The Iron Boys in the Steel Mills Part 4

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 a.s.sistant 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 a.s.sistant.

"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."