The sun came into the mill, looking very pallid and sick beside the
bright light from the metal. I watched the men on Eight make back-wall,
and heard the sounds; I sat on the bench, my legs as loose as I could
make them, my head forward, eyes just raised.
"Lower, lower, goddam you, lower!" came a desperate command to the
"pull-up" man to close the furnace doors.
"Get out--"
"One more--"
"Up, up, goddam it! where are your ears?"
"Come on, men, last door."
"My shovel you son-of-a--!"
Now they were tapping on Number 6. The melter came out of his shanty; he
had had a sleep since the last furnace tapped. He rubbed his eyes, and
went out on the gallery. I could hear his "Heow." Four poor devils were
standing in the flame, putting in manganese. Thank God, I don't shovel
for Six.
"A jigger," from Fred.
"Sure."
When I went for it, the sores on the bottom of my feet hurt, so that I
walked on the edges of my shoes. I was so delighted with the idea of its
being six o'clock, with no back-walls ahead, that I almost took pleasure
in that foot. I stopped in front of a fountain and put my right arm
under the water.
The recorder in the Bessemer was asleep. He was a boy of twenty. I woke
him up, and grinned in his face.
"Fifteen thou' for Number 7."
"You go to hell, with your goddam Number 7!"
I grinned at him again, knew it was just the long turn, knew he'd give
me that fifteen thousand pounds; went down stairs again--
Twenty minutes of seven. It's light. Nobody talks, but everyone dresses
in a hurry. Everyone's face looks grave from fatigue--eyes dead. We
leave at ten minutes of seven.