death. Though the steel company did all in its power
to protect its men, accidents of the most harrowing nature were bound to
occur in that hazardous calling. The Iron Boys could not hold back or
turn their heads at the sights they saw. It was their duty to face the
ordeal, and face it they did.

Steve, after all the injured men had been loaded into the ambulances,
hurried out, leaped to the tailboard of the last ambulance and went
rolling away toward the company's hospital. He clung easily to the
stanchions at the rear of the swaying wagon, thinking over the facts he
had gained. The ambulance surgeon hummed softly to himself, now and then
casting an eye over the moaning men who were being conveyed to the
hospital. The surgeon's mind, perhaps, was far away and on more peaceful
scenes.

"As soon as you have examined the men let me know who is in the best
condition to be talked to," requested Rush, as the ambulance driver
pulled up before the hospital. "I must get the stories of the men so far
as possible."

The surgeon nodded. By the time Steve entered the hospital the grime had
been washed from the faces of the burned men. Steve halted as his eyes
caught sight of a boy whose eyes were fixed upon his own.

"Why, Ignatz Brodsky!" exclaimed the Iron Boy. "I didn't know you were
hurt."

The Polish boy, whom Steve had befriended on several occasions, thus
winning the lad's undying devotion, nodded feebly.

"Are you suffering?"

"Yes; I die."

"Nonsense. Doctor, look after Brodsky here as soon as you can, won't
you?"

"I'll attend to him at once," answered the surgeon. "Why, he isn't badly
hurt. He will be able to go home, perhaps by to-morrow."

"There, what did I tell you, Ignatz? Of course you are all right. I will
tell your mother how you are as soon as I can get away from the mills.
Is there anything you want me to do for you besides that?"

"No, sir."

"Are you able to tell me what you know about the accident?"

"Yes."

Ignatz, in halting tones, gave the investigator a homely but graphic
account of how the disaster had occurred. In the first place, the men
had been to blame because they had no business to be so near the small
ladle of molten metal when it was being hoisted from the pit. In the
second place, Ignatz said, that, after the accident, he had heard some
of the men talking about the chain being defective. Steve secured the
names of these men from the Polish boy, then hurried on to the others of
the injured. The lad had a pleasant, encouraging word for each, making
memoranda of things the wounded men wished him to do for them. They knew
he would do what he promised, and it was a source of great comfort to
them to know that the messages they wished conveyed to their families
would have the most careful attention from the Iron Boy.

Some of the men were too badly hurt to be able to talk. These Steve did
not try to question. He did, however, question others, who had been less
severely injured.

The boy left the hospital with stern, set face. He drew a long breath as
he emerged into the burning sunlight, shook himself and hurried to the
office. There he made a verbal report to the head of the department,
which very plainly placed a good share of the blame on the foreman of
hearth number seven, Bill Foley.

While the head of the accident department was closeted with the general
superintendent in an adjoining room, giving him the details of the
disaster, Steve was busily engaged in making out his report, which he
dictated to a stenographer. Bob Jarvis stood on the other side of the
stenographer, his eyes fixed on Steve as he made his report. Bob,
listening intently, was getting points for his own work.

Having completed his report, Rush got up, stretched himself and looked
at Bob.

"I'm through with this job," announced Steve, with emphasis.

"Through with it? Why?"

"It's too slow for me."

"What's that you say, Rush?"

The Iron Boy turned and found himself looking into the face of the
general superintendent.




CHAPTER II

MAKING A NEW START


"I beg your pardon, Mr. Keating," apologized Steve, reddening a little.

"So this work is too slow for you, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"It strikes me that it has been rather the opposite. You certainly have
excitement enough, don't you?"

"Well, yes, sir, but----"

"Step into my office."

"Rush's going to get his," mumbled the telephone operator, coming to
life for the moment. "I shouldn't care to be in his shoes just at
present."

"Sit down, Rush. I will confess that I am rather surprised at the remark
that I just overheard you make."

Mr. Keating was a man well past middle age. His hair was gray, his
bristling mustache of the same shade, gray, twinkling eyes adding
greatly to the general effect of the face. But it was the square-set jaw
and the firm set of the lips that revealed the iron in the make up of
the superintendent. All this Steve Rush saw at a glance and understood.

"Perhaps I should not have been quite so outspoken," admitted the lad.
"That is a fault of mine."

"That is not always a fault. Most honest men are outspoken, my lad. But
to return to the subject of our discussion. I was in hopes you would
like the place we have given you. It is an important position and
difficult to fill. On the other hand, you have shown remarkable aptitude
for the work. You have done better in it than any other man we ever
had."

"Thank you, sir."

"All the more reason why I wish you would stay. You are not thinking of
leaving the employ of the company, are you?"

"No, sir."

"Then what is the matter?"

"Nothing is the matter, sir, except that I don't particularly enjoy
being the trouble man. It is really my business to get others into
trouble, and----"

"Not at all."

"It so turns out, just the same."

"I am sorry you look at it in that way."

"What is more, Mr. Keating, I wish to learn the real business of iron
and steel making."

"It strikes me that you have a pretty good start already," said the
general superintendent, a grim smile appearing on his face.

"I shall never learn it where I am. Of course I have learned a great
deal about first aid to the injured and the like, also location of the
different departments in the mill. However, sir, I want to learn the
business, and I want to learn by actual experience everything about the
mills."

"A very praiseworthy ambition. But we like you very well where you are.
As I have already said, we have never had men in the accident department
who were as thorough and trustworthy as you and Jarvis. It is also easy
work, compared with other occupations in the mill."

"That is just it, it's too easy. Give me something hard, something that
will keep my muscles up. We have been leading an active life for the
past two or three years, Mr. Keating. We'll go stale if we don't get to
work soon."

"Will Jarvis wish to change also?"

"I have not talked the matter over with him. He usually wants to go with
me wherever I go."

"Have you any choice as to department or work?"

"No, sir, save that I should like to work through all of them."

"But, lad, there are many trades represented in the mills. You cannot
hope to learn all of them," objected the general superintendent.

"I do not want to learn them all, Mr. Keating. There is only one trade
that I want to learn, and I _do_ want to know all about that, even
though it takes me years to learn it."

"What trade is that?" smiled the superintendent indulgently.

"The steel trade. I want to learn the steel business. I have a fairly
good working knowledge of the ore business right down to the gates of
the mills, but when I get inside the fence surrounding the mills I am in
an unknown world, as it were."

"So it is to a majority of the men working there. But I begin to
understand. You have ambitions," laughed Mr. Keating.

"Yes, sir, I have."

"What have you ambitions to become, if I may ask?"

"To have as thorough a knowledge of the manufacture of steel as any man
in the country," answered Steve Rush boldly.

Mr. Keating gazed at the lad keenly. He saw that the boy meant exactly
what he said. The superintendent saw the Iron Boy in a new light, from a
new viewpoint as it were. He had been told by Mr. Carrhart, president of
the mining company, that these were two unusual boys, and Mr. Keating
had found them to be unusual in that they were more efficient than any
young men he ever had had under him in the offices. He had not,
however, fully realized the extent of the ambitions of the boys. Here
was a boy in a nice, easy berth, drawing twelve dollars a week, and the
boy was complaining because the work was too easy. He wanted something
to do _to keep his muscles up_!

The superintendent's first inclination was to laugh, but the sober,
earnest face of the Iron Boy robbed the situation of its humor.

"I have handled men for many years, my lad, but I am forced to admit
that I never had such an unusual demand made upon me."

"I am sorry, sir, if I----"

"It is usually quite the opposite. The young fellows want something
easier to do, and at more pay. Let me see; you boys, I understand, were
drawing more than a hundred dollars a month in the mines up on our iron
ranges?"

"Yes, sir."

"How much did you get on the lakes?"

"The same."

"And you are getting twelve dollars weekly here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Quite a come down from twenty-five dollars a week to twelve, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir, as far as dollars and cents go. But there are other things to
consider when one starts out to make a future for himself."

"You are right, my lad; there _are_ other things to consider. The
trouble is that few of our young men of the present generation consider
them. They expect to be pushed along to the head of the procession, but
without the trouble of taking their turn in the ranks and learning the
business by the sweat of their brows. I should like to be able to give
you more money; in fact, I have been considering giving you an increase
very soon. If you change, of course, I shall not be able to do that.
Wages in the mills are fixed."

"Yes, sir."

"A certain scale of prices prevails and it is not within my power to
change those prices. Only the Board of Directors can do that by a
two-thirds vote."

"I shall be content with my present wages," answered Rush.

"That is just the trouble. You will not receive your present wages. Your
wages will, of necessity, be reduced with your change of occupation."

"Oh, very well, sir."

"Yes! I am sorry, but the rule is inflexible."

"How much shall I get in the mills, sir?"

"We start all our boys and men at a dollar a day."

"Yes, sir."

"Are you still of the opinion that you want to make the change?"
questioned the superintendent, with a quizzical smile.

"Yes, sir."

"Then all I have to say is that you are the kind of young man that the
steel company is looking for," announced Mr. Keating, pushing back the
papers on his desk, toying thoughtfully with a paper cutter.

"Thank you. Then you will give us a place in the mills--you will permit
us to make the change without prejudice, will you not?"

"Indeed, yes."

"Where will you put us?"

"I shall have to think about that. I'll have to pick out something
hard," laughed the superintendent. "I think we shall be able to satisfy
you on that point."

"I shall be satisfied, whatever you decide."

"Wait a moment. I will speak with the assistant superintendent. Perhaps
we can settle the matter right here."

Mr. Keating stepped into an adjoining office and was closeted with his
assistant for some time. What was said there, of course, Rush did not
know. When the superintendent returned he was smiling.

"Well, sir, it's all settled," announced Mr. Keating. "You will wish you
hadn't spoken."

The superintendent chuckled as if it were an excellent joke. Steve
smiled in sympathy with the joke that he did not understand.

"You will receive the munificent sum of a dollar a day, and your job
will be in the cinder pits."

"Yes, sir; what do we do there?"

"Shovel cinders the greater part of the time. You know the cinder pits
are located in the open-hearth furnace building. The cinders and slag
are dumped into these pits after the casts are made. When the pits get
cool enough the pitmen get in and shovel the stuff out. Are you fully
decided to take the job?"

"Yes, sir."

"I see there is no swerving you from your purpose. To tell the truth, I
was in hopes you would draw back. But, after all, I am glad that you did
not," added Mr. Keating, nodding his head reflectively.

"When do we begin the new work, sir?"

"You may start in to-morrow morning. I will have the foreman make a
shift in order to make room for you."

"Thank you, sir. What pit do we work in?"

"I will put you in number seven, Foley's pit."

"I think I see my finish," muttered Steve. He knew how Foley felt toward
him for having made the report he did on the accident that day, and
Rush expected no quarter.

"I'll take what comes to me and keep my mouth shut," he added to
himself. But had the Iron Boy known all that was in store for him he
might have changed his mind.




CHAPTER III

IN THE CINDER PIT


Bob Jarvis had been a little doubtful when Steve told him of the change
in their work. Bob thought the present job was quite good enough, all
but the pay; yet he was willing to get along on twelve dollars a week so
long as he had so much leisure time.

On the following morning the two boys reported for duty to the foreman
of number seven hearth, Bill Foley. There was a gleam of quiet
satisfaction in the eyes of the foreman as he saw the boys coming toward
his division. He had been informed that they were to work on a trick in
number seven section. Foley did not know why the change had been made.
He believed that, for some reason, the boys had been reduced to the
ranks. The only directions he had received regarding what was to be done
with the Iron Boys was the injunction of the assistant superintendent's
messenger, to "make them work till they can't tell a cinder pit from a
hole in the ground."

Foley grinned.

"You bet they'll work! Everybody in my division works."

Foley's head pitman was a Pole named Watski Kalinski, a heavy-faced man,
surly and quarrelsome at times, especially with the few men that were
under him. He understood cleaning the cinder pits, however, and he was
kept in his place because of the work that his shift got through with,
rather than for any especial intelligence that he might possess; which,
as a matter of fact, he did not.

Foley beckoned to him.

"Put those two boys in number seven pit."

"Easy or light?" grinned Watski.

"Easy or light, you mutton-head. That don't mean anything. I know what
you are getting at, but I'll have you understand that these young
gentlemen are friends of mine. Give them the best you have in the
house."

The words had apparently been spoken in all sincerity, but Watski
grinned knowingly.

"I'll make the children happy, Mr. Foley. Do they begin this morning?"

"Yes; start them off now. I'll be around later in the day to help carry
out the remains."

Watski chuckled. He walked over to where Bob and Steve stood waiting for
orders to go to work, surveying them from his beady, red eyes; beady
because nature had made them so, red from the heat and the cinders of
years in the mills.

"What's your name?" he snapped.

"Rush."

Watski roared.

"That's the trick. Your name's Rush and you'll be Rush, for you're going
to rush if you work in this section. What you been doing?"

"What we have been doing doesn't matter, so far as you are concerned. It
is what we are going to do that concerns you. Will you please put us to
work, or have some one do so who knows how?" asked Steve, perhaps with a
touch of maliciousness in his tone.

Kalinski bristled.

"Put you to work? Get somebody to put you to work?"

"That is what I wish, sir."

"Shut up!"

"Thank you, sir."

"What's the other kid's name?"

"My name is Bob Jarvis, and don't you take any liberties with it, unless
you've got an accident insurance on your life."

Watski's face wrinkled angrily. He clenched his fists, and for the
moment it looked as though he would fall upon Jarvis and punish him for
his boldness. Bob turned the tide by asking:

"When do we go to work? We're losing time?"

"Yes; where do we work?" urged Steve.

"See that cinder pit there?" leered the assistant.

"Yes."

"Get in! Got your shovels?"

"No."

Growling and making faces to himself the Pole walked abruptly away,
returning a few minutes later with two shovels. He handed them to the
boys, giving the lads a shove toward the cinder pit.

"Be good enough to keep your hands off me, and at the same time kindly
tell me exactly what you wish me to do," demanded Steve.

"Wooden-heads! Fools! There is the shovels and there is the cinders. Get
them together; shovel the cinders out; then if you don't get enough work
shovel them back again. Oh, such----"

"Come on, Bob; Watski is getting excited. He is likely to throw a fit
and fall on a hot plate, or something."

Steve walked over to the pit, surveying it questioningly.

"That looks pretty hot to me, sir. Is it ready to be thrown out?"

Bob was standing on the edge gazing at the cinders. A faint cloud of
steam was rising from the pit, on which the hose had been played
gingerly for some time.

Watski gave him a push, Jarvis jumping to save falling in on his face.
The drop was not more than two or three feet to the cinder bed, which
was some fifteen feet broad at its top, tapering slightly toward the
bottom.

Bob went in up to his knees. No sooner had he done so than he uttered a
wild yell.

"It's on fire! I'm burning up!" he howled. "Help me out of this hole!
Wow!"

Steve saw that Bob really was in distress.

"Jump out, if it's too hot."

"I can't. I'm stuck fast."

Watski was doubled up with laughter. He howled with delight, sitting
down on the cinders with arms about his knees rocking back and forth
with shouts of merriment.

In the meantime Steve threw his shovel into the pit, and crawling into
the pit, used the shovel for a support while he pulled his companion
out.

Bob's trousers were burned to the knees; his underclothing was burned
and the skin of his shins was blistered from contact with the hot
cinders and slag.

Steve was so angry that he could scarcely control himself, but he was
determined to avoid a fight if possible.

"Did he do that on purpose?" demanded Jarvis.

"He was in a hurry for us to get to work, and----"

"Get busy there, you lazy louts or I'll dock you for lost time!"

"You pushed me in!" shouted Bob. "You'd better not dock me. I'll have
something to say about that."

"What is this disturbance about?" demanded Foley, coming up at that
moment. "Watski, why aren't these men at work?"

"No good. Afraid of hot cinders."

"Does that look like being afraid?" interjected Steve, pointing to his
companion's burned trousers. "I call that an outrage. However, we'll not
trouble about it this----"

"You'd better not," growled Kalinski.

"This time," added Rush. "But I hope nothing of the sort will happen
again. We are used to taking care of ourselves, and if we think we are
being imposed upon we are likely to take matters into our own hands."

"Is that a threat--a threat directed at Kalinski?" questioned Foley,
ironically.

"Oh, no. We do not make threats; that is, not until afterwards,
perhaps," answered the lad significantly.

"Don't you think it would be a pretty good idea for you men to get to
work?" demanded Foley. "You won't last long at this rate."

"If you can fix that pit so it will not burn the skin from our legs we
will go to work."

"That's up to you."

"Then I will see what I can do. I hope the Honorable Mr. Watski Kalinski
will keep away, even if he is our boss."

"Yes, he'd better keep his distance from me," growled Bob, who had been
growing angrier as he gazed at the grinning pit boss.

Rush, after a quick glance at both the foreman and pit boss, began
looking about for a plank. He found a piece of the required length after
a time. This he threw into the pit, then climbed down on it. His shovel
threw out a quantity of the hot cinders. Kalinski got them full in the
face. It had been purely an accident on Steve's part, for the boss had
changed his position in order to look over into the pit to see what his
shoveler was doing.

The cinders burned Watski's face; they filled his eyes and filtered down
inside his shirt. The boss danced a jig for the next minute or so,
slapping his chest, pulling his shirt as far from him as he could and
shrinking back to keep the hot stuff from burning holes through his
skin.

"Whoop!" howled Bob Jarvis. "Now, how do you like it? Got a dose of your
own hot stuff that time, didn't you? Good for you, Steve!"

Rush's face reddened.

"I am sorry, sir, but that was an accident. I did not know you were
there. I thought you were sitting down over yonder."

Watski could not speak. His rage was consuming him and the cinders were
keeping his hands fully occupied.

"I say, sir, it was an accident."

"It's a lie!" exploded the boss. "You--you did it on purpose!"

With a growl of rage the Pole leaped into the pit, intending to reach
the plank. Steve hopped out on the opposite side and Kalinski fell on
his face in the hot cinders.

Bob uttered a howl of delight. This was much better than he had hoped
for. Watski was getting his punishment without the boys having to
administer it, and he was getting it properly, judging from his yells.

By this time several men had gathered about the pit, making no effort to
hide their delight at the Pole's predicament.

Rush hopped down to the plank, leaving his shovel on the ground. He
grabbed Kalinski by the shirt collar and the seat of the trousers, and,
without any apparent effort, tossed the man out of the pit. The
spectators gazed at the young man in amazement. His great strength was a
marvel to them.

"Oh, why didn't you let him toast some more?" grumbled Bob. "He hasn't
had enough yet. I tell you, he's only half baked."

"Take your shovel and get in here. We shall be in trouble the first
thing we know," warned Rush.

Bob obeyed reluctantly. He limped a little as he walked toward the
cinder pit, for his legs pained him and there were blisters on his feet
where the hot cinders and slag had burned through the shoes. Besides, he
felt that he had not done his duty.

"Did you hear Watski give you the lie, Steve?"

"Yes, I heard," answered Rush, beginning to throw out cinders again. "He
isn't worth bothering with. Let him alone. We cannot afford to have any
fights at the beginning. I was in hopes things would run along
smoothly."

Foley leaned over the edge of the pit.

"I'll report you both; I'll have you fined!" he growled.

"Go on!" jeered Rush. "Report the other man. If you don't, I will."

"Let me at him! Let me at him!" yelled Kalinski, starting for the pit.
"I'll rub his nose in the hot slag, I will! I'll show him he can't throw
hot cinders in my face. Git out of my way!"




CHAPTER IV

LAYING HANDS ON THE BOSS


It was Foley's place to order the pit boss to let the boys alone and
attend to his own business. Instead, Foley turned and walked away. He
did not go far, however. He made his way to one of the open-hearth
furnaces, where, unobserved, he peered around the corner of the red-hot
pile of brick.

Rush saw that an encounter was unavoidable. He was sorry, but he decided
quickly to avoid coming to blows if possible.

Kalinski had stooped over to pick up a shovel. In his rage he was going
to attack the boys with it. Steve was out of the pit in a flash.

"Keep out of this, Bob, unless the others mix in. I'll take care of that
fellow."

When Watski straightened up he found the Iron Boy standing over him with
a pleasant smile on his face.

"I wouldn't do that, were I in your place, Kalinski. I tell you it was
an accident, and I am sorry I threw the cinders over you. I give you my
word that it was an accident."

Watski dropped his shovel, and uttering a yell of rage, struck at Steve.
The blow, had it reached its mark, would have knocked Rush backward
into the hot cinder pit. He dodged the blow, however; then suddenly
Watski Kalinski found his wrists in a grip that made him writhe. The
Iron Boy's thumbs were pressing on sensitive nerves.

"Ouch! Ouch!" howled the Pole.

Foley, in his wonder, forgot to hide himself. He stepped from the
protection of the furnace.

"Leggo my wrists! Leggo, I tell you!"

"Will you behave yourself if I----"

"I'll knock your head--ouch!"

The tears were actually running from the eyes of the pit boss. He was
suffering great pain. But he got no sympathy from the mill hands who had
gathered about. They were laughing and jeering at him, not especially
because they sided with Rush, whom they did not know, but because
Kalinski was not popular among them.

At this juncture Bill Foley came running forward. He saw that his pit
boss was getting the worst of it, and that Rush would soon gain the
sympathy of the crowd. He did not wish this to happen. Had it been the
other way Foley would have been perfectly satisfied.

The furnace foreman dashed around the pit, headed for the humiliated
boss. Jarvis saw him coming. Bob stepped in front of Foley.

"What are you going to do?" demanded the lad.

"Get out of my way before I hurt you!"

"And you keep out of this, or I'm likely to forget myself and hurt you.
You know it wouldn't look well to have the foreman licked by one of his
men," grinned Jarvis.

Foley gazed at the Iron Boy in astonishment. All at once he raised his
foot, delivering a vicious kick. The foreman never quite understood how
it happened, but the next second he found himself falling backwards into
the pit, while the mill hands set up a roar.

Jarvis had been on his guard. When the kick was delivered, he caught the
ankle of the foreman, giving it a quick jerk that threw the fellow off
his balance. There could be but one result. Bill toppled over backwards,
landing on his head in the pit.

"Get him out of there! He'll burn to death, Bob," warned Rush.

Bob helped the foreman out, but with reluctance.

"It would serve you right if you did burn. But don't you try any of your
funny business on me again. You won't get off so easily if you try it on
another time."

"Kalinski, do you think you can let us alone if I release you now?"
questioned Steve.

The Pole did not answer, but if there ever was murder in a man's eyes it
was in Kalinski's. Steve put on a little harder pressure.

"Yes, yes; leggo! I don't want anything to do with you. I----"

Rush released the man instantly. At first the Pole acted as though he
was about to spring upon his remarkable young antagonist. He seemed to
think better of it, however, after a glance into the unsympathetic faces
about him, then into the smiling face of Steve Rush.

"Will you go to work, or must I throw you out of the mill!" snarled
Kalinski.

"We shall be glad to go to work if you will let us alone. I wonder what
the superintendent would say if he happened along about this time?"

"I shall fine both of you two days' pay," announced Foley, making a
memorandum in a soot-soiled memorandum book.

"Very well, sir. That is your privilege. It is ours to protest, if we
think best, which is not saying that we shall. We have been used most
disgracefully, and----"

"You didn't think of that when you got me into trouble, did you?"
sneered the foreman.

"So that is where the shoe pinches, is it? I begin to understand. You
propose to get even with us? Well, all I have to say is that I should
advise you not to try it. We have come here to work, and at our own
request. If you become unbearable I warn you we are perfectly able to
take care of ourselves, and we shall do so. We don't propose to submit
to any insults from you or any one else, Bill Foley."

"Just put that in your pipe and smoke it!" chuckled Bob.

Steve was at work again. Jarvis slowly followed his companion to the
pit, where both lads stood on the plank and shoveled out cinders. They
gave no further heed to the foreman or the pit boss. The latter two had
drawn back some little distance, where Kalinski was gesticulating and
talking to Foley with considerable emphasis.

In a little while the shovelers had gotten down to where the pit was
aglow with coals. The plank beneath their feet began to blaze up, the
smoke getting into their mouths and noses, setting the lads to sneezing.

"I am going to get out of here," announced Bob. "This is worse than the
stoke-hole."

"Oh, pshaw, it isn't nearly so hot, though it is about as dirty. I know,
though, that the men do not work in a pit as hot as this one is. There
must be some other way out of the woods. Yes; we will climb up now. We
shall be burned to cinders soon if we don't."

"Is that a joke?" demanded Jarvis.

"Is what a joke?"

"Burned to _cinders_."

"Certainly not," answered Steve, placing the plank against the side of
the pit. "Go on, Bob."

The latter lost no time in crawling from the hot hole. They were met by
Kalinski at the top.

"Well, what is it now?" he growled.

"Isn't there some way of cooling that pit off a little? We can't work
down there, or dig any deeper, until it gets cooler. Why, it will burn
the clothes from our backs."

"Hope it does! Hope it burns you up," snarled the pit boss.

"I hope you haven't got your wishing cap on," answered Jarvis, with a
grin that was intended to be humorous. "If you have, I'm through."

"Can you not put some water on the cinders? I see a hose right here,"
added Steve.

The boss saw that the boys were determined. He knew that there would be
no more work done in the pit that morning, unless the pit was made
livable for the men. He could not afford to have the work delayed, for
that would reflect on him.

Watski took up the hose sullenly, turned a tiny stream, and with a
finger over the nozzle gently sprayed the bed of hot coals. A cloud of
steam shot up into the air, whereat he shut off the water instantly.
Steve was watching the process interestedly.

"I wonder why he doesn't turn the water in full force?" mused the boy.
He would not ask questions of the surly Pole, preferring to pick up what
he could by observation. Bob had sat down on the floor, where he
examined his burned clothes ruefully, at the same time gently rubbing
the blistered spots on his skin.

"I wish I dared throw that animal into the pit head first," muttered
Jarvis, eyeing the pit boss resentfully. "I wonder why they have such a
beast at the head of anything."

The rumble of the charging machine, as it thundered along the tracks on
the other side of the open-hearth furnaces with its load of pig iron and
scrap for the furnaces, attracted Bob's attention for the moment. He was
called to attention by the voice of the boss.

"Rush, get in there. It's cool enough now. Look here, you," he added,
addressing Jarvis, surveying the lad from head to feet as if trying to
decide upon the most vulnerable part of the young man's anatomy for an
attack.

"I'm looking. What's the answer?" retorted Jarvis, gazing into the eyes
of Kalinski.

"There ain't room for two such lummoxes as you in that pit now. You take
the next one on number eight furnace."

"Is it as hot as this?"

"Hotter."

"Then I guess I will wait until it cools off," answered Bob, sitting
down again.

Watski's face showed a dull red under the cinder soot.

"You get up and go to work, unless you want to lose your whole week's
wages. What do you think this is--a baby hospital?"

"I didn't know but it might be, seeing you live here," retorted Jarvis,
taking his time at getting up, but keeping a weather eye on Kalinski,
who had a habit of suddenly forgetting himself, as Jarvis already had
discovered.

"Shall I cool the pit off?"

"How?"

"With the hose."

The pit boss grinned.

"Think you can do it?"

"Of course I can do it. It doesn't take any great amount of skill or
intelligence to handle an inch hose, does it?"

"Use it if you want to, but remember I warned you."

"Against what?" demanded Bob, eyeing the boss half suspiciously.

"Against using the water."

"Pshaw!"

Jarvis went over to the tap, turning on a full stream of water. When he
straightened up he saw that Kalinski was walking rapidly away, so
rapidly, in fact, as to be almost on a run. Bob gazed after him
inquiringly.

"I wonder what ails that Indian?" muttered the lad. "He seems to be in a
great hurry about something."

Bob's attention was attracted to the water, which was now spurting from
the nozzle of the hose, the stream shooting right over where Steve was
at work, sending a shower of fine spray down on him.

"Hey, what are you doing up there?" he shouted.

"Watering the plants," scoffed Jarvis.

"You just turn that hose the other way unless you are looking for
trouble. Why don't you get to work?"

"Going to. I am at work already."

"Where is Kalinski?"

"He was sprinting down the shop the last I saw of him. He seemed to be
in a mighty big hurry about something."

Bob dragged the hose over to the pit behind open-hearth number eight.
Then he began playing the stream on the cinders full force. He did not
know that this was a very dangerous proceeding. No one had told him, and
the pit boss had merely intimated it when he said, "Remember, I warned
you."

"This is fine," grinned the boy. "I could do this all day and not get a
stitch in my back. Guess I will wet my legs."

He turned the hose on his blistered legs, the water feeling cool and
refreshing, for the lad's burns were becoming more and more painful as
the dust from the mill settled into them.

Jarvis shifted the nozzle to the other side and bathed the other leg, at
the same time keeping a watch for the boss. The latter was nowhere in
sight. He had gotten well out of harm's way, evidently knowing what was
about to happen.

Having bathed himself to his satisfaction Jarvis began playing the hose
on the cinder pile. The first contact of the water threw up a great
cloud of steam, followed by a sharp, hissing sound. Steve knew by the
sound that the other pit was being wet down, but it did not occur to
him, either, that there was any danger in the operation. In fact, he was
too busy shoveling the cinders from his own pit to give much attention
to what was going on in the other.

Bob was humming softly to himself as he played with the stream, first
sending it straight up into the air so that the spray covered a wide
area by the time it reached the floor of the mill. No one chanced to get
wet, however, save the two boys, Bob being the more so because he was
right under the shower. Next he turned the stream straight into the pit,
driving it down in one place, trying to bore a hole in the cinders and
slag.

"Say, Steve!"

"What?"

"What do you think about----"

Puff!

A slender column of black smoke shot up from the centre of the pit that
Jarvis was watering down. The lad stared at it in surprise.

"Look at the geyser!" he shouted.

Boom!

The ground under Bob Jarvis's feet rocked liked a cradle. A great, black
column rose from under his very feet, lifting him from the floor and
hurling the boy straight up into the air.




CHAPTER V

ON THE BRINK OF A VOLCANO


Reverberating crashes rent the air. Workmen in that part of the mill
were hurled violently to the ground. Yells and cries were heard on all
sides. The interior of the mill was full of flying debris.

Bob Jarvis had put too much water on the pit. The sudden contraction,
down deep among the hot slag and cinders, had caused a tremendous
explosion, wreaking disaster for many feet on either side of the pit.
Kalinski, in all probability, knew what would happen when he gave Jarvis
permission to soak down the cinders, and no doubt that was why the boss
made such haste to get away from the spot. If he were not there, he
could not be held responsible for what had occurred.

Fire spurted from the miniature volcano. Crash after crash followed, as
parts of furnaces close by toppled over, though fortunately the inside
walls of the furnaces did not fall and liberate their tons of molten
metal. Many lives would have been lost had that occurred. However, the
disaster was serious enough as it was, and several men had been
injured.

The red light was displayed at the top of the open-hearth building, but
this time it was another than Steve Rush who was hurrying to the scene
to gather the facts and give orders for the care of the injured.

Steve was near the bottom of number seven pit with cinders and slag
raining down on him in a perfect deluge. The lad instinctively pulled
his cap visor down over his eyes to keep the stuff from getting into his
eyes or burning his face. He had no idea what had happened, beyond the
fact that there had been some sort of explosion.

With quick presence of mind he grabbed up the plank, standing it against
the side of the pit and began to climb. Quick as he was, he was not
quick enough to get clear of the shower. It enveloped him; it choked and
half smothered him as he fought manfully to gain the top of the pit.

"It's gripping me," thought the lad. "I'll have a time getting out of
this now."

The stuff was up to his knees, Rush meantime kicking out vigorously,
pulling himself up inch by inch by sheer strength of arms and hands. Had
he not been such a muscular lad he would have been at the bottom of the
pit at that moment, probably dead.

The cinders and slag gained the boy's waist. He was nearing the top,
but now he could make little or no impression. He shouted for help, but
in the confusion none heard his call.

Steve kept struggling. He would never give up as long as there was a
single breath left in him. Finally, however, he found that he was making
absolutely no progress. The grip of the cinder and slag was getting
tighter and tighter as the stuff was packed about him.

Suddenly through the pall of smoke and dirt a human face appeared,
peering over into the pit. There was a bandage about the head of the man
who was looking down into number seven.

"Is that you, Rush?" called a familiar voice.

"Ye-yes," answered the lad, scarcely above a whisper, for he was fast
giving out. "Who--who are you? Help--help me out. I'm fa-fast and I--I'm
burning u----"

"This is Ignatz Brodsky. Sure, I help you. Reach up your hands. You must
make hurry. We both get buried alive in the hot stuff."

Steve stretched up his arms to the boy Ignatz, who had that morning come
out of the hospital and gone to work in the mill where he was employed
on a furnace a short distance down the line from where the Iron Boys
worked.

Ignatz knew whose pit had blown up. He knew that Steve was in an
adjoining one, because from where he was shoveling he had seen Rush go
down into the cinder hole a little while before the explosion occurred.
As for Bob Jarvis, he had not been seen since the black column had
lifted him from the floor.

Young Brodsky grasped the outstretched hands and began tugging with all
his might. All his efforts were unavailing. Steve was being buried
deeper and deeper every second.

"Hang on--I get somebody!" exclaimed Ignatz, darting away through the
black cloud.

Kalinski, now running here and there, apparently very much upset over
the disaster, was the first man the Pole met.

"Come quick!" he demanded, breathing hard.

"What do you want?" snarled Watski.

"The pit! There's a man in there and he can't get out!"

"Who is it?"

"Rush. He die pretty soon if we no get him out."

"Go on! Get him out yourself. I've got plenty on my hands. I'll help you
when I can get to it. There are others here who need me. Go along, now,
and get the crazy fool out," added the pit boss, turning away.

Ignatz did not seem surprised. He appeared more disappointed than
otherwise. That one of his countrymen should be so heartless made no
great impression on the boy. What he was concerned in now was finding
some one who would help him get his young friend out of the pit.

Brodsky ran here and there, with the result that he at last found two
mill hands who hurried to the pit with him. It was no easy task, even
for them, to get Steve out. The Iron Boy was still conscious, but he was
quite seriously burned about the body. Fortunately he had saved his head
and face from being very badly scarred.

After nearly pulling the boy's arms from his shoulders, working him from
side to side as they would a post that they were trying to pull out of
the ground, the men dragged him to safety.

"We take him to hospital," nodded Brodsky.

"Is the ambulance here?"

Ignatz nodded, whereupon the men carried Steve out and placed him in an
ambulance. A second ambulance had just arrived, so the surgeon of that
made a quick emergency dressing of the lad's burns, directing him to
remain in the ambulance. Rush felt no inclination to do otherwise at
that moment.

"Ignatz," he called.

"What is it?"

"I want you to find Bob."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

"Mebby Bob is killed."

"Wait! Tell me what happened."

"The pit he blow up."

"What pit?"

"Number eight."

"Oh, that was the one Bob was sprinkling?"

"Yes. Put too much water on. Bang!" exclaimed Ignatz, striking a
dramatic attitude.

"Then he is surely killed or badly injured. Run, Ignatz! Find him. Don't
you come back here until you have."

"Ignatz find him," answered the Pole, darting back into the building,
from which a dense cloud of smoke was rolling through the crevices in
the roof and from the doors and windows.

No sooner had Brodsky left him than Steve pulled himself up and peered
out. There was no one in sight, so he slipped from the ambulance. He was
barely able to stand alone, and for a moment clung to a rear wheel of
the wagon for support.

The boy's burns hurt him so that he winced. Every movement made him want
to groan, but he shut his lips tightly together and by sheer force of
will pulled himself up.

"I'm going in to look for Bob," he muttered, starting unsteadily for the
door of the mill.

The smoke was still so thick that Rush could not make out much of
anything. He staggered along until he reached the spot where the
explosion had occurred. There he found the accident man gathering his
facts.

"Hello, Rush! You're hurt, aren't you?"

"Not much."

"Then you can tell me all about this. You were in it, weren't you?"

"I guess I was. But I can't tell you anything now. I'll tell you all I
know later on. Have you seen Jarvis?"

"No; where is he?"

"That is what I want to find out. He was working on the pit that blew
up."

"I guess he is settled then."

"I am afraid so."

"Well, we will hope not. I would help you look for him, but you know
I've got my hands full," explained the man from the office.

"Yes; I understand. Hunt me up after you get through, and I will give
you all the information I have, which isn't very much."

Rush started away. He came face to face with the surgeon who had dressed
his wounds.

"What are you doing here, Rush?" demanded the surgeon. "You get back to
the ambulance."

"I'm looking for Jarvis. You--you haven't found him, have you?"

"No. Is he hurt?"

"I think so."

"That's too bad," muttered the ambulance surgeon, returning to his work
of dressing the wounds of those who had been burned.

Rush went on, asking every one he met if they had seen Jarvis. No one
had. Foley, Kalinski, all denied having seen the boy. Steve was
perplexed. By this time the smoke cloud began to grow thinner and more
transparent. One could see fully half way across the shop. As the cloud
lifted, all became clear. The place looked as if it had been in the grip
of a cyclone, though the damage was not nearly as great as had at first
appeared.

"Who is killed?" asked Rush.

"No one, so far as I know," answered the man addressed.

"Have you seen Bob Jarvis anywhere about?"

"Don't know him. Who is he?"

"He was my partner. He was working on number eight when it blew up."

"Then you'll need a basket to gather him up," was the cheerful answer of
the mill hand. "The last time a pit exploded here we lost twelve men. We
found the pieces of them, but somehow we never were able to put them
together. The pieces wouldn't fit, nohow."

Steve turned away. The lad's face was drawn and white, partly from the
pain of his burns and partly from anxiety for Jarvis.

"Ignatz!" he called, observing the Pole darting across to the furnaces.

The lad halted sharply and glanced around to see who was calling him. He
caught Steve's eye and hurried over.

"Have you found Jarvis?"

Brodsky shook his head.

"Mister Bob not here," he said.

"He must be," protested Steve.

"Mebby Bob him run away," suggested the Pole.

"No, Ignatz; he is not that kind. He is here somewhere and something has
happened to him or we should have seen him somewhere about. He was
standing on the edge of the pit at the time it exploded."

"I see him a minute before. He put too much water on," added the boy,
with a shake of the head. "Bad, bad! Somebody tell him do that."

Rush attached no especial significance to the suggestion at the moment.
Later on, the words of the faithful Pole came back to him fraught with
meaning.

"He must have been thrown up into the air. Perhaps he is down in the pit
there buried under the slag now," said Rush, a sudden, startled
expression flashing into his eyes.

Brodsky instinctively glanced upwards.

"Look! Look!" cried the Pole, dancing up and down and pointing excitedly
up above their heads into the thin cloud of smoke that hovered over
them.

Steve looked. His heart sank within him as he did so and his head began
to whirl dizzily.




CHAPTER VI

BOB'S DIZZY FLIGHT


"Bob, him there! Bob, him there!" cried Ignatz. "See, see!"

On a girder, a huge steel truss some fifteen feet above their heads, and
a little to one side of the centre, lay a limp figure, apparently ready
to topple off at the slightest jar. The face of the figure up there was
not visible, for it was flattened on the girder, while the arms and
limbs hung over limp and motionless.

"It's Bob!" gasped the Iron Boy. "Help me, Ignatz! We must get him
down."

Young Brodsky did not wait to consider the matter. He darted away,
followed by Steve. To reach the figure on the girder the lads were
obliged to climb the upright of a big automatic crane that was used for
conveying heavy pieces of iron from one end of the building to the
other. Ordinarily the boys would have been stopped, but in the
excitement no one paid any heed to them as they shinned up the iron
column, Steve in the lead, Brodsky so close behind him that now and then
Rush's heels grazed the Pole's face.

Steve crept along the girder, using care not to cause it to vibrate
any, lest he might be the means of shaking his companion down.

At last he reached the spot where Jarvis lay.

Steve uttered a shout to attract the attention of those below. As they
glanced up they comprehended at once. Jarvis had been blown to the
girder by the pit explosion. From appearances the spectators believed
him to be dead. Steve did not know whether such were the case or not. He
realized the necessity for haste if it were not.

"Throw me a rope," shouted the lad.

"There ain't any ropes here. Throw him over," called a voice jeeringly.
The boys on the girder recognized it as belonging to Kalinski.

"Somebody get a rope, I tell you!" thundered Rush.

One was brought, coiled and tossed up. The first time it went wide of
the mark and Steve, holding to Bob's unconscious form, fuming with
impatience, nearly lost his balance in trying to catch the rope. The
next time he was more successful.

"Grab hold of the end, two or three of you down there," commanded the
lad, letting an end of the rope drop to the ground. In the meantime he
had made the other end fast around the waist of Bob Jarvis.

"Are you all ready down there?"

"Yes; let him come."

After a keen glance below, to make sure that the men would not let the
boy drop, Steve gently pushed Bob over the edge of the beam. Jarvis's
body spun around like a top several times as it was being lowered. Rush
breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it safely deposited.

"Hold fast to the end of the rope. We're coming down," Rush shouted.
Swinging himself over, he slid down, followed by Ignatz. The surgeon was
already at work over Bob.

"Is--is he----"

"The boy is alive," answered the surgeon. "I don't know how long he will
be. We must get him to the hospital at once. Here, carry this boy out!"
he commanded. "Have the driver hurry in with him. I will go on the other
wagon, as soon as I have dressed the wounds of this other man."

Steve started to follow the men who were carrying Bob out.

Kalinski grabbed Steve by the arm.

"See here, where you going?"

"To the hospital with my friend."

"Nothing of the sort. You're going to get to work, that's what you are
going to do. You'll have lots of time to visit the hospital when you
take your vacation."

Steve Rush hesitated. He wanted to be with Bob, but he knew he had no
right to walk out and leave his work in this manner. It would be
sufficient cause for his discharge were he to do so.

"Then I will ask you to let me off for the rest of the day."

"Didn't I tell you to go to work?" shouted Kalinski. "I'll have you
fired for this day's work if it's the last thing I ever do."

Rush did not understand the full meaning of the words. He was troubled.
Things were not going with the same smoothness that they had for the
last two years. Steve was in an atmosphere different from that of the
mines, or even of the lakes. He did not know just how to adjust himself
to the conditions. Then, again, there was Bob in the hospital, perhaps
dying.

"I must do my duty, and I'm going to do it," muttered the Iron Boy.
"They shan't say that I am not to be depended upon. What do you want me
to do, Mr. Kalinski?" he asked, turning to the pit boss.

"Now, what do you suppose I want you to do? What were you doing before
you two blew up the mill?"

"In the first place we did not blow up the mill. I was working in pit
seven when the other one exploded."

"Then git back in number seven, unless you want me to throw you in--or
out of the mill altogether. I'll have you fired if the boss don't do it
for me."

"I don't think you will fire me," answered Steve, bristling.

"I won't, eh?"

"No, you won't!"

"I'll either fire you out of the shop or else I'll break your head for
you. Take your choice."

Steve surveyed the irate boss for a few seconds, then picking up his
shovel walked slowly toward the pit in which he had had such a narrow
escape from death.

Watski grinned sardonically.

"That's the time I took the wind out of his sails. I'll comb him down so
fine he'll be sorry he ever got in my shift. It ought to be easy now.
I've got both of them dead to rights. You bet I have!"

Rush was throwing out the cinders, raising a fine black dust that sifted
over him like mist, except that in this case the mist was black. He
toiled on steadily, scarcely taking a second for rest. The perspiration
was rolling from his face and body. The temperature was high out doors
and many degrees higher in the mill. Just back of Steve, so close that
he could hurl a shovel of cinders against it, was a huge open-hearth
furnace with a roaring temperature of three thousand degrees Fahrenheit
inside of it. Beneath him was the hot bed of cinders and slag. Beyond
him was a long row of red hot ingots, running metal and hot steam pipes.

"It isn't any wonder that I feel a little warm," smiled the boy, wiping
the perspiration from his brow, at the same time taking quick note of
his surroundings.

Traces of the accident were being rapidly removed. In a few moments no
evidences of it would be left. The blown-up pit had been partially
filled with slag that fell back after the explosion, and already a
shoveler was at work throwing the stuff out. The pit must be made ready
for the next cast, and the furnace was nearly ready for the cast.

Rush toiled until noon. He sat down to his lunch which he had brought
with him, without opportunity to wash. The noon rest was to be for only
twenty minutes, so there was no time to waste.

After finishing he walked to the door and gazed off toward the hospital,
wondering how Bob was. Rush could see the roof of the hospital from the
doorway, but that was scant comfort. He turned back, walking slowly
toward his pit to take up the dreary afternoon's shoveling. Just as he
reached the pit a light touch on his shoulder caused him to wheel
sharply.

There was the boy, Brodsky. He was breathing hard.

"Hello, Ignatz, you're all out of breath," exclaimed Steve.

"I been by the hospital."

"You have? Tell me, quickly, how is Bob?" demanded Rush, gripping the
arm of the Polish boy.

"Him wake up."

"He is conscious, then? Good, good! Tell me how he is?"

"Him not dead. Him get well, by and by."

Steve's face lighted up happily.

"Ignatz, you are a good boy. Did you go without your lunch for the sake
of going over to see how my friend is?"

Ignatz nodded, pleased at the pleasure of his friend.

"Doctor say Bob pretty much hard hit, but him get well."

"Go get your lunch, quick, before the whistle blows," ordered Steve.

Ere the words were fairly out of his mouth the shrill blast of the shop
whistle sent all hands scurrying for their stations, Brodsky among the
number.

"Look out! Trouble him come quick!" warned the Pole, whispering in
Steve's ear just before he bounded away.

"I wonder what he meant by that?" muttered Rush. "We surely have had
trouble enough. I guess I'm a failure as a steel worker. But no! I'll
beat it yet. I'll win out! They can't down me. I'll go through with it,
and some of these fellows shall yet be taking orders from Steve Rush!"




CHAPTER VII

AN UNJUST SENTENCE


"You are wanted in the superintendent's office!"

Steve looked up from the pit into the face of a messenger.

"Superintendent Keating, you mean?"

"No, Mr. McNaughton, superintendent of the open-hearth furnaces. He's
the boss of this department," grinned the messenger.

"Will I have time to wash?"

"You'd better be coming along, if you know what's good for you."

"Very well, but I must first report to the pit boss."

"He isn't here. He knows where you are going."

"All right, I'll take your word for it. What does Mr. McNaughton want
with me?"

"He'll tell you when you see him," answered the boy.

Steve thought that the summons had something to do with the explosion in
the pit. He had no idea that he was to be involved in any way, so he
walked confidently along with the messenger, out at the rear door and on
to a low, rambling building just across the tracks from the open-hearth
building. This was the office of Superintendent McNaughton. Steve did
not remember to have seen this superintendent before. The messenger,
after entering with Rush, opened a door leading into a large office, and
shoved Steve in.

A sandy-haired, rugged-faced man sat at a desk, while around the room
were several men from the shops. Among them were Bill Foley and Watski
Kalinski. The latter grinned when he saw Steve.

"What's your name?" demanded the man at the desk gruffly.

"Stephen Rush."

Steve's face was so coated with grime that it was unrecognizable, even
to one who knew him well, which the superintendent did not.

"A man named Jarvis is your side partner, isn't he?"

"Yes, sir. He is in the hospital now."

"Never mind about volunteering information, my man. I'll ask whatever
questions I want answered."

"Very good, sir."

"Where were you when the explosion in number eight occurred?"

"I was shoveling in number seven."

"Did you see the explosion?"

"Not at first. I saw the latter part of it."

"What was the man Jarvis doing the last time you saw him?"

"Sprinkling the cinders in number eight."

"Humph! What did you tell the fool to do that for?"

"I tell him?" questioned Steve wonderingly.

"Yes."

"I did nothing of the sort."

"Didn't the pit boss warn both of you not to put water on the pit when
it was hot?"

"He did not. I heard him utter some sort of a warning, but it was not
definite enough for me to understand what he was getting at."

"Kalinski, what did you tell me about this man's having told his partner
to hose down the pit?"

Watski rose, full of importance.

"One of the men told me he heard this fellow Rush tell the other man to
turn the hose on and cool the blamed pile off quick."

"He _lies_!"

Steve uttered the words quietly but incisively.

"Silence!" thundered Mr. McNaughton. "I'll have you turned over to the
Iron and Steel Police if I hear any more of your impudence."

"I had no intention of being impudent to you. I simply said the man
lies, and I repeat it. He knows no such order was ever given by me, and
he knows that no one told him any such thing," added Rush boldly.

Kalinski's face was a study. It turned from red to white in rapid
succession. The boss's fists were tightly clenched and he seemed to be
trying to regain his voice, which had suddenly deserted him.

"Sit down!" commanded the superintendent, projecting a finger at
Kalinski. "Rush, you be careful that you do not go too far. I am not
inclined to stand much of your impudence."

"Mr. McNaughton, am I to be accused of something I did not do, and then
not be allowed to say anything in my defense?" demanded the boy.

"I will be the judge of what you did and did not do. Foley, you say
several of the men saw these two talking together--Rush and Jarvis, just
prior to the explosion."

"Yes, sir."

"And that the man Jarvis then went back to number eight and began
playing the hose on it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you deny this, Rush?"

"I don't know--I don't remember whether we were in conversation just
before the accident or not. I can't remember. I do not think we were,
however."

"You will admit the accusation in a moment," snapped the
superintendent. "You had been told that it was dangerous to put water on
a hot pit----"

"I had not, sir, neither did I put water on a hot pit. I knew Jarvis was
sprinkling number eight, but I did not know that such a thing was
dangerous. How should I? It was my first day in the mills. I was just
beginning my work there. But, sir, what is it you are trying to do with
me? Are these two men trying to get me into trouble?"

"It begins to look as if you had gotten yourself in, without any of
their assistance. Does any one know how badly the man Jarvis has been
injured?"

"I understand it is not serious," answered Steve.

"I shall have to discipline you both," began the superintendent.

"There can be no doubt," spoke up Foley, "that they were both to blame.
It looked almost as though they did it maliciously, but that is hardly
possible, as they were taking long chances. It was disobedience of
orders, as plain as the nose on your face."

Kalinski nodded emphatically.

"I agree with you. Rush, what do you think we ought to do in a case like
this?"

"Am I to speak as I think?"

"Certainly."

"You won't like what I am going to say."

"Then I will stop you if you say anything you ought not to."

"What I not only think but know ought to be done, is to kick the man
Kalinski and the man Foley out of the place. I shouldn't ask them to go,
I'd use my boot. Both men have lied. The truth is not in them, and some
day you will find it out, even if you don't know it now."

The two bosses sprang to their feet, starting toward Steve, who stood
eyeing them calmly, but in a belligerent attitude.

"I'd like nothing better than putting it over you two loafers. But, of
course, you haven't the nerve to stand up one at a time and resent the
imputation that you are liars."

"Stop!" thundered Mr. McNaughton.

"You told me to speak plainly. I am doing so, but I am telling the
truth. Foley is angry with me because I told the truth and got him into
trouble when I was in the accident department. He tried to get me to lie
for him then. I knew, then, that he was more crooked than a steel rail
coming through the rolls, and that's all I've got to say. I am glad to
have put myself on record, and I'll take my medicine like a man, though
the day will come when you will find that these men are rascals. The
sooner you get rid of them the more certain will you be to avoid
trouble. Good day----"

"Hold on, sir! Not quite so fast!" commanded the superintendent of the
open-hearth building. "I have something to say for myself. The evidence
is against you two. You have convicted yourselves. I have perfect
confidence in both Foley and Kalinski. They have been faithful employés
for many years."

"Yes, sir?"

"It is natural that I should take their version in preference to that of
a man of whom I know nothing, and who has been in the mills less than a
day."

"Even if those men are rascals," interjected Rush. "I dislike to use the
word, but it is the only word I know that fits the case. If you wish to
know anything about the honesty of myself and my companion, I wish you
would be good enough to speak to Superintendent Keating. He knows people
who have known us for some time, and----"

"I am running this division, young man. I think I am able to judge
between right and wrong."

"Very well; I have nothing further to say in my defense. What do you
propose to do?"

"I am going to do the only thing that can be done under the
circumstances, though I dislike to do it with one of you in the
hospital----"

"Please do not let that interfere with your decision," urged Steve.

"I shall not. You are both discharged!"

"What?"

"You're discharged! Leave the mills at once, handing in your time at the
gate as you go out. I will advise the paymaster to hand you your money
to-day, so you will not have to hang around until pay-day."

"Thank you. You are very considerate, indeed," answered the Iron Boy,
sarcastically. "I bid you good afternoon. I hope some day you will
discover that you did two boys a very great injustice. As for you,"
announced Steve in a firm tone, stepping over to where the two bosses
sat grinning, "if you will come outside with me it will give me great
pleasure to punch both your heads. But you don't dare! You'd call the
police and have me arrested before I had gone one round with you. Good
afternoon, Mr. McNaughton."

Steve strode from the office with head up. A dull flush showed under the
soot on his face. He had met with his first real rebuff. He did not mind
that so much as he did the fact that he had suffered through the
untruthfulness of others. Rush knew that neither he nor his companion
were in any way to blame for what bad happened. Neither of them knew
that it was dangerous to sprinkle a cinder pit. Foley and Kalinski did
know it and they had deliberately turned away when they saw Jarvis
getting ready to wet down number eight.

"I'll not give up!" muttered Steve as he walked swiftly from the yards.
As he passed the gate the gateman called to him to leave his number.

"I have no number," answered the lad. "I don't work here any more."

"You won't get your money if you don't hand in your time."

"I don't want any money that I haven't earned. I tell you I am not
working here."

"I guess the boy must have been fired," grinned the gatekeeper, who knew
that Steve had been working in the mills up to that time.

In the meantime Steve Rush was hurrying toward the hospital to see how
Bob Jarvis was getting along.




CHAPTER VIII

IGNATZ ON THE WAR PATH


Steve found his companion sitting up in a chair, with head and hands
bandaged. Bob had been quite severely burned, and he had suffered from
the shock of the explosion. The surgeon said it was a miracle that he
had not been killed instantly.

"Hello, Steve," greeted Bob. "I can't grin without hurting myself, but
I'm grinning on the inside of me."

"Oh, Bob, I'm so glad you are safe! I thought you had been killed when I
found you were missing. What happened to you? Tell me all about it. I
haven't heard the truth about it yet."

"There isn't much to tell, except that I was a bird. I flew without
wings, and that is more than any one else can do. Did you see me go?"

"No, I did not, but some other persons did."

"Eh, what do you mean?"

"Foley and Kalinski."

Jarvis looked thoughtful.

"Say, that's what that fellow meant when he warned me. Why didn't he say
what he was warning me about? Look here, he knew I was going to get into
trouble, didn't he?"

"I have more than a suspicion that he did," nodded Rush.

"Wait till I get out of this harness," growled Bob. "What happened to
you?"

"Nothing much. I was nearly buried under the cinders, but Brodsky ran
for some men, who dug me out. If it hadn't been for Ignatz I believe I
should have perished in number seven pit."

"He's a good fellow!" muttered Bob, nodding his head faintly. "He
doesn't know much, and he wouldn't take a blue ribbon at a beauty show,
but he's got the real stuff in him. I hear one man is going to die."

"Yes; so I understand. Too bad, poor fellow."

"And _I_ did it!"

"Don't blame yourself. You were not to blame for what happened. You were
led directly into the mistake of putting too much water on the cinders.
When is the doctor going to let you go home?"

"He said perhaps I could go in the morning, but I'm all right. I could
go home now, just as well as not. I want to go back to the mill and go
to work in the morning."

"No need of that. I don't think either of us will start in to-morrow."

"What? Not start in? What do you mean?"

"Never mind now. We will talk about it when you get home."

"Look here, Steve Rush, something has been going on that I don't know
anything about. What is it?"

"Don't bother about asking questions. I shouldn't have excited your
curiosity," answered Steve, laughing to cover his chagrin at having let
the words slip out. "I'll tell you what we'll do; we will take our
lunches and go down the river to-morrow for a picnic, if you are able.
After you have rested up for a day perhaps you will feel able to go to
work."

"But you said we weren't going to work."

"Did I?"

"You did, and I want to know why. Come on now; I'm no tenderfoot, and
you know it. Why don't we go to work?"

"Because we have both been discharged. There, you have it, now."

"Fired?"

"Yes."

"What for?"

"You ought to be able to guess."

"I'm not much of a guesser."

"Well, then, because we blew up the pit."

Bob gazed at his companion unbelievingly.

"Come now, you're joking. They're not all fools down at the mill. I blew
up the pit--you didn't, and I didn't know that I was doing so, of
course. I'm no anarchist, and neither are you."

"Nevertheless, they hold us responsible for it."

"I know who's at the bottom of this. It's that wooden Indian, Kalinski,
and--and----"

"Foley," added Steve.

"Yes, they're a choice pair. They have had a rod in pickle for both of
us ever since you made the report on Foley at the time of that burning
accident. Did _they_ fire us?"

"No, not directly. Mr. McNaughton did so, but they were at the bottom of
it. They told him lies about us, and he believed them. Think of it, Bob.
He wouldn't believe what I told him. He thought I was the one who was
telling the untruths."

"Tell me all about it."

Rush did so, relating all that had occurred during his visit to the
division superintendent's office, the injured boy listening with
darkening face as the narration continued. He nodded approvingly when
Steve related how he had invited the two men out to get their heads
punched.

"Didn't go, did they?"

"No."

"I thought not. They've both got a streak of yellow in them that runs
all the way from their heads down into their boot-tops. Wait till I get
out! I've got a couple of good, swift punches in stock for them! They
won't wake up for half an hour, once I unlimber," threatened Jarvis,
shaking his bandaged fists threateningly.

"Bob, promise me one thing. Promise me that you will not have any
trouble with those men. We can't afford to mix up in any disgraceful
fights here. They would like nothing better than to have us do so. We
should be arrested. Think of the disgrace of it! We will let them alone
as long as they let us alone. We won't stir up any more trouble, but
they must let us alone. Will you promise to be guided by me in this
matter?"

"I don't know. I am afraid I shall lose my temper when I see them; then,
if they say anything to me, it's all off. What are we going to do, now
that we are out of a job?"

"I don't know," answered Steve thoughtfully.

"I'll tell you what let's do. Let's go back to the mines. We have fine
jobs with good pay waiting for us there. We never should have left. Mr.
Carrhart will be glad to have us."

Rush shook his head.

"We came down here to learn the iron and steel business, and we are
going to do exactly that one thing."

"Will you tell me how?"

"There are other mills. We will try to get in one of them. I am going to
start out to-morrow to look for work."

"I thought we were going on a picnic to-morrow," grinned Jarvis.

"Yes, that's so. Well, then, the day after to-morrow will be time enough
for us to look for another place. Fortunately we are not broke. We have
enough money in the bank to keep us for a long time, but that isn't the
question. The question is whether or not we are going to get a job."

"I hope we don't. I'd much rather be underground, digging ore or
bouncing about on the Great Lakes."

"You did not like the Lakes any better, when you first went out on them.
Let's not confess that we are weak-kneed."

"No; but I've got a burned knee and it smarts," retorted Bob.

"So have I," laughed Steve. "I am behind you, though. You aviated
yourself up to the roof, while I got buried in the pit. That was the
time both ends did not meet. Well, I'm going home to clean up and dress.
I will come back later, and, if the doctors will permit you to leave the
hospital to-night, I will take you with me."

"I'll go, whether they let me, or not," said Bob. "What's the use in
hanging around here? If I'd broken my stanchions, or smashed in some of
my plates, then things would be different. But I am all right. Never
felt better in my life, except for the burns."

Bidding his companion good-bye, Steve left the hospital and went home.
His face was serious and thoughtful. On the way he stopped at the
Brodskys, leaving word that he would like to have Ignatz come and see
him that evening.

"Discharged!" muttered the Iron Boy. "Well, who would have thought it? I
might go and see Mr. Keating--but no, I'll not play the baby act and
squeal. I'll show McNaughton and his bosses that I don't ask any odds of
their old mills. Yet I _did_ want to stay with the company. Well, we
shall see what luck I have when I get ready to look around a bit."

Later in the day Rush returned to the hospital. Jarvis was permitted to
go with Steve, with the understanding that the injured boy return on the
following morning to have his burns dressed. Then the two went home.
Jarvis was weak and staggered a little, but he would not let Rush take
his arm. He laughed at the suggestion. When they got home they found
Ignatz at their boarding house. The Polish boy was delighted to see
them.

"Bob, if it hadn't been for Ignatz, we should have been in a worse mess
than we are. He's one of the white men in this smoky part of the
country."

"I'll shake with you when my hands get well," laughed Jarvis. "I can't
even shake my head now. I couldn't shake if I had an attack of chills."

"I suppose you know that we have lost our positions, don't you, Ignatz?"
asked Steve.

Brodsky nodded moodily.

"I hear men say you no work in open-hearth place any more."

"Well, it does look as if we shouldn't."

"Why?"

"I'll tell you all about it." Rush told the story fully, and without
reserve, to their faithful friend, Brodsky listening attentively with
emotionless face.

"Huh!" he grunted after the recital had come to an end. "Watski say you
blow up pit?"

"Yes."

"Huh! Watski much liar! Foley, him liar, too. All liars. You see
superintendent?"

"We saw Superintendent McNaughton. It was he who sent for us and
discharged us."

"No, I mean Superintendent Keating?"

"No, Ignatz; we can't go to him with our troubles. That would be too
much like whining, and we are not the kind of boys who go about crying
because we have been whipped."

"You lick Kalinski?"

"To tell the truth, nothing would give me greater pleasure. But we are
not going to do anything of the sort--that is, if he keeps away and lets
us alone."

"I'd like to catch him on the hot metal bridge some fine night when
there wasn't anybody near," growled Bob, shaking his padded fist.

"What I sent for you for, Ignatz, was to ask you about some of the other
mills. I have not been here long enough to know about them. Will you
tell me what the other mills are, and whom to see? I am going to try to
get a job."

Brodsky named the independent mills. There were ten of them in all. He
knew the names of some of the foremen, and said he would get the names
that he did not know.

"You want me more?" demanded the Pole, rising abruptly.

"No, but we should like to have you spend the evening with us, if you
have no other place to go," said Steve.

Brodsky shook his head.

"Must go home split the wood for my mother. She take a club to me if I
don't. I see you bimeby, mebby to-night, mebby the day after
to-morrow."

The boy turned and left the room at a trot. Bob laughed heartily after
he had gone.

"There's an odd lad," he said.

"He's true-blue, Bob. Under all his stolidness he is every inch a man,
as I have said many times before. He is more cut up over our hard luck
than we are. I hope he doesn't try to induce Kalinski to take us back.
That would please the pit boss, because he would think we had asked
Ignatz to intercede for us. I would rather never have a job again than
to ask either of those three men to take us back."

"I wonder what the general superintendent will say when he hears about
it?" asked Jarvis.

"He will not be likely to hear of it at all, unless some time he happens
to think about us and asks. Even then he will be given the same story
that Foley and Kalinski told Mr. McNaughton. I hope he doesn't hear it,
for then our friends at the mines will learn the same story, and we
shall be disgraced in their eyes."

"No, we won't! I'll see to it that we are not."

"I think we had better postpone our picnic to-morrow, seeing that you
have to go to the hospital to have your burns dressed. That will give me
an opportunity to visit some of the other mills, and I'll wager I'll
come back with a job for both of us in my pocket to-morrow night."

"All right; I don't care. I'm getting so that everything goes and
nothing matters at all. I'm getting to be an old man--a feeble old man,
Steve Rush," said Bob, in all seriousness.

Rush laughed heartily.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the meantime Ignatz Brodsky had left the house. Strangely enough he
appeared to have forgotten his promise to go home and split wood for his
mother, the widow Brodsky. Instead, he started in the opposite
direction. Ignatz was nodding to mill men whom he knew, now and then
halting to speak to one, asking a question of another, but keeping on
his way.

All at once his stolid face melted into a smile so soft and pleasing
that no one would have thought him incapable of feeling. The object that
had brought the smile to the face of the Polish boy, however, was none
other than Watski Kalinski swinging down the street. Ignatz pretended
not to see the pit boss. As they were passing Brodsky lurched against
the boss.

"What for you bump me?" demanded the lad, in an angry tone.

"Git out of the way before I hit you!" growled Kalinski.

"What for you run against me?"

"I didn't. You run into me. You're a _li_----"

Whack!

Ignatz was a stocky boy, even though he was only seventeen years old. He
had been used to heavy work all his life; in fact, he had had little
schooling, having had to earn his living since he was ten years old, at
which time his father had been killed in the mills, leaving Mrs. Brodsky
with a brood of young Brodskys, of whom Ignatz was next to the eldest.
It therefore devolved on him to share a good part of the burdens of the
home, the elder brother, Paul, having a wife of his own to care for.

When Ignatz let go his fist the other man was caught wholly off his
guard. He had no time to raise his own fists in defense, though he was
just preparing to administer a kick to the boy who had involved him in
an argument.

Kalinski struck the ground sideways. The pit boss was on his feet in a
few seconds, uttering a roar of rage. Ignatz calmly knocked him down
again, this time the blood spurting from the boss's nose in a tiny
crimson stream.

The next time Watski came up there was blood in his eyes, as well as on
his face and nose. Ignatz knew full well that, unless he turned and ran,
the tables would be quickly turned on him, for on equal ground he was no
match for the brawny pit boss.

"You loafer! You----"

Watski made a rush for the boy, which Ignatz dodged clumsily, hitting
Kalinski in the side as the latter passed him.

"All liars!" taunted Brodsky.

Kalinski wheeled sharply. Brodsky was off his balance, but his fists
were up ready to defend himself. Yet he was not prepared for the tactics
adopted by the unscrupulous pit boss.

Watski suddenly let go a vicious kick. It caught Ignatz in the abdomen,
doubling the boy up and sending him moaning to the ground, after which
Watski started away on the run.




CHAPTER IX

STEVE MEETS WITH DISAPPOINTMENT


Early on the following morning Steve Rush started out with a list of the
other mills in that vicinity, first having called at the Brodskys to get
the names of the other foremen that Ignatz had promised to procure for
him.

Ignatz was not at home. He had not been home all night and Mrs. Brodsky
was greatly worried. So was Steve. He knew that the boy had intended to
go directly home and help his mother.

"I'll tell you what I will do. I will see if I can find him. I was going
on some matters of my own, but they can wait."

Mrs. Brodsky was profuse in her thanks as Steve started away to look for
the missing boy. Outside, the Iron Boy halted, wondering where he should
look. It was quite possible that Ignatz had gone to the mills to work,
and in that case Rush would not be able to see him, for the Iron Boy
would not be allowed to enter the yards unless he did so secretly, for
the guard would stop him now that his name was not on the list of
employés.

Steve thought of the hospital. He hurried there at once. The lad knew
all the surgeons and nurses, having become well acquainted with them
while he was in the accident department.

"Have you seen anything of a boy named Ignatz Brodsky?" was his first
question on meeting one of the ambulance surgeons.

"Brodsky? Brodsky? Seems to me that was the name of the young fellow I
picked up in the street last night."

"Yes; that was the name," remarked one of the young doctors present.

"Oh, that's too bad. Was he hurt?"

"Yes, he was unconscious when we brought him here in the ambulance,
but----"

"What was the matter--had he been hurt?" questioned Rush excitedly.

"Yes, he had been----"

"How?"

"When he woke up he said he had been kicked by a horse."

"May I see him?"

"He isn't here. He insisted on going to the mills to work this morning.
We thought, at first, that he had been injured internally, but I guess
he didn't get a very bad kick, or he surely would not be going to work
to-day."

"Thank you very much. His mother was anxious about him. I will go and
tell her that he is all right now," announced Steve, hurrying from the
company's hospital.

Rush trotted along and soon reached the Brodsky home, where he conveyed
the news to Mrs. Brodsky. At first she thought the boy was deceiving her
and that Ignatz had been really seriously hurt even if he were not
already dead. The woman set up a wail of grief. Steve did not know what
else to do, so he grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her.

The shaking evidently had the desired effect, for Mrs. Brodsky ceased
her wailings and began to berate and threaten Ignatz, making promises of
what she would do to him when he got home that night.

Steve argued with her, trying to explain that Ignatz surely could not be
to blame. He had been kicked by a horse while on his way home to help
his mother. After a time the Iron Boy left the widow in a much
pleasanter frame of mind. She even smiled at him as he shook hands with
her and told her what a good boy Ignatz was and how good he had been to
the Iron Boys.

Steve went away smiling, but he became thoughtful as he walked briskly
on. He could not understand how it was that Ignatz had been picked up at
the place where the doctor said he had found the boy. Surely he was not
on his way home, or he could not have been at that point. Steve was a
shrewd boy and he began to reason the thing out. He found himself unable
to get beyond the finding of the Polish boy, so he gave up wondering,
though he suspected there was something more to the affair than he knew
about.

Rush boarded a car and started for the Lincoln Iron Works, the nearest
shops to where he then was.

"It is a good, patriotic name," he mused. "Surely I ought to be able to
get a job there, if there is anything in a name."

Reaching the mills he learned the name of the superintendent from the
gate-keeper, and thus armed went directly to the office and asked to see
the superintendent. He was requested to state his business, which he did
frankly. The word was soon brought back to him that no men were needed.

"May I not speak to the superintendent myself?" he asked.

"No; he has no time to give you," was the answer from the
superintendent's secretary.

Rush left the office with a keen sense of disappointment. He decided to
try the Republic mills next. To reach them he took a short cut over the
hill, finally arriving at the Republic mills four miles away, hot and
tired. There he was fortunate enough to catch the superintendent, who
was pointed out to him as he entered the corridor of the offices.

Rush said he was looking for a place for himself and his companion. The
superintendent looked the boy over critically, discovering at once that
Rush was no ordinary laborer.

"Have you ever worked in the mills?" asked the executive.

"Yes, sir; a short time."

"Where?"

"In the corporation's mills."

"What did you do there?"

"I was first in the accident department, investigating accidents, and so
was my friend. From that we went into the mills to work. We made the
change from choice, so that we could learn the business."

"In what department?"

"We started in the cinder pits, sir."

"Hm-m! How long did you work in the pits?"

"Not quite a day," answered the Iron Boy, flushing.

"Oh! What happened to you then?"

"We were discharged."

"For what reason?"

"Because an untruthful pit boss accused us of blowing up a cinder pit,
either through carelessness or with design," answered Rush truthfully.
"There was not a word of truth in it. If you will give us a place we
will show you that we are all right, and can be trusted to do our work
quickly and well."

"So you tried to blow up the mill in order to learn the steel business,
eh? And now you want us to give you a chance to learn at our expense?"

"Not at your expense; no, sir."

"Bring me a letter from your employer verifying what you say and I will
see what we can do for you."

"I wouldn't care to ask it," replied the boy promptly.

"Nor would I care to take you, under the circumstances," answered the
superintendent, with equal promptness. "Good day. I have no time to
waste."

The executive hurried out of the office on his way to the mills, leaving
Steve standing there with flushed face, uncertain just how he ought to
proceed.

Some of the men standing about were grinning at the boy's discomfiture.
Rush turned on his heel and left the office, fearing to trust himself,
for fear he might say something unpleasant. He walked proudly away, not
stopping until he was well out of the mill settlement. Then he sat down
on a rock and thought matters over. This getting a job, after one had
been discharged, was not the simple matter that he had thought it. The
situation was getting serious.

"But there are others. Surely, I shall be able to find something to do
in one of the mills."

Rush studied his list, and decided to visit the Grey works next. That
meant a tramp, unless he wanted to wait nearly two hours for a steam
train to take him around the base of the mountains, so he set out on
foot again, for a straightaway five-mile tramp.

It was late in the afternoon when Steve reached the place. He learned
that the superintendent was out of town. The assistant superintendent
was in the mills, so the boy sat down to wait for him. Hours passed, but
still the Iron Boy sat reading a paper that he had found.

Shortly after five o'clock in the afternoon the assistant entered the
office. The mills were closing then; that is, the day shift was coming
off and the assistant was in a hurry to get home.

Steve caught him before he got into his private office and stated his
business.

Very much the same conversation ensued as had been the case at the
Republic mills, save that the questions were shot at him at rapid-fire
rate. He answered them fully as promptly, so that but a few minutes were
consumed in the conversation.

"We have no place for you," answered the assistant. "You may be telling
the truth, and you may not. I haven't the time to inquire whether you
are or not. Go back and tell your story to your own superintendent, and
if you are any good he will put you to work again. That's all."

Once more Rush walked from a mill office beaten, although he did not
realize his defeat. He was tired, though not out of the race yet. He did
not even consider the advisability of taking a train back to Steelburgh.
Instead he started out bravely at a swinging gait. A few miles more or
less was nothing to this strong-limbed, athletic lad.

It was after dark when Rush, covered with dust, grimy and tired, swung
into the village and strode to their boarding place.

Jarvis was waiting for him anxiously.

"Well, thank goodness you are back!" said Bob, with evident relief. "I
thought something had happened to you."

"What's new?" interrupted Rush.

"Nothing. Oh, by the way, Ignatz has been here."

"He has, eh?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing much, but he looked as I imagine the last rose of summer did
when the cool nights came along in the fall," laughed Bob.

"Is he all right?"

"No; I told you he didn't look very scrumptious."

"Did he say what happened to him last night?"

"Yes, said he got kicked by a horse. But, Steve, I guess that horse
story will bear looking into," laughed Jarvis.

"That is what I was thinking. Had he been in a fight?"

"I shouldn't be surprised. His face didn't show it, but he looked pretty
seedy. How many jobs did you get to-day?"

"None," answered Rush rather dolefully.

"Why not?"

"They didn't want us, Bob; that is, not without a recommendation from
our last employer."

"Meaning the Honorable Mr. Watski Kalinski?"

"Exactly," answered Rush dryly.

"I should enjoy reading the recommendation that Watski would give us. It
wouldn't be worth much, would it, now?"

"I guess not," agreed Steve thoughtfully. "Is Ignatz coming in this
evening?"

"He said he might, though he had to go down town on business, but he
wouldn't say what."

"That rascal is up to something, Bob," said Steve, with emphasis.

"He surely is."

"And I have an idea it has to do with us in some manner. I hope he
doesn't mix in this affair. He will only get himself into trouble and
make it harder for us. If you see him first, tell him so. If I see him I
will give him a talking to. He is a faithful friend, old chap."

"He is. Reminds me of a dog I had once. The more you kicked him, the
more he loved you, and he had sharp teeth, too. So has Brodsky. Say, you
don't suppose he got into a mix-up on our account, do you?"

"He may have."

"But tell me about your experience to-day?"

Rush did so, his friend listening attentively until the story came to an
end. Jarvis nodded reflectively.

"I guess it is the mines for us, as they say in Russia. What do you
propose to do?"

"The same thing. I am going to keep at it until I get a job for us, if I
have to tramp up and down the valley all the rest of the summer. It will
take more than one Kalinski to make us change our plans, Bob. Are you
with me?"

"Up to my neck!" replied Bob earnestly.

"That's the way I like to have you talk even if it is a little slangy."




CHAPTER X

SOMETHING HAPPENS TO THE BOSS


The next day was a repetition of the previous one so far as Steve's
finding a position was concerned. At every place he was met by one of
two answers. Either they were not in need of any extra men, or else they
wished a letter from the corporation mills, giving the facts of the
discharge of the Iron Boys.

Rush was beginning to think hard. He had discovered that getting on in
the world was not all smooth sailing; still he was not disheartened.

In the meantime Ignatz Brodsky had not been idle. He had gone to his
work and had stood the abuse of Foley, and occasionally that of
Kalinski, though not in the latter's department, without making any
retorts. Ignatz's face was stolid and emotionless.

That evening, however, having recovered from the kick he had received,
he went out first in search of Superintendent Keating. The general
superintendent, he learned, was in New York, and might return the next
day or he might not.

Disappointed, but still stolid, Ignatz betook himself over much the
same route that he had followed the night before. He did not meet
Kalinski, however, and after a while went home to supper. Shortly after
finishing his meal he left the house. The widow Brodsky thought he was
going over to see the Iron Boys. Ignatz had no such intention. He kept
walking up and down the streets, keeping a sharp lookout. At last his
search was rewarded. He espied Kalinski standing on a street corner,
talking with another man.

The Polish boy smiled again and started slowly toward Kalinski. But this
time Kalinski saw him coming. The brow of the pit boss wrinkled, though
he did not for a moment think the boy would dare come near him after the
experiences of the previous night.

Ignatz kept on coming, just the same, though he was not looking at the
boss; rather were his glances fixed reflectively on the pavement. The
boy came to a halt right in front of Kalinski and looked up with an
innocent expression on his face.

"Well, what do you want? Looking for more trouble? Git out of this
before I lose my temper and do something to you."

"All liars!" announced Ignatz, with the same calmness as before.

"What!" fairly howled the boss. "You little yaller dog, I'll beat the
daylight out of you. What do you want here?"

"This!" answered the Polish boy, smiting the boss a terrific blow on the
nose. It was the same nose and the same spot on the nose that had felt
the fist of Ignatz once before.

Kalinski staggered back under the force of the blow, howling with rage
and pain. Ere Brodsky could follow up the advantage thus gained the boss
was upon him.

No one interfered, for Kalinski was a bad man when enraged and
bystanders knew he would brook no interference. When finally he backed
away Ignatz's face was a sorry sight. The pit boss had given the boy a
brutal beating.

"All, all liars!" he gasped, then turned and staggered off toward home.
But not a word could the widow Brodsky obtain from him as to the cause
of the disfigurement. Next day Ignatz was not seen at the mill. He
remained at home, moulding his face back into the semblance of its
former self.

Steve was late that night, as before, but he had fared a little better.
He had found a job in a mill for himself and Bob. It was not much of a
job--merely carrying water for the men in the tube mill at fifty cents a
day.

The Iron Boy did not agree to accept the proffered employment, but said
that in case he found nothing better he would report for duty on the
following Monday morning if this would be satisfactory. It was, and so
the matter was left.

Jarvis was out on the street again. The bandages were off his hands, but
he still wore one over the upper part of his face. The lad had gone out,
hoping to meet Steve and walk home with him. All at once Jarvis
discovered Brodsky walking ahead of him. As usual the Pole was looking
about him keenly.

"He is hunting for some one," muttered Bob. "I think I will see what the
little rascal is up to. I'll bet he's up to some mischief."

Ignatz led Jarvis quite a chase, and it was nearly nine o'clock when the
Pole halted. Kalinski was just coming out of the post-office. The boss
stopped short when he saw Brodsky, and Brodsky stopped short as he
caught sight of the pit boss.

"Hello! I begin to smell a rat," chuckled Bob. "I wonder what he and the
boss can have in common?"

Jarvis edged up a little closer. Brodsky and the pit boss were slowly
approaching each other. Bob was almost trembling with excitement. The
very air vibrated with trouble.

"I actually believe that little runt is going to pick a fight with the
big fellow. Well, of all the nerve I ever heard of! Why, Kalinski will
eat him alive."

Bob waited to see what would happen.

"All liars!" howled Brodsky, both feet leaving the ground as he leaped
straight at the boss. Kalinski's fist grazed the Polish boy's cheek, and
the lad, with a quickness that would not have been thought of him,
planted his own fist in the face of Kalinski.

There followed a quick exchange of blows, Brodsky fighting in close with
dogged determination. Every time he landed a blow the boy would shout,
"All liars!"

This seemed to enrage Kalinski more than anything else, and led him to
renewed efforts to down his antagonist. It could end but one way. Bob
Jarvis saw that as he stood clenching and unclenching his hands,
muttering to himself: "It's a fair fight; you can't interfere. It's a
fair fight; you can't interfere!"

The Iron Boy was doing his best to keep out of it, but he wished from
the bottom of his heart that Kalinski would turn on him, thus giving Bob
an excuse to even up old scores.

A big crowd had gathered and was urging on the combatants, jeering,
shouting in a chorus of discordant yells. Suddenly Ignatz Brodsky
toppled over backwards, his arms waving feebly as he fell. He struck
the ground heavily and lay there moaning.

With a shout of triumphant rage Kalinski sprang forward and began
kicking the prostrate boy with his heavy boots. The pit boss was beside
himself with rage, for Brodsky had goaded him to the point of
desperation. The crowd apparently had no inclination to interfere with
this brutal act, for they continued their shouting and jeering.

There was one, however, who did propose to interfere. Such a scene was
more than Bob Jarvis could witness without taking a hand.

With a roar he hurled himself into the centre of the circle that had
been formed about the combatants. A firm hand was laid on the arm of the
boss, and ere he knew what was occurring he was thrown flat on his face
in the dirty street.

The crowd was not exactly sure whether it approved of this or not, and,
deciding that it did not, began to hiss.

"He's a coward!" shouted Bob. "He, a full-grown man, to thrash a boy,
then kick him after he is down! I am surprised that you loafers could
stand here and see it done without offering to interfere."

"Look out! He's coming for you!" warned a friendly voice.

But Jarvis did not need the warning. He had been watching the boss
narrowly while scoring the crowd, and he was ready for the next move. As
a matter of fact Bob did not believe Kalinski would fight him. In this
he was wrong, for the Pole's rage blinded his better judgment. His
brutal instincts were in full control. Kalinski was on his feet almost
instantly, and with a yell of rage he rushed the Iron Boy.

Jarvis stepped nimbly to one side, tripped the man and once more threw
him on his face.

The crowd jeered. This wasn't fighting. They wanted to see blood flow.
Their desires were soon gratified, for no sooner had Kalinski jumped to
his feet again, and made a vicious swing at Jarvis, than the boss
received a stinging blow on his sore nose from Bob's right, and another
on his right eye from Bob's left fist.

After that it was give-and-take. Neither man gave ground in the
slightest, but it was plain that, while possessed of great muscular
force, the Pole lacked the science of the Iron Boy. When the former did
land it jarred Bob Jarvis from head to feet, sometimes sending him
staggering backward, gasping for breath.

But Jarvis was full of pluck. Brodsky, at this juncture, got unsteadily
to his feet and elbowed his way into the circle about the combatants.

"All liars!" he cried, whereat the crowd picked him up bodily and threw
him out over the heads of those at the rear.

By this time Kalinski was getting slower in his movements, and the
strong fists of the Iron Boy were beating a tattoo on the pit boss's
face and ribs. The crowd, seeing that Kalinski was getting the worst of
it, set up yells of disapproval.

"Throw him out! Put him in the river!"

With one common purpose the idlers surged forward. At that moment some
one began pushing and elbowing through the crowd. Then Steve Rush strode
into the ring where the man and the boy were battling for a finish.

Steve had been on his way home from his day's tramp in search of a
position when the shouts of the crowd attracted his attention. He
hurried on to learn what was going on. His surprise was great when he
saw the bandaged head of Bob Jarvis bobbing up and down in the centre of
the ring.

"Bob's at it again!" groaned Steve. "Will he ever learn to keep out of
trouble?"

Steve quickly noted the sinister attitude of the crowd. He knew that in
a moment they would fall upon Jarvis, and it was a foregone conclusion
that the lad would be roughly handled. Perhaps both boys would be
roughly treated, but this did not deter Rush from springing to the
rescue of his companion.

"Stand back!" Steve shouted, as he leaped into the narrowing space about
the fighters. "Stand back, every one of you. It's a fair fight. Let them
have it out. I don't know what it is all about, but I know nobody is
going to interfere unless he wants to fight me!"

"Throw him out!" howled a voice. The cry was quickly taken up by other
voices. Steve Rush was now the object of their disapproval.

"Men, I tell you to stand back! It will be the worse for you if you
don't."

Uttering a yell the idlers rushed the plucky Steve.




CHAPTER XI

READJUSTING THEIR FINANCES


"Police! Police!" yelled a voice on the outer edge of the circle.

"Police!" echoed the crowd, running in all directions, for these
foreigners held the officers of the law in wholesome awe. They had had
experience with the uniformed police on other occasions.

Kalinski did not run, for the very good reason that he could not. Bob
was following him up too closely. Neither did Steve Rush nor Ignatz
Brodsky attempt to run away. It had been Ignatz's voice that had called
out the warning. There were no police in sight, but the boy, with quick
wit, had cried out in order to save Steve from the wrath of the mob.

Rush, as he shot a keen glance at the grinning face of Ignatz, quickly
comprehended.

"That's enough, Bob. Let him go. You are even with him. Come on
now--stop it!"

"All right, in a min--minute----" thump!

"That's for the boy Ignatz, and"--thump--"that for Rush, and"----Bob
uttered a grunt as he launched a terrific blow at his adversary, "that's
for me!"

The blow lifted Kalinski off his feet, laying him flat on his back in
the gutter.

"Back off!" commanded Steve, in a voice of authority. "You have done
your duty as you saw it, and I guess a little more."

"Liar! Liar!" shrieked the Polish boy, hopping about the fallen man,
waving his arms, almost beside himself with unholy joy.

"Take this boy away!" commanded Rush, as he bent over and assisted
Kalinski to his feet. "I'm sorry, Kalinski, but I guess you got what you
deserved. Bob, how did this thing start?"

"In the first place Kalinski was fighting with Ignatz----"

"He--he started it, the----" interrupted Kalinski.

"Don't say anything you will be sorry for," interjected Steve.

"After he had knocked Brodsky down he began kicking the boy, and with
the entire approval of the crowd," added Jarvis. "Wouldn't you have
sailed into him if you had been in my place?"

"I should have been a coward if I had not. And now, Kalinski, I have a
few words to say to you. You have used us about as shabbily as one
person could use another. We are even now; you have got what you
deserve, but hereafter keep away from us. Don't you dare speak to
either of us. Try any tricks and it will be the worse for you. Now get
out of here!"

Steve gave the Pole a shove, Kalinski hurrying away as fast as his
weakened legs would carry him, the fellow uttering threats and shaking
his fists as he went.

"We will go home now," announced Steve. "You come with us, Ignatz," he
added, taking an arm of the Polish boy. "I am sorry this thing happened,
for I had hoped we should be able to keep out of further trouble. We
will get a bad name if we don't stop having so many rows."

"But how are we going to help it?" protested Bob. "I can't stand around
and see a boy abused by a big brute like Kalinski, without taking a
hand."

"You did right, but I am sorry it occurred; that's all."

Reaching their boarding place, Rush took Bob and Ignatz to his room. He
looked Jarvis over from head to feet. The bandage about the latter's
head was now stained a dark red, where the fists of the pit boss had
pummeled him, while the burns on the lad's hands, that had been healed
over, were now raw and painful. Rush quickly bathed and redressed his
companion's wounds, then turned his attention to Brodsky. The latter had
received some pretty hard knocks, and was also in need of treatment,
which Steve gave him at once.

None of them had any thought for supper, which, in fact, had long since
been finished in the dining room of the boarding house. Rush looked over
the Pole with keen eyes.

"You have been fighting before to-night. What for?" he demanded.

"Kalinski, he liar; Foley liar--all liars!"

"Yes, I know that. Is that why you were fighting Kalinski?"

Ignatz nodded.

"You have been fighting him to avenge Bob and myself, have you?"

"Yes; I fight him."

"And you thought you could whip that big brute?"

"I lick him yet."

"No; you let him alone. He has been properly punished to-night. After
this keep away from him, or I will take you in hand myself. What will
your mother say when she hears of this?"

"You tell her?"

"Certainly not, but she will hear of it, and I'll wager that she will
give you a worse trouncing than did Kalinski. I got a job for us to-day,
Bob."

"What's that?"

"I got a job."

"What is it?"

Rush told him. Jarvis looked at his companion a moment in silence, then
burst out laughing.

"Fifty cents a day? Well, I must say we're getting up in the world. How
do you suppose we are going to live?"

"I have been thinking of that. In fact I saw the necessity of
readjusting our finances before we lost our jobs in the mills."

"I should say so," agreed Jarvis.

"We have been getting six dollars a week in the mills here, and we are
paying five apiece for our board. If we take the new job we shall be
getting only three dollars a week and paying out five."

"We'll have to make an assignment then," grinned Bob.

"I know a better way."

"What?"

"Get a new boarding place, where we shall be able to live within our
means or thereabouts."

"I'd hate to live in the boarding house that would come within our new
means," grumbled Jarvis. "This one is about the limit. It strikes me
that the best way to make money for ourselves would be to start a
boarding house."

"We are not in that line of business," answered Steve shortly. "Ignatz,
do you know of a clean, cheap place where we can get board and room?"

"Clean and cheap," Bob repeated. "They don't make 'em. High-priced and
dirty is the rule."

Jarvis laughed loudly.

"Me know place," nodded Brodsky.

"Good, I thought you would. Where is it?"

"You come by my house."

"What's that? Your house?"

Ignatz nodded.

"Why, your mother would not take us. She has a large family, and she
would have no time."

"Come by my house. I fix it."

"What do you think of that, Bob?"

"It strikes me, Steve."

"I am afraid your mother will not listen to it, but I am sure it would
please us very much if she were to take us."

"Come, I make her."

"No, we won't do that. If she is willing and can make us a price within
our means, of course we will go."

Ignatz had risen and was waiting for them to go with him.

"Will you come, Bob?"

"Sure I will. Maybe I'll meet Kalinski on the way," grinned Jarvis.

The three boys started off for the Brodskys. Mrs. Brodsky welcomed them,
for she liked these two open-faced young fellows for whom her son held
such an affection. He talked of them most of the time when he was at
home. Ignatz was full of his subject to the bursting point.

"My friends come live by us, Mother," he said finally.

"What you say?"

"Steve and Bob come live by us."

Mrs. Brodsky opened her eyes.

"So?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Now, to-morrow."

"It is this way, Mrs. Brodsky; we have to find a new boarding place,"
Steve explained. "We were asking Ignatz if he knew of a place, and he
said he thought you might be willing to take us. We shall not be much
trouble to you, as we don't throw things about in our rooms. We can
sleep in one bed and we will make that up if you do not have the time to
do so."

"So?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Brodsky was rather dazed. She never had taken boarders before, and
she hardly knew what to say. She looked from the now eager face of
Ignatz to the expectant ones of the Iron Boys.

"So?" she murmured.

"Yes, ma'am."

"They come by us to-morrow," urged Ignatz.

"How about it, Mrs. Brodsky?"

She nodded slowly.

"Thank you very much. Now, what will you charge us?"

"How much you give?"

"Whatever you think is right."

After reflection, Mrs. Brodsky said she thought about two dollars a week
would be right. If that was too much she would charge them less.

"No; that is too cheap," said Rush. "We will give you two dollars and a
half, gladly."

Mrs. Brodsky smiled benignly.

"Fine boys!" she said.

Ignatz was very happy. He began talking joyously, until sternly reproved
by his mother. It was arranged that the boys were to move into their new
quarters early on the following morning. The room assigned to them was
small, but the perfection of neatness. There was a clean, white spread
on the bed, a wash stand with a clean towel laid over it, though, as Bob
observed, the pitcher and wash bowl had seen better days. There was no
carpet on the floor, but this they did not mind. After making final
arrangements and paying over one week's board, the Iron Boys took their
departure, very well content with what had been accomplished.

"We could just as well have gotten it for two," said Jarvis after they
had left the house.

"Yes, but I am not quite so mean as that. That extra fifty cents apiece
means a lot to us, and I shall be glad to be there. We shall have a
happy day to-morrow, and perhaps we will take that long-deferred picnic
trip."




CHAPTER XII

THE BOYS MEET WITH A SURPRISE


Ignatz had gone when the Iron Boys made their appearance at the Brodsky
home next morning, carrying a trunk between them.

"Good morning, Mrs. Brodsky and all the little Brodskys," greeted Steve,
with a winning smile, as the family met him at the door. The coming of
the boys was an event in that household. The children were bashful, and
not a word could he get out of them. They hid behind their mother's
skirts, peering out at the newcomers suspiciously.

After placing the trunk in their room the lads went back for the second
trunk, which was Steve's. An hour later they were well settled in their
new quarters. They decided to wait until after the noon meal before
starting off on their pleasure jaunt.

"I suppose our friend Ignatz is at work, Mrs. Brodsky?" said Steve,
sitting down in the parlor for a chat with the widow.

"Yes."

"Well, he is a good boy and you should be proud of him. If ever I get a
good position I shall give Ignatz a job that you will be proud of."

"You'll be lucky if you get one for yourself," grunted Jarvis.

"Luck will change, old man. When a fellow sets his mind on doing a
certain thing, then drives straight ahead, he's going to land what he is
after. No one can stop us, Bob."

"Well, all I've got to say is that some one has given a pretty good
imitation of stopping us."

While they talked, Ignatz, instead of being in the mill, as they
supposed, was hanging about the entrance to the company's offices. He
had heard, that morning, that the general superintendent had returned
from his trip, and young Brodsky was determined to see him, even if he
lost a day's pay in his effort to do so.

There were two entrances to the office building, but Ignatz had
forgotten this. After waiting nearly three hours he hailed a clerk who
came hurrying from the building, with the request to tell him if Mr.
Keating were coming down that morning.

"He's in his office now, young man, but he is very busy," was the answer
as the clerk hurried away.

Brodsky did not care whether the superintendent were busy or not, for
his own business was more important than anything that Mr. Keating
could possibly have on hand, according to the way Ignatz reasoned it
out.

The Pole climbed the steps leisurely, peered into the corridor through
the glass door, and seeing no one there, entered. He saw no one after he
got in. Even the Iron and Steel Policeman who usually stood guard in the
hall was not there. The man was in the office getting some orders from
the superintendent.

Ignatz, who did not know that the regular entrance to Mr. Keating's
office was through the main offices, wandered on down the hall, slowly
spelling out the names on the doors. At last he reached a door on which
the word "Superintendent" had been painted in large letters.

The long word bothered Ignatz, but he labored with it until he managed
to convey the sound of it phonetically to his ears.

"Him there," he muttered.

Then Brodsky boldly turned the knob, opened the door and entered.

Mr. Keating glanced up from his desk in surprise.

"Well, sir, what do you want?" he demanded.

"All liars!" exclaimed Brodsky, striking a dramatic attitude, legs
apart, arms waving wildly above his head.

Mr. Keating regarded the boy keenly.

"Who are you?" he asked sharply.

"Ignatz Brodsky."

"Well, what do you want?"

"All liars!" persisted Ignatz.

"So I heard you remark before. Who is it who has lied?"

"Kalinski, Foley--all liars."

"See here, young man, I am inclined to think you are crazy, but if you
have anything to say to me, say it quickly and run along. Now what do
you want?"

"Steve Rush and Bob Jarvis, him not lie."

"Rush and Jarvis," repeated the superintendent. "What about them?"

"They not blow up the cinder pits. Kalinski say they do, then pouf, out
they go!"

"I don't understand?"

Brodsky was dripping with perspiration from his efforts to make himself
understood.

"Has anything happened to Rush and Jarvis?"

The boy nodded.

"What is it?"

"Him fired. Him no get job. Kalinski, Foley--all liars."

"The boys have been discharged, do you mean?"

"Yes."

"What for?"

    Illustration: "All Liars!" Exclaimed Ignatz.

"For lies. Mr. McNaughton him fire boys because Kalinski tell lies."

The superintendent snatched the telephone receiver from its hook.

"Give me Mr. McNaughton's office!" he commanded sharply. "Hello,
McNaughton, is this you? Is it true that the two young men, Rush and
Jarvis, have been dismissed?"

"Yes." Brodsky caught the word faintly.

"What for?"

The boy could not hear the reply in the telephone, but he did hear the
superintendent's next remark.

"Come to my office at once. I wish to talk with you. Brodsky, I am very
much obliged to you. Sit down. I may want to ask you some questions
after Mr. McNaughton gets here."

Ignatz, whose face had resumed its ordinary stolidity, dropped into a
chair, while his eyes gazed vacantly through the window. Soon the
division superintendent came hurrying in.

"What is this you tell me about those boys having been thrown out?"
demanded Mr. Keating, with a slight show of irritation.

"They are a bad lot, sir; a couple of impudent, untrustworthy fellows. I
wouldn't have them in my division under any circumstances."

"Why not?"

"Because, in the first place, they disobeyed orders and blew up the
cinder pit after having been warned not to put water on it while the
cinders were still hot. Then again, they had several quarrels with the
pit boss and the foreman. Even in my office, where I called them to hear
their story, they answered me in a most impudent manner."

"Is that all?" demanded Mr. Keating, in a sarcastic tone.

"Well, it is all I can think of just now."

"Hm-m! A desperate pair, eh? McNaughton, I thought you were a better
judge of human nature than that."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I mean, with all due respect to you, that I don't believe a word of
this. What did the boys say--what excuse did they offer?"

"Denied it, of course."

"Tell me exactly what Foley and Kalinski said in making their charges."

Mr. McNaughton did so. There was a slight flush on his cheeks, brought
there by the sharp answers of the general superintendent.

As he finished, Ignatz suddenly came to life again.

"All lies!" he exclaimed, waving his arms over his head, after which he
subsided.

"That will do, Brodsky!" commanded Mr. Keating sternly, while his
division superintendent flushed violently. "There is something more to
this affair than you seem to have learned. These boys came to me with
the highest recommendations from President Carrhart. They held
responsible positions in the mines and they came here to learn the steel
business after having followed the ore all the way down. There is some
mistake; depend upon that."

"I do not think there is any mistake, sir. I know a bad boy or a bad man
when I see him. These boys are the limit. Why, sir, I hear they made an
attack on Kalinski on the street last night, beating him nearly to
death."

Mr. Keating looked grave.

"Lies!" muttered Ignatz.

"Young man, do you know where Rush and Jarvis are?"

Ignatz nodded.

"Boys go work in Stevens' mills by Monday," volunteered the Pole.

"Can you fetch them here at once?"

"Yes."

"Then do so. You need not say what I want of them. Simply that they are
wanted at the office of the superintendent immediately."

Ignatz was out of the office on the run. He burst into the house, waving
his arms.

"Come by superintendent, quick!" he shouted, dancing about excitedly.




CHAPTER XIII

FACING THEIR ACCUSERS


"What--what for?" demanded Rush.

"Yes, what does he want with us?" questioned Jarvis, gazing with
suspicion upon the boy.

"Him want to see Iron Boys. Come quick."

"Are you sure, Ignatz?" asked Rush.

"Yes, superintendent him wait by the office."

"But why does he wish to see us?"

"I not tell. Him say I mustn't."

The Iron Boys laughed at this.

"I guess it is all right, Bob. Our friend has given himself away. I
shouldn't be surprised, however, if Mr. Keating were sending for us to
express his disappointment at our failure to make good. When did he
return from his trip, Ignatz?"

"Last night."

"You seem pretty well posted," laughed Rush, bending a keen glance on
the excited face of the boy. "Very well; we will go with you, although I
rather dislike to do it. It seems as though we were begging to be taken
back, whereas we know that such is not the case."

On the way to the office of the mining company Steve sought to draw out
Brodsky as to the causes that had led up to Mr. Keating's sending for
them, but Ignatz was as uncommunicative as a Chinaman. He appeared
almost idiotic in his ignorance. This brought a smile to the face of
Steve. He knew the Pole had had some hand in the affair, and Steve
shrewdly suspected that the boy was directly responsible for the summons
they had just received. However, he pressed his inquiry no further. They
would soon know, for they were ascending the steps to the office
building.

Rush entered the reception office, sent in his name and was bidden to
enter. This he did, followed by Jarvis, and, bringing up the rear, was
Ignatz Brodsky.

"How do you do, lads?" greeted the superintendent cordially. "Will you
be seated?"

Mr. McNaughton, at the first glance, was somewhat taken aback. Here were
two well-dressed, gentlemanly young men. The boys whom he had discharged
had been clad in their rough working clothes, hair unkempt and faces
streaked with the soot of the mills. There was honesty and manliness in
both faces now, though the face of Bob Jarvis was considerably the worse
for wear, between his late accident and his battle with Kalinski. The
lads seated themselves as requested by the superintendent.

"Brodsky tells me that you wish to see us, sir," said Rush, after
greeting the division superintendent.

"Yes, I do. What is this I hear about you boys having been discharged?"

"I think Mr. McNaughton can answer that question, sir," replied the Iron
Boy, with the suspicion of a twinkle in his eyes, as he glanced at the
division superintendent. The twinkle was not lost on Mr. Keating, and he
nodded, while McNaughton flushed half angrily.

"Mr. McNaughton dismissed you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

"I presume he thought we ought to be discharged."

"You are evading the question."

"I have no such intention, sir. What is it you wish me to say?"

"Tell me the story as it is. It is quite evident that there has been a
misunderstanding here. Mr. McNaughton has been misled by some one."

"I will tell all I know about it, and exactly as it occurred. We began
our work, evidently having incurred the dislike of the foreman and the
pit boss before we even started in the pits."

"Why should you have gained their displeasure?" interrupted Mr.
Keating.

"I can only surmise. The foreman was enraged when, as an inspector in
the accident department, I made a report which brought criticism down
upon him and led to his being reduced."

McNaughton nodded. Already he began to see a light.

"Now we are getting down to cause and effect," announced Mr. Keating,
shooting a swift glance at his division superintendent. "Go on."

"The two men began making it uncomfortable for us at once. But I dislike
to say these things. It sounds as though we are whining. We don't intend
to do anything of the sort. We are willing to take our medicine and
smile, no matter how bitter the dose."

"Go on!"

Steve proceeded to relate the differences they had had with Foley and
Kalinski, but through it all he did not mention the names of the foreman
and the pit boss. From this he went on to tell what he knew about the
warning, the hurrying away of the two bosses and the eventual explosion
of pit number eight.

Bob Jarvis was asked to give his version of the affair relating to the
explosion only, which he did, pointedly and concisely. To a fair judge
of human nature there was no doubt at all as to the truth of the story
the boys were telling.

"Now, Jarvis, you say that you did not know you were doing a dangerous
thing when you put the whole stream of water on the pit, do you?"

"Do I?" repeated the boy.

"Yes?"

"Do you think I would be foolish enough to blow myself up, just for the
sake of feeling myself going up?" demanded the Iron Boy, with a
belligerent tilt to his chin.

Mr. Keating leaned back, laughing heartily.

"Well, candidly, I don't, though I do not think even that consideration
would stop you if there were any good reason for your blowing yourself
up."

"I suppose you are not so far wrong at that," muttered Bob, coloring.

"There is another point that I should like to ask you about," said Mr.
Keating, turning to Steve.

"Yes, sir."

"How much truth is there in the statement that you two assaulted
Kalinski in the street last night, beating him so badly that he was
unable to report for duty this morning? He is in the hands of a doctor,
I understand."

Steve colored again, and Bob laughed bitterly.

"All lies!" exclaimed Brodsky.

The two superintendents turned sharply. They had not noticed his
presence before.

"Brodsky, what are you doing in here?" demanded Mr. Keating.

Ignatz did not answer.

"If you speak again, until you are spoken to, I will call the officer
and have him put you out."

Ignatz subsided, settling far down in his chair.

"It is both true and untrue."

"Explain."

"I will do so, though I was not present at the beginning of the trouble.
Jarvis can better tell you more about that than I, and I do hope that
what we say will not get our friend, Ignatz Brodsky, into trouble. He is
a faithful friend and an honest, well-meaning boy."

"I will decide that when I hear the story. Jarvis, you may tell it."

"It was this way," began Bob. "I--we--had been suspecting that Ignatz
was watching Kalinski and Foley ever since we were discharged from the
mill. He took our dismissal very much at heart. He got hurt on the
street, the other night, and said he had been kicked by a horse. I
suspected that it was a two-legged horse that had kicked him. Last
night, as I was walking along, I saw Ignatz. I followed him. Then, soon
after, I saw Kalinski coming from the post-office. Both men stopped and
then I began to understand what was in the wind. Well, sir, they sailed
into each other without a word----"

"Who started the fight?" interrupted Mr. Keating.

"Both," answered Bob promptly.

"Go on."

"I didn't think it was my business to take a hand, though I wanted to.
The little fellow held his own pretty well for a time, but the boss was
too big and strong for him. Then Kalinski knocked the boy down, and
began to kick him."

"The ruffian!" exclaimed Mr. Keating.

"Yes, sir, that's what I thought; and not a man of the crowd that had
gathered went to the boy's assistance. They seemed to think it was a
barrel of fun. Well, sir, you know I couldn't stand for that."

"I should say not."

"I just sailed in, and we had it right and left all over the street. He
had a sore nose and I played a tune on that for a little while. I had a
sore head, where I got burned the other day in the mill, and Kalinski
played rag-time on that. After awhile there wasn't any more music left
in either of us, except in our ears. Mine were ringing like a church
bell at Christmas time."

By this time both superintendents were laughing at the humorous recital
of the Iron Boy. Even Steve Rush was smiling, despite his efforts to be
serious.

"What next?" questioned Mr. Keating, brushing his hand across his face
to hide his laughter.

"I wound up with a tattoo on his face, and Kalinski went to the ground,
and I didn't kick him either. It came pretty close to being a fight."

"I should say it was a real fight," remarked the superintendent dryly.
"Then Rush had no part in it at all?"

"He came in when we were having it hardest, and the crowd was getting
ready to jump on me because they saw I was getting the best of the pit
boss. Rush held the crowd back so I should have fair play; that's all."

"What was Brodsky doing all this time?"

"He was shouting 'liars!' most of the time. But when he saw that the
crowd were going against me, he called 'police,' and the crowd ran away.
(Much obliged, Ignatz. I hadn't thought to thank you for helping me out
before.) I had to do it. You would have done the same as I did, Mr.
Keating, because you're a man----"

"You're right, I should have, Jarvis!" exclaimed the superintendent,
bringing the flat of his hand down on his desk with a resounding whack.

"At any rate, you can't fire me because I'm not working for you any
longer."

"Oh, yes, you are. McNaughton, what do you think about these boys now?"
demanded the general superintendent, turning to his division
superintendent.

"I don't think; I know. I have done these boys a very great injustice
and I am willing and ready to make amends in any way that I can. I don't
know how I could have been so deceived."

"Naturally, not knowing them, you took the word of your foremen. I am
not inclined to blame you under the circumstances. But, boys, I am sorry
this has happened. I apologize to you, for you have been very badly
used. Do I understand that you have taken another place?"

"Yes, sir; that is, we can have the place if we wish it. There is no
obligation on our part to go if we do not wish to."

"Why did you not come straight to me with your story at once?"

"It did not seem right to go over Mr. McNaughton's head. It seemed an
unmanly thing to do."

Mr. Keating nodded at the other man, as much as though to say, "I told
you so." What Keating said aloud was:

"Not many would have followed that course, McNaughton."

"No, sir," agreed the assistant superintendent.

"We shall have to take some action in the cases of Foley and Kalinski.
Each is equally to blame."

"Yes, sir."

"My inclination is to dismiss them summarily. Have they families?"

"Yes, sir; large families."

"Hm-m-m," reflected Mr. Keating. "That makes it rather difficult to do
with them as I otherwise should. However, they must be punished. I'll
tell you; they must both be reduced to the ranks. I do not want any such
men in positions of responsibility in mills of which I am the head. It
is not safe. Put them at whatever they can do."

"They will quit, sir."

"Let them! I hope they do. It relieves me of a disagreeable job that
sooner or later it will be necessary to tackle. Brodsky, you are a good
boy. I shall look into your case and see what can be done for you."

"Then do we go to work?" asked Jarvis.

"You are at work already. I will see to it that you are paid for the
time you have been off. It was a rank injustice. But I am going to shift
you to another department. How would you like to try the blast
furnaces?"

"We are ready to go wherever you put us," answered Rush.

"You proved that by taking the job in the pits. That will take them out
of your department, McNaughton."

"Yes; I am sorry, too, for I rather hoped to be able to make up for my
shortcoming in this matter."

"You were not to blame, sir," said Steve. "We are very grateful to you
for your kind words to-day. Shall we begin in the furnaces to-morrow,
Mr. Keating?"

"No, Monday will do. In the meantime I will have your time corrected, so
that you will have lost no time by the mistake that threw you out.
McNaughton, you will attend to Foley and Kalinski at once?"

"Yes, sir."

The Iron Boys rose.

"Thank you, Mr. Keating. We are more grateful than we know how to
express. We will show you that we are both appreciative, and I hope you
won't have to be told that we are not doing our duty."

Bowing their thanks the boys left the office, Brodsky having already
sneaked out ahead of them. They espied him lurking around the turn in
the hall, watching for their coming.

"Ignatz, you rascal!" called Bob. "I ought to give you a good thumping.
You don't deserve to be let off with a scolding. How would you like to
have me tell your mother you have not been at work to-day?"

"She know when she git my wages."

"No she won't," interjected Steve, "for I am going to pay your wages for
just this one day. You come with us. We are going on a picnic."

Three happy boys started off for a place they knew of up the river,
where they were going to spend the afternoon. Steve bought some cakes
and sandwiches at a baker shop, and a few bottles of mineral water, then
off they went for their holiday.




CHAPTER XIV

BY THE ROARING FURNACES


In the daytime a row of tall black, cone-shaped chimneys might be seen
across the river from the mills themselves. At night these chimneys were
pyramids of yellow and red fire.

These were the blast furnaces. In them, the ore, as it came from the
mines far away on the Minnesota iron ranges, was reduced to pig or pig
iron, by smelting at a temperature of fifteen hundred degrees
centigrade--about twenty-seven hundred degrees Fahrenheit. This great
temperature boils the slag or impurities out of the metal, and after it
has been drawn off into ladles it becomes "pig."

From the blast furnaces the pig, red-hot in its molds, is conveyed to
the open-hearth furnaces, where it is subjected to a still further
boiling process at the same temperature as before, and then it is steel.
Steel is pig-iron combined with carbon and with the impurities boiled
out.

It was to the blast furnaces that the Iron Boys were assigned, and they
were to take the night trick. As they made their way that night through
the yards of the mill, where engines were shrieking their warnings, cars
were thundering here and there, long trains of red-hot metal rumbling
over the hot metal bridge from the blast furnaces to the mills, while
the flames were leaping skyward from the blast furnaces, Steve halted
for a moment to gaze on the scene. Neither boy ever had been in the
yards after dark, and the scene was one never to be forgotten.

"Which furnace do we work in?" wondered Bob.

"Number four, I believe."

"Then that must be the fourth one."

"Naturally it wouldn't be the fifth," answered Steve, with a laugh.

They hurried across the bridge, for it was already time they were
reporting to the head melter at the furnace, and being late meant being
docked, for there is no sentiment in the steel mills. Every man was
expected to do his full duty and a little more. Most of them did the
latter.

A scene of activity and apparent confusion met their gaze as they neared
the towering blast furnaces with their heating stoves sixty feet high on
either side of them.

Men with barrows were rushing about, bells clanged as the charge was
ready to hoist on the top of the furnace to be dumped into its
never-satisfied mouth. The ore was carried up by another skip. Through
the stoves roared a gas flame, leaping, licking, here and there reaching
out a forked tongue as though in search of fresh prey. The odor of gas
was well-nigh overpowering to the Iron Boys, for they were not used to
it.

The head melter, standing close up against the furnace, clad in a rubber
coat and wearing green goggles, was peering into the furnace through a
peep hole, while a stream of water from a hose was constantly played
over his body. His face seemed to rest almost against the plates, and
the bosh on which he was standing was so hot that the steam rose in a
cloud about him.

Two men were inserting the prodding rod against the dolmite that plugged
the ore hole near the bottom of the furnace. The perspiration was
running in rivers down their half-naked bodies.

"The drill! The drill!" shouted a choking voice.

A compressed air drill was brought, a dolly-rod inserted, and then the
dolmite was drilled to a thin shell.

"Stand back!" warned the head melter in a hoarse voice.

"I reckon something is going to happen," cried Jarvis in his companion's
ear. The roar of the furnaces and the gas in the huge stoves made his
voice sound weak and far away.

Steve moved back a little, pulling Jarvis after him. Flush with the edge
of a raised platform of fire-brick and steel, over which extended little
gutters packed with sand, stood a string of flat cars each holding an
immense ladle. The gutters led directly into these ladles.

"That is where the iron goes, through those gutters and into the
ladles," explained Rush. "It runs like water, though I have never seen
them make a cast."

Just then a warning cry sounded as the dolly broke through the clay dam
that holds the metal in the furnace.

Fire, scorching, burning fire leaped from the opening made with the
dolly. The air was filled with brilliant, hissing stars as large as the
palm of a man's hand. Some whirled like pin-wheels; others, holding
their perfect shape, described graceful curves in the air, or exploded.

Men shaded their eyes, drew themselves together, and tried to shrink
away from the terrific heat. But there was no avoiding it. The
monkey-man who had broken through the clay dam staggered away from the
opening thus made, shouting hoarsely for water.

Following the explosive stars, a river, almost blood-red, burst from the
furnace with a roar, quickly changing into a river of saffron. Hissing
and snapping the molten metal burned its way along through the
sand-packed gutters, and shot from the ends of the gutters and into the
waiting ladles on the flat cars at the foot of the platform. Everywhere
the air seemed filled with fiery shapes reaching for human prey. Under
foot there was danger on every hand, for a single misstep would plunge
one into this all-consuming flood. The slag, or as much of it as
possible, ground its way much more slowly, along another channel, to be
gathered up and used over for other purposes at some later day.

As one ladle was filled the waiting train would move up, bringing a new
set of cars under the ends of the gutters, and when at last all the cars
had been loaded the train moved off, the ladles glowing in the darkness
of the night, until in the distance they became mere eyes of fire.

The Iron Boys drew a deep sigh as the operation was concluded. Four
hours would elapse before another cast would be made from number four
furnace, but here and there along the row of huge cones stars were
bursting, streams of hot, yellow lava flowing and men shouting, snarling
or begging for water.

"It is terrible, yet grand!" exclaimed Steve Rush, wiping the
perspiration from his brow. Even where they stood, at one side of the
furnace, the heat was well-nigh unbearable.

"It strikes me as being grandly hot," answered Jarvis. "Whew, a fellow
doesn't need his winter underclothing on in this job, does he?"

"The furnace men don't seem to wear any at all," laughed Rush. "I should
think they would burn their skin off. I don't know whether I can stand
this game or not, but I'll try it. I wonder what we are going to do?"

"I will find out from the foreman."

The foreman was not on hand at the moment, but the head melter, known
under the name of Pig-Iron Peel, had received orders regarding the Iron
Boys.

He motioned them to approach, when a furnace hand told him who they
were. He asked the name of each boy in a hoarse, gruff voice.

"Who are you?" demanded Jarvis.

"I'm the Pig," answered the melter, his red face wrinkling into a grin,
which was quickly smoothed out as if the effort hurt him.

"Pig-Iron Peel," he added.

"Ho, ho!" roared Bob immoderately.

Steve nudged him to be quiet.

"We are ready to work if you will tell us what to do," said Rush.

"You can pack the sand gutters after the charge is loaded into the
ladles. Either of you ever worked on a furnace before?"

"No, sir," answered the boys.

"You, what's your name----?"

"Jarvis."

"Well, Jarvis, I'll put you up on the charging platform. You won't have
much to do there----"

"Where is the charging platform?" interrupted Bob.

"At the top of the furnace, fifty feet up there in the air. How do you
like it?"

"Fine!" answered Jarvis, though without his usual enthusiasm. "What am I
do when I get there?"

"Dump the charges into the furnace. The skips you have nothing to do
with, except to ring a bell when you are ready for them. They will dump
four loads of red ore into the furnace; then you throw in a layer of
coke and limestone, the latter being called 'flux.' This makes what we
call the charge. Is that clear?"

"Yes. What do I do then?"

"You do it all over again and you keep doing it until another man comes
to take the job off your hands."

"How do I get up there?"

"Climb the ladder."

"Huh! Lucky for me I'm on the night trick, so I can't see, or I'd surely
fall off."

"Rush, the sand man will show you about the troughs. Jarvis, you hike
upstairs. Tell the man I have up there that you are to relieve him. He
will show you about operating the levers. Have him put in a charge while
you look on."

"Is there any light up there, so I can see what I am doing?"

"You will have light enough," grinned Pig-Iron Peel. "You won't have any
reason to complain about either light or heat. This charging business is
a continuous performance day and night, until the furnaces have to be
shut down for cleaning. For your information I will tell you that the
iron, being the heaviest, sinks to the bottom of the furnace as it is
melted. The cinders trickle down after it, forming what is called the
heart. The latter are tapped off every two hours, the iron every four
hours. If you are going to be furnace men you will want to know all
these things at the start."

"Thank you for the information. It is all very interesting," answered
Steve.

"And very hot," added Jarvis. "With your permission I'll go aloft now,
sir."

"Go on, and look sharp that you don't fall off," warned the head melter.

"I'll cling to the sheets, sir."

Bob, after the ladder bad been pointed out to him, began to climb. He
had not gone far before he discovered that the rungs of the iron ladder
were hot. They were so much so that he yelled, "ouch!" removing first
one hand and then the other to rub it on his trousers. He was unable to
keep both hands on the ladder for any great length of time.

Bob began to growl, and he kept up his growling all the way up the
fifty-foot ladder. Finally he decided he must have gone about a hundred
feet, instead of fifty and halting he shouted, "Hello!"

"Hello, yourself," answered a gruff voice from the cloud above. "What do
you want?"

"It isn't a question of what I want, but rather what I am going to get.
Are you the feeder?"

"I'm charging, if that's what you mean."

"Well, if you don't charge too much I'll come up and be shown," laughed
the irrepressible Bob.

"Quit that fooling or I'll throw a bag of coke down on you."

Bob ran nimbly up the rest of the ladder, and a moment later stood
facing a soot-covered fellow of about his own age.

"Say, did you mean that about the coke?"

"You'll find out whether I did or not, if----"

"Look here, pard, if you get funny I'll put you in with the coke and
the--the limestone. I'll bet they'd never get the impurities out of the
iron after you once got in it. It would be pig forever afterwards. Ha,
ha! How's that?"

"You're too fresh, that's what's the matter with you," growled the
charging boy. "Git busy here; I'm going down. I don't belong up here
anyway, and I'm glad of it."

"Don't say that," protested Jarvis, with mock seriousness. "It is a
matter of sincere regret to me that this isn't your regular job. I'd
just as lief be down on the ground carrying water, as up here feeding
the mouth of the furnace. The boss monkey down below said you were to
show me what to do."

With a grunt of disapproval the charging boy instructed Jarvis in his
duties, then with a "so-long," hurried down the ladder, leaving the Iron
Boy alone in his glory.

Bob glanced about him curiously. Directly over his head, it seemed,
flared the flames from the huge stove. Every now and then the great
flame would swoop down a fiery tongue as if bent upon lapping him up.
Bob instinctively ducked as the breeze carried the flame down toward
him. He believed that a gust of wind would surely bring the flame on
him, which he was certain would be the end of Bob Jarvis.

Off to the right and to the left of him were other swaying pillars of
fire from the stoves of the other furnaces, and over on the opposite
side of the river black smoke and red fire poured from the funnels of
the open-hearth furnaces there. Bob himself was enveloped in a dense
cloud of suffocating smoke, which, breathed into his lungs, set him
coughing and choking.

"I wish I had stayed fired!" he muttered. "This is worse than the cinder
pits."

Time passed quickly, however, and between watching the skiploads of ore
as they shot up to him with disconcerting suddenness, and dodging the
flames from the number four stove, Jarvis was kept reasonably busy.

Down below Steve, on hands and knees, was patting the sand in the
gutters into place, smoothing it off so that there should be no
projections to catch and retard the flow of the hot metal when the next
cast was made. He found Pig-Iron Peel, despite his rough appearance, to
be a kind-hearted man. This was a distinct relief after the experience
of the lads in the cinder pits under two bosses who had lost no
opportunity to do them harm. Now and then the head melter would step
over to instruct the Iron Boy in his duties, and even at the distance
from the furnace that Steve was working the heat was well-nigh
unbearable. He was obliged to make frequent trips to the water barrel,
and now and then he showered himself from head to foot with the ready
hose. The skin was peeling from his face and his work clothes were
burned through in many places.

"Stand by for the tap!" commanded Peel.

Rush was so busy that he did not hear the command. He did hear the tap,
tap of the mall as it drove against the prodding rod, but this held no
special significance for him. In the darkness preceding the cast the
others did not observe him.

Suddenly, with a roar, the saffron flood burst through the clay dam.
Millions of hissing stars leaped into the air and a river of molten
metal swooped down on Steve Rush in its all-consuming flight.




CHAPTER XV

MENACED BY A DOUBLE PERIL


"Look out!" roared the warning voice of the head melter.

Steve turned just in time to see a wall of golden metal almost towering
over him. Even his quick mind did not grasp the meaning of the scene
until it was too late. His muscles refused to obey his command, and for
once in his life the Iron Boy stood with a sensation in his heart that
was not far removed from fear. He did not know which way to turn for
safety, even had he possessed the strength to escape from his perilous
position.

Yells and shouts of warning from all sides merely served to confuse him
the more. Had it been daylight Rush no doubt would have quickly thrown
himself to one side.

Suddenly something came whirling through the air. The Iron Boy did not
see it, and it is doubtful if more than one man about the furnace did.
It was a dark object, and it smote Steve across the chest with terrific
force.

The Iron Boy staggered backward, toppled over just as the molten flood
from the furnace went hissing past. The boy did not stop there. His
body began rolling down the incline leading to the jumping-off place,
below which the tracks were located. His body shot over ahead of the
metal, for that had to follow a circuitous course. There was little
danger of its overtaking him, as a dam at the lower end was intended to
check its flow until the train had backed in with the ladles to receive
the ore. This train, as it chanced, was at the moment backing down to
the furnace at high speed, for the train was late and the tapping of the
furnace, the engineer knew, could not be delayed without perhaps doing
great damage to the metal.

Bob Jarvis, from his perch high in the air, had caught sight of the
scene that was being enacted below as a draught of air tore aside the
curtain of smoke that during the evening had blotted out the lower end
of the furnace. Forgetful of his duty up there Bob sprang to the ladder.
He did not wait for the hot rungs this time; but, grasping the sides of
the iron ladder, shoes on the outside pressed tight against the
uprights, he dropped out of sight of the charging platform like a stone.
The rapid descent was burning the skin from his palms and an odor of
burning leather reached his nose faintly as the iron sides of the
ladders burned through the shoes pressed against it.

Bob landed with a jolt. He dropped to the furnace floor, but was up in
a twinkling. Leaping the saffron river he bolted across the intervening
space and sprang straight out into the air, right in the face of the
approaching train of flat cars thundering in.

There was a ten-foot drop to the ground. Jarvis did not know whether he
was going to land in a pit of hot ore, cinders, or on a fence of iron
that would end his career right there.

By the light from the opened furnace, as he was falling, he saw the
tracks below him and the form of Steve Rush lying stretched across them.
Bob saw something else too--the long line of flat cars swooping down on
Steve.

Jarvis landed on all fours. He did not waste time in glancing about to
see where the train was. Instead, he grabbed Rush, pitching him headlong
out of the way. Steve landed on his head, pivoted for a second, and then
fell over on his back.

Jarvis straightened up and started to leap clear of the track when he
was struck a terrific blow from behind. The force of the blow lifted the
boy from the tracks. As everything about him began to grow black he felt
himself being hurled through the air.

There was no time to shout, nor opportunity to help himself. Bob had
been struck by the train, the end beam of the leading car having caught
him squarely across the hips. Bob landed some ten feet beyond the spot
where Steve was lying. The latter, however, had been barely stunned.
About the time Bob went soaring over his head, Rush scrambled to his
feet and hands then got up limping a little.

But Steve was dazed. The glare of the intense light from the open
furnace blinded his eyes so that he could not see a thing distinctly. He
heard the shrill shriek of the shifting engine, then four quick, warning
blasts. The Iron Boy ducked instinctively at the same time leaping to
one side.

By this time objects began to grow out of the glare with more or less
distinctness. Steve rubbed his eyes and blinked.

"I wonder what happened? I know--I got an awful rap from something."

His arms ached and his chest was so sore that the touch of his clothes
gave him pain. About that time Rush discovered that raising his arms was
attended with more or less pain also.

"Hello! Something is going on over there by the furnace. Now what in the
world has happened? If Kalinski were anywhere about I should think he
had been trying some of his tricks on me again."

Kalinski was not there, but three men who had climbed down from the
brick and steel platform about the furnace came running around the lower
end, heading for the spot where the Iron Boy was standing.

"Hi, whom are you looking for?" Steve called.

"Hello, who's that?" answered a voice.

"It's Rush. I'm all right. Something must have hit me and knocked me off
the platform."

"I guess something did hit you," answered a voice that Steve recognized
as belonging to the head melter, Pig-Iron Peel. "Where is the other
boy?"

"What other boy?"

"Jarvis?"

"Why, he's up at the top of the furnace on the charging platform."

"Not much he ain't!" answered Peel. "He's down here, somewhere."

"Down here?" wondered Rush.

"Yes."

"How did he get down here?"

"He came over after you. Never saw such a quick move in my life. What's
bothering me is how he ever got down the ladder soon enough to get you.
He saved your life all right, boy."

"Hello, Bob!" shouted Steve, realizing all at once that something more
had occurred than he knew about. "Bob!"

"Hello," answered a faint voice off in the darkness of the yard.

Rush darted forward, followed by the head melter and his two companions.

"Where are you, Bob?"

"I'm here--what's left of me, and that isn't much."

They found Bob on his knees, gingerly rubbing the injured portion of his
anatomy.

"Are you hurt?" begged Steve solicitously.

"Hurt? Why, I'll never be able to walk again as long as I live! I'll
have to sit around all the rest of my life."

Bob's companion was helping him to his feet, bringing groans of pain
from the unfortunate Jarvis.

"Don't touch my hands; they're skinned. Oh, what a fool I am! Let me
alone; don't you see I'm skinned alive?"

With Steve on one side of him, and Pig-Iron Peel on the other, Jarvis
was led over to the stairs that extended up to the platform.

"Will you please tell me what happened to you?" demanded Steve.

"Ask the boss. I don't know. I think I must have been kicked by
something. Are there any mules in the yards."

"No; no mules," replied Peel. "You were hit by a train."

"You don't mean it? I'll bet the train was wrecked! Nothing--no train
could hit an object with the force that I was hit and not be bucked off
the track. That's so; I remember, now, I was getting you off the track
when I was struck."

"Yes; you would have been run over and killed on the spot if Jarvis
hadn't got you when he did. How did you get down from the charging
platform?" demanded the melter, turning to Bob.

"I shot the chutes and it was the hottest shoot I ever took. Look at my
hands."

"So I fell on the track, did I?" questioned Rush.

"Yes."

"How did I happen to do that?"

"You fell over the edge right in front of the train."

"Yes, but something hit me and knocked me over. I remember getting a
whack something like that described by Bob, only I wasn't struck in the
same place."

"I hit you," spoke up the head melter.

"You did?"

"Yes. There wouldn't have been so much as a grease spot left of you, by
this time, if I hadn't."

"What did you hit me with?"

"I threw the dolly at you, and it did the business. It knocked you plumb
over on your back. The cast was right on top of you when I let go the
dolly. You know the rest."

"Then you saved my life, too, Mr. Peel?"

"Well, something of that sort," grinned the head-melter.

"We're both entitled to hero medals, you see," added Bob.

"Thank you; I owe you both one for that. Well, Mr. Peel I am ready to go
to work. How about you, Bob?"

Jarvis glanced up to where the ladder disappeared in the veil of smoke
high above them.

"If I had an elevator I'd be all right, but I'll try it."

"You need not go up if you don't feel like it," said the melter. "I will
send one of the furnace men up to finish your trick, if you wish."

"No, I'll go myself. There won't be any trouble about getting down. I
can fall down, but the difficulty will be in climbing that ladder with
the skin all off my hands. Say, those rungs are hot. Why don't you cool
them off?"

"We'll play the hose on you while you are going up if you want."

"You'd better not, if you know what is good for you. If you even breathe
on me I'll fall off. Well, here goes!"

Rush, followed his companion to the foot of the ladder.

"Are you sure you are all right, Bob?" he asked anxiously.

"No; I am not all right, but I'm right enough to beat this game. I can't
do any more than break my neck, and I guess that isn't breakable. We
have had our initiation ceremonies; now maybe we'll go along for a time
without anything happening. Here goes!"

Bob, with evident effort, began climbing. Once he seemed to lose his
grip and Steve, believing he was going to fall, started to run up the
ladder.

"Quit that!" howled Jarvis, feeling the vibration on the ladder. "What
are you trying to do--throw me off?"

"I thought perhaps you needed some help."

"I'll tell you when I do. What I want most just now is to be let alone."

Rush stepped back to the platform, but he remained standing there until
finally Jarvis disappeared in the cloud of smoke and gas up near the top
of the blast furnace. Then he turned back to the furnace work.

"What next, Mr. Peel?" he asked.

"Well, if you think you can get out of the way quick enough, you can
begin to patch up the gutters again."

The hot metal train had long since pulled away over the bridge, on its
way to the mills, where the ingots would either be rolled in their crude
state or placed in the open-hearth furnaces to be transformed into
ingots of steel.

"I guess I can keep out of the way, now that I know what to keep out of
the way of."

"I'll put you on the dolly to-morrow, and make a monkey-man of you. If
you don't get incinerated we'll make a real man of you."

"Thank you."

Peel did not know whether the remark was intended to be sarcastic or
not, and Steve's impassive face gave him no clue to the truth.

For the rest of the night each of the Iron Boys labored faithfully, and
that morning, the moment they struck their beds, they instantly fell
into the deathlike sleep of the laborer in the steel mills.




CHAPTER XVI

THROUGH THE MELTING POT


"I've got a new job for you," said the head melter to Steve, when the
Iron Boys reported for duty on the following evening.

"Am I to be the monkey?"

"No, not to-day. I'll let you be the ladle man."

"What does he do?"

"Not much. He stands with a ladle in his hands, scooping from the molten
metal, as it bursts out through the clay dam, all the cinders and slag
he can pick up. Every little bit helps. You've got to watch lively, or
you will be burned to a crisp before you pick up the first ladle full,"
was the cheerful additional remark of the head melter.

"I was going to ask if you have a new job for me to-night," interrupted
Bob, "but I don't think I care very much for your promotions. That's
where I have the best of you, Steve. If anything happens in my
department I can jump down, but you can't jump up to get out of the way
of your troubles."

"At least, I am in little danger of breaking my neck in trying to jump
up," laughed Rush.

Bob was soon at the top of the furnace. He was still sore from the bump
he had gotten in collision with the train of flat cars. Jarvis walked
with a limp. One leg seemed to be shorter than the other, since the
accident, but of course this was not the case. He took up his work with
more confidence than he had begun it on the previous night, relieving
the monotony by alternately whistling and singing, though the latter was
usually attended with a severe coughing spell as he swallowed a mouthful
of gas and smoke.

Steve found his new occupation far from an improvement over what he had
begun with. His first effort to scoop cinders and slag from the yellow
stream resulted in his losing his eyebrows, much of the hair on his head
and nearly all the clothing he had on.

Had it not been for the quick action of the man with the hose he would
not have had a stitch of clothing left on him, and perhaps very little
skin-covering either.

"Dip and jump!" shouted the melter. "What are you trying to do?"

"Principally jumping, only I didn't jump quite quickly enough," laughed
Steve, the tears running from his smarting eyes. He bathed them
liberally in cold water, after which they felt better.

The next dip was not much of an improvement over the first, except that
there were fewer clothes to be burned and no eyebrows at all. Now, Rush
was shouting for water, as had the others before him. Being a raw hand
it was dashed over him by the pailful, in addition to the deluge he got
from the hose in the hands of the hoseman.

The Iron Boy staggered away, gasping for breath. His head was a-whirl
and he felt as though he were on fire.

"Water, water!" he gasped, settling down in a heap.

No one laughed. No one cared. They were used to such scenes of
suffering, and the rough furnace men felt no compassion for the
suffering boy. It was the water man's business to cool him off and no
concern of theirs.

In a short time Rush recovered and went staggering to his work again.
Once more he collapsed, and once more he was brought out of his partial
faint by a pail of water and hose.

This kept up for the greater part of the night, but each succeeding
collapse left him weaker and weaker. Still, Steve Rush clung doggedly to
his task. Only his iron will kept him up. Every pore in his body was the
outlet of a living stream of perspiration. Never in his life had he
suffered the excruciating or long-drawn-out agony that he experienced
as ladle man this night.

Pig-Iron Peel nodded approvingly. He was a rough man himself, but he
appreciated pluck and he knew pluck when he saw it.

"You had better lie down between casts," he advised, grasping an arm of
the Iron Boy, who was staggering about blindly after a successful
dipping, for even in his suffering he was rapidly getting the knack of
the work.

"I do--don't need to," gasped Steve.

"I don't care. I was simply telling you."

The next dip was worse than any that had preceded it. This time Steve
did not need to be told. He fell down without any effort of his own. He
simply collapsed, rolling over on his back on the hot brick flooring of
the platform, where he lay gasping for breath.

A pail of water was dashed over him and the hoseman played the hose up
and down his body. But Rush did not care. It is doubtful if he even felt
the cooling effect of the water. The boy was too nearly spent for
anything to matter. During this wait, however, he had more time to
recover himself, and by the time the men were ready for the next cast he
was on his feet. Steve's eyes were bloodshot, and seemed to stand out
from their sockets like two red balls. He worked automatically for the
rest of the night, not answering questions addressed to him and
probably not hearing any.

"They all have to go through the same experience," was the comforting
assurance of the head-melter. "You will come out all right in a day or
so, if you don't die in the meantime."

Steve went on with his work in silence. At the coming of the dawn Jarvis
came down from the charging platform, the whites of his eyes looking
twice their natural size in their frame of black soot, which was
plastered over the boy's face layer upon layer. Bob found Steve leaning
wearily against a pillar. The latter's face was drawn and haggard. Rush
looked years older. Jarvis gazed at him in astonishment.

"In the name of goodness what's the matter with you? Are you going to
die--are you sick, or----"

"Nothing is the matter with me," answered Steve, the harsh lines that
had grown on his face during the night smoothing out into a wan, but
sunny smile.

"Well, if there isn't there ought to be, for you are about the
worst-looking object I ever saw."

"You--you wouldn't take a prize yourself, at--at----"

"At a poultry show, no," finished Jarvis. "Come along; are you going
home, or would you rather hang around here?"

"Home?" answered Steve.

"I think you will have to be carried, if you get there to-day. Shall I
go get a rig for you? You're clean knocked out."

"I tell you I am all right," retorted Rush, with some show of
irritation. "Don't you trouble yourself about me."

Bob gazed at his companion in surprise. Steve had never spoken to him in
that tone before, so Jarvis kept still for a time as they went on across
the yards, over the hot metal bridge and to the lower exit from the
yards. As they were passing out they met Ignatz Brodsky coming in. The
Pole stopped short, peering into the face of Steve Rush.

"What the matter with you?"

"Nothing is the matter with me, Ignatz," answered Steve, by this time in
better control of himself. "I am a little tired--that's all."

"You stay by the house to-night. You no go to the furnace; you go by the
graveyard by and by."

"We expect to, you old croaker," scoffed Jarvis. "Go on, or else talk
about something pleasant. Where are you working now?"

"I work by the hot bed," answered Ignatz.

Bob laughed heartily.

"I guess we all do, though they are not exactly beds. Well, so long; we
must be going."

Brodsky bade them good-bye, Steve waving his hand; then the Pole stood
looking after them, his eyes fixed longingly on Rush, whose gait was
none too steady. Brodsky shook his head and went on to work.

"What's a hot bed, Steve?" questioned Bob.

"I don't know. I know a place that is hot enough to be called one."

"And I know two places, the one you work in and the one I work on top
of. Do you know, the waste gas that comes out of the top of that stove
is strong enough to light a whole town?"

"Goes up into the air, does it?"

"All that doesn't swoop down and suffocate me. I've been asphyxiated
every ten minutes since I have been up there."

"I wonder why they don't use the gas for something else?" mused Rush. He
lapsed into silence, pondering over this subject all the rest of the way
home. This was well, for it made him forget his weariness in a measure.
Reaching the widow Brodsky's, Steve was for going to bed without any
breakfast, but Bob was so insistent that the boy did sit down to his
meal after having taken his bath. Rush ate a fairly nourishing breakfast
and after that felt better. This, followed by a refreshing sleep put him
in very good condition.

Steve left the house a couple of hours before it was time to go to
work. He was still unsteady on his feet, but the color was returning to
his face and his wonderful vitality was asserting itself. He would be
himself again, in a few hours, if he were out in the open away from the
killing heat of the blast furnaces.

The boy wanted to see the furnaces by daylight so, that he might get a
better idea of them than was possible in the night. He stopped to
witness the work of the day shift as they made a cast. This was very
interesting, though a wave of pity welled up in the heart of the Iron
Boy for the suffering of the furnace men in the terrific heat to which
they were subjected while tapping the furnace.

The cast over, he walked to where the huge black stoves towered above
him, and through which the gas flamed and circulated to heat the air
that was driven in over the charge in the furnace itself.

The engineer nodded to him.

"Where does the waste gas go to?" asked the Iron Boy.

"Out into the air. Why?"

"I should think they would use it for something else."

"What else?"

"I don't know."

"Neither do I. We don't use gas for anything else, except running the
gas engines over on the other side of the yard. I guess you don't know
much about this business, or you wouldn't be asking such questions."

"One never learns much unless he does ask questions," answered the lad.
"I have learned more from asking questions that I ever have any other
way."

"That's right, so long as you can find anybody who's willing to answer
fool questions."

Steve walked away without replying. His mind was at work, what Jarvis
called working over time. The lad was thinking deeply over what he had
discovered, and, though he did not realize it at the time, he had come
upon an idea that was to work a great change in one department of the
great steel industry.




CHAPTER XVII

A HANG-OVER AND A FLAREBACK


"Take the monkey trick," ordered the head melter when Steve reported for
duty at the usual hour.

This meant standing right in front of the furnace much of the time. It
was also the duty of the monkey-man to prod the clay dam with the dolly
when all was ready for a cast, as well as occasionally to prod through
the shell of the furnace above the metal and just below the bustle
pipes, in order to liberate the gases that had formed there.

If anything, it was a worse position than he had yet had. But Steve did
not flinch. He was there to learn all there was to be learned, and he
proposed to do so, whatever the cost to himself.

"I guess I can stand it if others do," he thought when the new detail
was called off. These men were just getting ready to go to work, Steve
had stripped off a good portion of his clothes and donned a light rubber
coat when Jarvis, who had not yet gone to the charging platform, touched
him on the arm.

"What is it?"

"S-h-h! Look out for yourself!" whispered Jarvis.

"I'm going to."

"When you get a chance, without attracting attention, just look behind
you and see who's here."

Rush nodded understandingly and went on with his preparations for the
night's work, while Bob started for the "roof," as he called it. When an
opportunity presented itself so that he could do so naturally, Steve
turned.

He gave a slight start. He found himself looking into the face of his
former pit boss, Watski Kalinski. The latter did not appear to have
observed Steve; at least, he kept his eyes averted until the lad decided
that the fellow was ashamed to look at him.

"I wonder what he is doing here?" muttered Rush.

When he got an opportunity Steve asked the head melter about it, and was
informed that Kalinski was taking the place of a man who had been struck
by the metal train on his way to work that afternoon. Kalinski was an
old furnace man.

Steve nodded his understanding, but still he resolved to keep an eye on
Kalinski. He did not trust the man, knowing well his revengeful nature.

"Next thing I know they will have Foley over here, and then it will be
time to carry a club in my boot, for there'll be something doing at
blast number four."

Nothing did occur, however. The gang made the first cast with success.
Steve still suffered from the heat, but not to the same extent. He was
learning how to favor himself and to save himself, a most necessary part
of the furnace man's work. Kalinski was doing general work about the
furnace, but the Iron Boy did not relax his vigilance. As the evening
wore on he was convinced, from certain sinister glances in his
direction, that the former pit boss was contemplating mischief. It might
not come that night, but it was sure to come sooner or later, and the
boy did not propose to be caught napping if he could help himself. He
had no idea, however, that he would be taken so by surprise as he really
was.

Midnight arrived. Steve stood bravely at his place in front of the
furnace. It was heated through and through, and the metal was running
well. Not a failure or a mishap had occurred to mar the serenity of the
head melter's temper, and his face wore a smile when it was safe to
smile without running the risk of cracking the smile from the heat of
the furnace. During a lull in the work Steve was asking questions about
the operation of the blast furnace. He learned from the head melter that
two tons of ore, as it came from the mines, smelted down to one ton of
pig; that unless the ingredients were exactly right and the boiling done
just right, thousands of tons might be spoiled in casting.

"You have to go by instinct largely," said Pig-Iron Peel. "You can't lay
down any hard and fast rule. The only way is to taste of the metal and
then you know when it's done to a turn."

"Taste of it?" exclaimed Steve. "Excuse me. I have come as near to it as
I want to. I'm not a metal-taster."

Peel laughed.

"I don't mean to drink the stuff down, but tasting with your ears, eyes
and nose; hearing, seeing and smelling--understand?"

"Yes; I catch your meaning."

"When you get to that point you may consider yourself a furnace man. But
it is dangerous business. A man never knows when he's going to get his,
and be dragged out in the wagon. We don't think of it, though. A fellow
gets used to all sorts of dangers, and goodness knows these mills are
full of them. When a fellow gets hurt, however, it's most likely his own
fault. The company does all it can to protect its men."

"So I have observed. Some of its men are more dangerous than the perils
of the mills themselves," answered Steve with a laugh.

"I reckon you are right at that. You're learning the whole business,
ain't you?"

"I am trying to."

"Then you've bit off a full mouthful. Going to the open hearths from
here?"

"I do not know; I am going wherever I am put."

"That's the usual way they promote from here, and so on into the mills
themselves. Where'd you begin?"

Rush told him, relating his experiences in the pit, but mentioning no
names. Pig-Iron Peel's face grew black with righteous indignation as he
listened to the recital.

"Who was the fiend?" he demanded.

"I am not going to tell you."

"He ought to be whaled with a red hot angle bar, until there wasn't a
piece of skin left on him as big as a bolt-head. I'd like to get the
duffer in my hands just once--only once--that would be enough for a
starter from me. The pup!"

Peel had raised his voice to a high pitch. Steve glanced over toward
Watski Kalinski. The latter was regarding Peel and Rush angrily. It was
quite evident that either he had caught the drift of the conversation
by hearing some of the words, or else he suspected the truth from their
actions.

"I wish you'd tell me who it was, Rush."

"No, I could not think of doing that. He has been pretty well punished
already, and he is likely to get worse if he tries any more of his
tricks. Jarvis gave him an awful whaling, you know."

Rush raised his voice so that Kalinski could not help hearing every word
this time.

"He did, eh?"

"Yes."

"Is Jarvis much of a scrapper?"

"He is a whirlwind."

"Good for him! I'll get him off the charging platform and give him
something better down here," said the head melter, as he nodded
approvingly over what Steve had told him.

"That's the kind of a boy for me. No, I don't mean because he fights. I
got no use for a brawler, but because he can be a man when he gets up
against the real thing. Tell me about that mix-up."

This Steve did, including the kicking of Brodsky, which really led to
the interference of Jarvis. Peel stamped about on the fire brick of the
platform, his anger growing momentarily.

"The whelp! The miserable cur! He'd better not show his face around
these furnaces. I'll break every bone in his miserable no-account body.
Tell me who he is! Tell me who he is!"

"Not now. Perhaps some other time. The man might not like to hear it,
you know."

Peel regarded his young charge suspiciously.

"Isn't it about time we made a cast? The ore smells to me as if it were
about ready."

Pig-Iron sniffed the air with a snort.

"Get ready for a cast!" he bellowed. "Boy, you'll do. You've got the
nose that smells, you have. Heave up that dolly bar. How's them gutters?
You, Kalinski, there, see that slag trough is open. Bud, get your
cinder-ladle ready. Come, now, the whole bunch of you is half-asleep.
Anybody'd think you'd been out to a party all day long. Come, Rush!"

"I am here, sir."

"Git that dolly against the furnace dam, and get ready to jump when
things are hot enough."

"I will jump, never you fear," answered Steve laughing.

The Iron Boy turned his back to the men and placed the dolly bar against
the clay dam after facing the glaring heat at close range long enough to
place the end of the bar on exactly the right spot.

"All ready, sir."

"Drive it! Steady there," warned the voice of the head melter. "Keep
watch, Rush, and sing out when you get enough."

After a moment the compressed air drill was put on, and after wearing
the dam thin, the dolly was once more resorted to as that could be
withdrawn much more quickly than could the compressed air drill. Haste
was necessary, or the lives of the men would be in great peril in case
the molten metal squirted from the dam around the sides of the dolly.
The furnace men, especially those on the tapping job, would be likely to
get the full charge in their faces.

"Clank, clank, clank!" sounded the steel mall as it beat against the end
of the bar held by Steve.

"Tap lighter," ordered the boy.

The sound of the blows grew fainter.

"That will do. We can poke out the opening after we step to one side. We
shall then----"

"Bang!"

The mall struck the end of the dolly a terrific blow. The bar was driven
through the thin shell of dolmite right into the hot metal of the
furnace.

Like a projectile the dolly was wrenched from the hands of the Iron Boy.
It was shot through the air, right past him at tremendous speed.

Steve was about to shout, "Stop it!" but he was too late. The bar of
iron was soaring out over the mill yard. The head melter's voice was
raised above the din.

"Who did that? Who hit that bar?"

But Steve did not hear. For a brief second after the escape of the dolly
he stood still on the bushing. With an angry hiss a stream of white hot
metal shot past his head as though projected through the nozzle of a
hose. It was a narrow escape, for, if the metal had struck him in the
face, it would have gone clear through him.

A dull report sounded in the furnace itself.

"Look out for the flareback!" roared Pig-Iron Peel. "Run for it!"

Now a new sound smote their ears. It was a rumbling noise that seemed to
start away down in the foundations of the blast furnace, working upward
at a rapid rate.

Steve, who had quickly leaped from his dangerous position, glanced at
the head melter inquiringly, as if to ask what this new thing might be.

"It's a hang-over!" shouted the melter. "Now we are in for it!"




CHAPTER XVIII

IN A FIERY RAIN


Steve Rush did not know what a hang-over might be. He had just had a
practical demonstration of what a flareback was. This, however, he did
not know was caused by an explosion of the molten metal, either from a
stream of water touching it or a too sudden inrush of cool air. At any
rate the metal in the furnace, just as the dolly was driven in, had
suffered a partial explosion. The air was full of molten metal shooting
in all directions. Some of the men back of where the monkey-man had been
standing had been quite seriously burned in the explosion.

Steve, seeing three of them flattened on the platform, dashed in at the
risk of his own life, dragging the men to positions of safety.

"Get under cover!" bellowed Pig-Iron. "Don't you know there's a
hang-over?"

"What's a hang-over--what am I to look out for?" shouted Steve.

"That's an explosion at the top caused by a stoppage of the vents in the
charge," explained Peel, as the two hurriedly crawled in under one of
the huge heating stoves. "It'll be raining coke here, in a minute, till
you can't see ten feet ahead of you."

"An--an explosion at the top of the furnace, do you say?" gasped Rush.

"Yes. The whole business is blowing out of the top. Don't you hear it
coming?"

The fiery rain of coke and ore had begun. It sounded like the roar of an
approaching storm as it beat on the metal sides of the big stoves.

"But Jarvis is up there!" cried the Iron Boy, beginning to crawl from
under the protecting stove.

"No, he ain't. Come back! You'll be killed. Why, you wouldn't stand any
more show in that coke shower than you would to stand up under hot fire
in battle, and perhaps not so much. Fellers do git through a battle
without being hit. Nobody ever was in a coke shower who didn't git more
or less hit, principally more."

"I tell you, Bob is up there. I must go----"

"No, he ain't."

"He isn't? Then where is he?"

"Oh, he got blowed off when the explosion--when the hang-over----"

"Blown off?"

"Sure. He couldn't hang on in a hang-over, could he?"

Rush groaned. He ventured to peer from under the stove, up into the air.
The top of the furnace was a volcano in full eruption. Fire, smoke and
coke were belching high up into the air, there spreading out like a
great umbrella and raining down over a wide area.

Pig-Iron reached out a hand, jerking Steve roughly back.

"Don't be a fool!" he growled.

"Do--do you think Jarvis is killed?"

"Most likely. Ought to be, if he isn't after getting that dose."

All at once Rush broke away from the head melter, darted to the iron
ladder, and, regardless of the rain of coke, began running up the
ladder. The boy got blow upon blow over head and shoulders, as the stuff
beat down upon him, but he kept his head down and pluckily kept on up
the ladder.

"Come back!" roared Pig-Iron, darting from cover at the risk of his
life. But Steve was too far up the ladder to be seen from below. The
head melter again bellowed his command to Rush to return.

In the meantime the boy had reached the top. Jarvis was not there. Steve
cried out to him, but there was no response. With a catch in his breath,
Rush turned and slid down the ladder to the base of the furnace. His
head was cut and bleeding from the flying coke, and his shoulders were
wounded in many different places.

Steve staggered rather than walked over to the stove where he dropped
down.

"Well, he ain't there, is he?" demanded Pig-Iron.

"No; he isn't there. Where--where do you think he is?"

"Most likely out in the yard somewhere. As soon as this black shower is
over we'll go look for him. He's done for. Too bad, but them things will
happen."

"I don't believe it!" answered the Iron Boy explosively. "It will take
more than a hang-over to kill Bob Jarvis. You'll find he is all right.
But, if that is so, I don't understand why he did not answer me when I
called."

"I told you so. No use to cry over spilled coke. We'll pick him up
pretty quick."

"There, the shower is letting up. Shall we go, now?" demanded Steve
impatiently.

The melter stretched forth a hand, drawing it back quickly.

"Not yet! I don't propose to get my head cracked just for the sake of
being in a hurry."

"Well, I am going, whether you are or not."

Rush crawled from under the stove and straightened up. The metal was
still running from the furnace, most of it having spilled off into the
yard, for instantly the hang-over occurred the train crew had fled. They
knew full well what was coming, and every man of them instantly took to
cover. The metal ran over the first ladle. Instantly the car under the
ladle caught fire. In a few minutes the whole train was on fire. The
engineer, who had deserted his post with the rest of them, rushed back
at the risk of his life, uncoupled his engine and started it away, thus
saving the engine from being seriously damaged.

Rush raised his voice in a long shout for his companion.

"Bo-o-b! O-h-h-h, Bob!"

"Hi, hi, catch me down there!" howled a voice from the air. It sounded
right over the head of Steve Rush.

Pig-Iron Peel heard it, too, and darted out. The two men glanced up into
the air. They saw a human form shooting down one of the wire braces that
extended up to the top of the stove to steady the metal chimney around
which there was a network of the wires.

"It's Bob!" howled Rush beside himself with joy. "Help me catch him."

It _was_ Bob, and he was descending at a rate of speed altogether too
fast for either comfort or safety.

Steve leaped over to where the lower end of the guy-wire was anchored
and braced himself to meet the shock. Peel sprang behind him.

    Illustration: "It's Bob!" Cried Steve.

"Steady, now!" warned the melter.

"I'll catch you, Bob."

"Look out!" howled Jarvis.

His body seemed to leap from the wire. It landed against Steve Rush with
the force of a catapult. Steve went over like a ninepin. Behind him
Pig-Iron Peel shared the same fate, and in an instant the three were in
a tangle.

Jarvis was the first to extricate himself. He leaped to his feet and
began dancing about, howling lustily.

"What kind of a game is this that you've put me up against?" he yelled.

The boy, with arms and legs wrapped around the guy wire, had shot down
from the top of the stove. He was angry all through, more angry than
scared or even hurt.

"What kind of a game is it, I say?"

Rush and Pig-Iron were too busy picking themselves up from the floor
where Jarvis's bump had landed them, to make reply.

"What's the matter with you fellows? Did I bowl you over? Well, it
serves you right if I did."

"Bob," laughed Steve getting to his feet, "I knew nothing could do you
up. You're too tough to be very badly hurt. What happened to you up
there?"

"That's what I've come down here to find out. What happened down here?
Was it an earthquake, or something of the sort?"

"Something like that. Mr. Peel called it a hang-over up at your end."

"Hang-over? Pshaw! It was a fall-over, so far as I was concerned."

"How'd you git on that guy-wire?" demanded Peel, breaking into the
conversation at this juncture. "The head of that is more'n twenty feet
from where you were working?"

"I took the air-line route," grinned Jarvis.

"Tell us what happened?" urged Steve.

"I was working over the top. Something all of a sudden went wrong, and
there didn't seem to be any smoke or anything coming out. I got up on
the edge of the crater----"

"You mean the furnace?"

"I mean what I said. It was a crater, and don't you forget it--a real,
live crater. You'd have thought so if you had seen it spit fire and
lava. Well, about the time I got up on the edge, pouf! slam, bang! The
whole insides of the volcano popped up in my face. I must have fallen
over in, for the eruption lifted me right out again. I did another
aviation act. I spread my planes and sailed through the air----"

"Was that--no, of course not. Where were you all the time from the
explosion to just now, when you came down on the wire?"

"I was roosting on that flange up there near the top of the stove."

"What? Thrown way over there?" exclaimed Steve.

"No; didn't I tell you I flew again? I'm getting to be an expert. First
I flew over in the open-hearth building and landed on a girder. This
time I tried a more ambitious flight, landing on a hot stove. All the
stuff from the eruption fell down on me and woke me up after a little. I
nearly fell off trying to reach the guy-wire that I knew was there. You
know the rest. I took a slide down the wire that would have made a
Japanese performer turn pale. Then you and I had a collision."

"Well," laughed Steve, "it's all over now, you can get back to work."

"What? Up there again?"

"Of course."

"No, siree! Not for Robert Jarvis. He knows when he has had enough. He
can get into enough trouble right down here on the ground floor. He
doesn't have to perch on the edge of a crater looking for trouble. Did
anything happen down here?"

"What did happen?" questioned Steve, turning to the head melter.

"Flare-back and----"

"What caused it?"

"I don't rightly know--"

"I know that your man on the rear end of the dolly nearly put an end to
me by that last blow he struck with the mall. Whatever possessed him to
do it!"

"He must have misunderstood you. That was a close call. Did th

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