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!"