LAMB CHOPS FOR THE BABY
QUICK as the blow had been, the Iron Boy had not been caught unawares.
He had been watching the eyes of the walking delegate, and he had read
the man's purpose some seconds before the blow was struck.
Steve swerved his head an inch to one side, permitting the blow to shoot
over his shoulder.
The lad leaped lightly back in order to have more room in which to swing
his body, then drove his fist straight out from the shoulder. The fist
landed squarely on the point of the walking delegate's jaw.
Cavard had been caught off his guard. He had not looked for such a
sudden return, and the failure of his own blow to land had thrown him
off his poise.
The walking delegate turned half way about under the force of the blow,
wavered for a brief instant, then measured his length on the wooden
sidewalk, flat on his face.
"I'm sorry I did that," muttered Steve, with a revulsion of feeling.
"But I had to, or I should have been roughly handled."
He turned Cavard over, looking into the man's pale face. Cavard was
dazed, but Steve saw that he was not seriously hurt and would recover in
a minute.
The boy's inclination was to hurry away. He conquered it. He was too
much of a man to do a thing like that, so he stepped back a few paces,
where he stood with folded arms waiting for his victim to recover.
This Cavard quickly did. He staggered to his feet unsteadily, still
dazed and uncertain. All at once he fixed his eyes on the face of the
Iron Boy.
"You--you whelp! You--you'll suffer for that cowardly blow. I'll--I'll
hound you out of the camp, or else I'll----"
"Get run out yourself," finished Steve. "Good night."
With that the lad turned and walked briskly down the street. Cavard
stood gazing after him for a moment, then started unsteadily for his own
home. Could Steve Rush have seen the expression on the face of the
walking delegate at that moment, he might possibly have thought better
of his determination to remain in the mining town and fight his unequal
battle.
The lad also had started for home, but he was destined to be still
further delayed. His experiences for that night were not yet at an end.
A heavy hand was all at once laid on his shoulder with a grip so
powerful that the boy winced.
He whirled about, expecting to find himself face to face with Cavard,
and ready to do battle.
Instead, Rush found a giant form towering over him, peering down into
his face.
"Hello, Olsen; is that you?"
The man nodded.
Segunder Olsen was an Icelander, a veritable giant in stature, and known
to be a man possessing great strength. He had been forced out with his
fellows when the strike was called. Steve had never passed half a dozen
words with the Icelander. The latter was a taciturn man, but one who
could do a day's work that was the wonder of the men who worked with
him.
"What do you want, Olsen?" demanded Steve, trying to release himself
from the other's grip.
"You make this strike, huh?"
"What--why certainly not. What made you think I did?"
"Men say you tell bosses not to pay us money. Then we must strike and
get more. Huh?"
"They have told you lies, Olsen. I tried to prevent the strike. I knew
how much you would all suffer if there were a strike, but the men would
not listen to me. You may go to work if you wish to. There is nothing to
hinder your doing so."
"Not have me."
"Oh, yes, they will."
"You come with me, huh?"
"Where to?"
"Come; I show you what strike does. You come home with me, you see what
strike does."
Without waiting for the boy to assent, Olsen, with his grip still on
Steve's shoulder, started, fairly dragging the Iron Boy along with him.
Rush no longer offered any resistance. Something about the Icelander
impressed the boy strongly. There was a note of hopelessness in the
man's tone, though his face was impassive, which told Steve that the
fellow was suffering great mental anguish.
"You need not hang to my shoulder, Olsen. I will go with you if you want
me to," said the boy in a kindly tone.
But Segunder gave no heed. He held tightly to Steve's shoulder. The two
hurried on, the Icelander taking long strides. He led the way to the
outskirts of the village, coming to a halt before a dilapidated,
one-storied cottage, the door of which Olsen pushed open, thrusting
Steve Rush in. Olsen followed, closing the door.
A solitary candle furnished all the light there was in the room. There
was no fire in the stove, though the weather was cold, the snow falling
early in that far northern region.
A woman sat holding a baby close to her to give the child some of the
warmth from her own body. She was pale and thin, but Steve noted that
her eyes lighted up as they fixed themselves upon the face of Olsen.
On a bed lay a girl of some ten years. The child was thin and emaciated,
and the Iron Boy saw at once that she was in a high fever.
"Him make strike," announced Olsen, pointing to Steve Rush.
"Madame, are you Mrs. Olsen?" asked the lad.
"Yes, sir," answered the woman in good English. "Who are you?"
"My name is Rush. Your husband has brought me here, for what purpose I
do not know."
"He says you are responsible for this terrible strike. Are you?"
"I am not. I have had no more to do with bringing it on than you. I did
all I could to prevent it. Your husband is in error. The men have told
him untruths about me. If your husband wishes to leave the union and go
to work, I will see that he begins work to-morrow. Has he tried?"
"Yes, sir. He has been to the mine nearly every day, but they would not
take him."
"Whom did you ask for work?" demanded Steve, turning to Olsen.
"Little captain, Red Rock."
"You mean Mr. Barton, mining captain of the Red Rock Mine?"
Olsen nodded.
"And he would not take you back?"
"Him no take me."
"He will to-morrow," said Steve.
"Oh, if you will do that for my husband, I shall bless you!" exclaimed
the woman. "Segunder, this young man is a good man. Surely he could not
have brought this terrible thing upon us."
Segunder's face relaxed a little.
"Are you in need of assistance, Mrs. Olsen?"
The woman hesitated. Her pride was battling with her love for her little
family.
"Oh, yes, sir; we are. We do not care for ourselves, my husband and
myself, but our children! Just look at them!"
"Have you been to the union, Olsen, and asked them to give you money?"
Olsen shrugged his shoulders.
"No help."
"What is the matter with the little girl on the bed there?"
"She has pneumonia."
"Have you had a doctor?"
"Yes; but he would not come again because we had no money to pay him."
"The cur!" muttered Steve under his breath.
"We have not had a thing in the house to eat since yesterday morning,
and then there was scarcely a mouthful apiece."
Segunder smote the table a terrible blow with his fist. The baby asleep
in its mother's arms awakened and began crying loudly.
"I kill bosses. I kill them!" shouted Olsen in a terrible voice. "I
bring you here to kill you. Maybe you lie to me. Then I kill you,
anyhow!"
"Segunder, Segunder!" cried the woman aghast. "This young man is going
to help you. He is going to give you work. Don't you understand?"
Olsen grabbed Steve by both shoulders, and, pushing him over to the
light, peered long and earnestly into the eyes of the Iron Boy. Then the
huge Icelander drew a deep breath that seemed to come from his boots.
"You no lie? You speak true? You give me work?"
"To-morrow morning. And I will do more than that. Cheer up, Mrs. Olsen.
I am going away now, but I shall be back within an hour. You shall have
a doctor, and you shall have something else. Olsen, you stay here until
I return," commanded Rush sternly. "Mrs. Olsen, see to it that he
remains in the house."
Steve was out of the place with a bound. He did not walk this time, but
started away on a run. He knew where there was a doctor, not far away,
and he made straight for the doctor's house.
"There is a sick child in one of the strikers' homes," said the lad, as
the doctor opened the door. "I wish you would go and look after the
child."
"One of the strikers?"
"Yes."
"Who is it?"
"Olsen--Segunder Olsen."
"Oh! Who will pay me for attending the case?"
Steve gazed at the doctor in amazement.
"You see, these fellows think we doctors can work for nothing. They make
all sorts of promises, but when they are out of work they really expect
us to not only keep them, but to furnish them medicines and treat them
in the bargain. I know the kind. However, I'll go if you say it is all
right. I don't want to appear inhuman," added the doctor, half
apologetically.
"Never mind, doctor; I couldn't think of allowing you to work for
nothing," answered Rush sarcastically. "I know someone who will be glad
to do so--a man who has some human sympathy left. Good night."
Steve dashed down the steps and ran to the office of the company doctor.
"Why, certainly I will go. Why did they not send for me?" demanded the
physician, after Steve had explained the case.
"I guess they were too much upset to think of it, after another doctor
had refused to attend the case. Can you go at once?"
"This very minute, my lad. Are you going that way?"
"Not now. I have something else to attend to, but I shall be there soon.
Perhaps I shall see you. Thank you very much."
"No thanks necessary. I am glad you came to me."
"I will see that your fee is paid, sir."
"You will do nothing of the sort. The idea!"
"I knew I'd find a real man," muttered Steve, as he left the house.
He hurried to his boarding house, where he routed out Bob Jarvis.
"You come with me; I want you."
"What, more trouble?" jeered Jarvis.
"Yes, but not for us. There is a family in distress. The family of
Olsen, the big Icelander. They are starving, and one of their children
is dying of pneumonia, I believe."
Rush was hurrying down the street, with Bob doing his best to keep up
with his companion.
Half an hour later the Iron Boys staggered into the squalid Olsen home
under the weight of heavy burdens. Bob Jarvis carried a bag of coal on
one shoulder; Steve Rush a huge bundle of kindling wood, with a heavy
basket in his right hand.
"Here we are again," he cried cheerily, as the lads dumped their burden
to the floor. The doctor was already there, working over the sick girl.
"I must have some hot water, and at once," he said.
"We have no fire, sir," wailed the woman.
"Never mind; we're going to have a fire in two jerks of a lamb's tail,"
exclaimed Jarvis. "Give me that kindling wood."
Bob was full of importance. He dumped the contents of the bag of coal on
the floor while Steve was placing the kindling in the stove. In a moment
the kindling was crackling cheerfully in the stove.
Olsen sat blinking in his chair. Events were moving rather too rapidly
for his slow-moving brain to follow them, while Mrs. Olsen appeared to
be dazed by the sudden turn of events.
Steve had dived into the kitchen, returning with a battered teapot, a
frying pan and some other articles.
"Don't put much coal on, Bob, or you'll smother the fire. This is going
to be a quick-lunch affair. Where's the forks? Here, Bob; you set the
table. Why are you standing there doing nothing?"
Mrs. Olsen suddenly realized that she must do something.
"Let me do it, sir. Such work is not for a man."
"You never mind, Mrs. Olsen; you just 'tend the baby. I never had any
experience minding a baby, but I have had in cooking. I've got some of
the finest lamb chops here you ever saw, and some other things."
Rush drew from the basket a package of chops. In another package was a
liberal quantity of steak, which he intended should carry the family
over for another day. The Olsens looked on in dazed surprise as one
thing after another was taken from the basket. There were bread, butter,
vegetables, coffee, tea, canned meats, canned peaches and lastly a can
of condensed milk. Such a display of good things probably never before
had gladdened the hearts of the Olsens at one time.
Steve set Bob at work paring and slicing the potatoes they had brought,
while he proceeded to cook the chops and set the water boiling for the
coffee. Rush went at the work as if it had been his daily task for
years. As a matter of fact, he had gotten the meals at home many times
when his mother had been too ill to do the work, or was engaged at other
tasks.
"We didn't bring you much coal to-night," said Steve apologetically,
"because we could not carry any more. You will receive half a ton in the
morning, and that will keep you going until your husband can earn money
to buy more."
Mrs. Olsen did not answer, for her emotion was too great for words.
"This child must go to the hospital, if we expect to pull her through,"
announced the doctor at this juncture.
"All right, doctor; when do you want to take her?" questioned Rush.
"She must go to-night."
"Segunder," said Steve, "we are going to take your little girl to the
hospital and make her well. You will let the doctor have her for a few
days, won't you?"
Olsen nodded, and his wife, with a half-startled look, rose and, going
over to the bed, kissed the feverish face of the sick child.
"You will let her go?" urged Steve.
"I will do whatever you advise."
"That's right," nodded the doctor. "We will have her out safe and sound
in a few days."
Steve did not know whether they would or not, but he aided in bringing
cheer to all the household that night.
"Now I think we are ready for supper. These chops are done to a turn,
and----"
"Here, the kiddie's going to have first shot at the chops!" exclaimed
Bob.
Picking up a fork, Jarvis speared a steaming hot chop from the pan, and,
running across the room, held it out for the baby in Mrs. Olsen's arms.
The child extended a chubby fist for the hot morsel, whereat its mother
uttered a cry of protest and quickly drew the child out of harm's way.
"Mercy! Don't do that! It would kill the little one."
"What, a lamb chop kill anybody? Why, I've eaten hundreds of them, and
they have never killed me yet."
"What on earth are you trying to do, Bob?" demanded Steve Rush, turning
on his companion.
"Oh, he wants the baby to eat a chop," answered Mrs. Olsen, half
laughing, half crying.
"Well, of all the mutton heads!" exclaimed Steve. "Does the baby drink
milk, Mrs. Olsen?"
"Yes, when we have it."
"Oh, that's too bad. But never mind; I'm going out in a few minutes, and
I will send in some fresh milk for the little one. Come, now; sit up and
have something to eat."
The family gathered at the table. The doctor, in the meantime, had
wrapped the child in blankets, and, telling Mrs. Olsen she might call at
the company's hospital in the morning to see it, the kind-hearted
physician strode out of the house with his little burden. It was but a
short distance to the company's hospital, and he believed he would be
able to get the child there much more comfortably in his own arms than
in the hospital ambulance.
With a gladness in her eyes that had not been seen there for many days
Mrs. Olsen seated herself at the table. Segunder had to be fairly pushed
there by Steve. Even when the big Icelander had taken his place at the
table he did not eat. He sat with his big eyes fixed wonderingly on the
face of Steve Rush.
"Now, you are all fixed and we will leave you. I'll send the milk in for
the baby as soon as I can find it. I'll get it, even if I have to milk
somebody's cow on the sly. Segunder, you come to me at the mine in the
morning, and I will see that you get to work. Good night, all. Come on,
Bob."
All at once Segunder Olsen's face was buried on his arms on the table
and his huge frame was shaking with sobs of joy. He understood at last.
All that had been so unreal to him for the last hour had now become
sudden, sweet realities.
The Iron Boys hastily left the house, and though neither would have
admitted it, there was a suspicious moisture in the eyes of each.