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!"