The Iron Boys in the Steel Mills

THE telephone bell rang sharply. Its very insistence seemed to indicate the nervous haste of the person on the other end of the line.

"Hello!" growled the boy, looking longingly out of the office window as he clapped the receiver to his ear. "What's that? What building? Pity they couldn't pick out a hot day, while they were about it. Yes, I'll tell him. 'Yes,' I said. Can't you hear?"

Several clerks, with coats and vests off, were lounging about the office of the great steel works in the accident department. The sun beat down on the building with relentless energy, and there was scarcely a breath of air stirring. There was little incentive to work, and hardly any one was making the slightest pretext at it.

Steve Rush and Bob Jarvis glanced inquiringly at the telephone operator. Being in the accident department, they were interested every time they heard the telephone bell ring. It was their duty, immediately upon an accident being reported in any of the mills, to proceed to the scene at once and gather all the facts for the future use of the company. Furthermore, they were allowed considerable latitude in the disposal of persons who had been injured.

"Anything doing?" questioned Jarvis.

"Accident," answered the operator in a tone that led one to believe that the mere effort of speaking gave him pain.

"Where?"

"Number twenty-four," meaning the building bearing that number. "That's in your district, Rush."

Bob Jarvis grinned.

"I am in luck that it isn't in my division. It's hot enough here, but excuse me from going into the mills on a day like this. Want any help, Steve?"

"No, thank you. And besides, you are too lazy to work to-day. You would only be a handicap to me. What is the accident, did they say?"

The operator shook his head wearily.

Steve Rush, picking up a pad of paper which he stuffed in his pocket, hurried from the office and started across the street on a run. As he did so he saw a red light burning dimly at the peak of one of the long row of soot-blackened mills that made up the plant of the Steelburgh mills, a signal indicating that a disaster of some sort had occurred in that building. Seeing that signal it was the duty of the Iron and Steel Police, who kept order in the mills, to report the fact to the accident department at once.

Steve did not need the red light to guide him. He was by this time familiar with the location of all the buildings, though there were some, such as the plate mills, where the armor plate was made for the ships of the Navy, which he had never entered. No one save those who were employed there were able to gain admission to the buildings where secret processes were employed.

Steve dashed by the guard at the gate.

"Here, where are you going?" demanded the guard.

"Accident department."

"Let me see your card!" demanded the officious gate guard.

"Some other time. Can't you see I am in a hurry?" answered the lad, running past the gate and into the yards at top speed.

The Iron and Steel Police like nothing better than an opportunity to show their authority. The result was that Steve had gotten but a short distance inside the yard when policemen, seeing him running, began shouting at him from all sides to halt. Perhaps they had seen him passing in and out, daily, for several weeks. But this made no difference. He was running, and all persons going faster than a walk must have a reason for so doing. It was their duty to stop the runner and learn what it meant. At least, that was the way these guardians of the mills construed their duty.

Steve merely pointed to the red light high up on number twenty-four, as the best answer to their questions. He kept on running. So did some of the policemen, but they were no match in speed, for the supple young fellow, who realizing the necessity for haste, kept on at top speed.

As he neared the building, three uniformed officers dodged out from behind a pile of steel bars, their attention having been called to the sprinter by the shouts of their companions.

"Hold up!"

"I can't!" answered Steve, continuing on toward them.

"Ye'd better stop, if ye know what's good for ye."

"There has been an accident. I can't stop. I'm from the accident department, and--"

"We'll stop ye!"

"The wooden-heads, they actually are going to hold me up! Well, I'll teach them a lesson, even if I lose my job for it," gritted the boy. "Get out of the way, I tell you! Don't you dare stop me here!"

The officers spread out a little, drawing their clubs as they executed the movement, one stepping forward a little in advance of the others.

"There's only one way out of it," muttered Steve. "I've either got to get by them or be called down at the office for being too slow. I don't believe I'll be called down for being late to-day. At least, not for anything that I see just now."

The foremost of the Iron and Steel Police made a grab for the fleeing lad, catching and whirling the boy around, facing in the opposite direction.

"Let go of me!"

A firmer grip was the answer. Rush made a quick turn. His right arm was thrust forcibly against the neck of the policeman, followed by a sudden kick on the shins. The policeman fell flat on the cinder-covered ground.

The other two men sprang forward with drawn clubs to attack the boy who had used their companion so roughly. Their clubs were raised to strike, but ere they could bring their weapons into use they too had dropped to the ground.

"Now, maybe you'll learn to mind your own business," shouted the boy, starting on a run for the building over which the red light still glowed. "The idiots! Why, a man cannot go about his business without their interfering with him. I wonder the company stands for such idiotic nonsense."

Steve dashed in through the door of number twenty-four, which also was guarded by a policeman.

"Accident department," said the boy as he ran in, at which the officer nodded understandingly. "He has some sense," breathed Steve.

The lad's quick eyes caught sight of a group of men standing half way down the centre of the dimly lighted building. It was the open-hearth furnace building, and the group was a little to the right of the furnaces that extended down nearly through the centre.

Hurrying up to the group Rush elbowed his way through to a point where he saw half a dozen men lying on the floor groaning. The foreman was there waiting, having sent for an ambulance to convey the men to a place where they could be treated.

"Burned?" questioned Steve sharply.

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"Small ladle tipped over, spattering some hot metal on them," replied the man, jerking a thumb toward the suffering men.

"Tell me exactly how it happened."

The foreman did so with evident reluctance. In the first place, an accident in his department reflected on him and his management. Besides this he was so used to seeing men injured, during his long service in the steel mills, that the sight of human suffering did not make the same impression upon him that might otherwise have been the case.

"Who else saw the accident?"

"All the men on the pit and ladles."

Steve quickly had the names of the witnesses and made brief notes of their stories, after which he returned to the foreman to get the names of the injured men. By the time he had completed this, only a few minutes elapsed before the photographer arrived.

Steve pointed to the injured men, as indicating that they were to be photographed first. Next he turned his attention to the ladle that had been capsized. He made a quick examination of this, motioning to the foreman to join him.

"The chain broke, did it not?"

"You can see that one of them did," answered the foreman gruffly.

"I am asking you. No matter what I see. How did it happen to break?"

"Too much strain on it, I suppose."

Rush picked his way gingerly around to the other side, for the ground was covered with metal that in some cases was still red hot. Reaching a point where he could do so without being burned he poked the broken chain about with an iron bar that he had picked up, until he got the break where he could see it more plainly. There was a dull mark across the break, that seemed especially to interest him. The dull mark extended clear to the surface of the link.

"Photographer, I want a picture, first of this break in the chain, and next a general view of the upset ladle and chain. You had better use a flash light on the link so your picture will show the break plainly."

"Say, what do you want to do that for?" demanded the foreman.

"What do I want to do that for?" repeated the boy, turning sharply.

"Yes, no need to give a fellow away like that. It was an accident."

"Bill Foley, what do you take me for? I'm not that kind of man. I would help you if I could, but I am paid for gathering all the facts whenever an accident occurs. You are the foreman of this open-hearth, and you ought to be the very first one to demand an honest investigation."

"It just broke, that's all. They're all likely to do that."

"They are all supposed to be examined daily, too," answered Rush quickly. "The company's first care is for the safety of its men. Still, it's not the part of my duty to preach to you."

"Then don't!" growled Foley.

"No; I'll do my duty, old chap, though in this case it means some trouble for you."

Two ambulances had arrived by this time and the surgeons were giving first aid to the injured as the men lay stretched out on the still hot cinders on the floor of the dingy mill.

The work of the mill had not ceased. It went on with a rush and a roar, interspersed with reverberating crashes, here and there, that sounded as though the steel roof were caving in.

"Any of them seriously hurt, Doctor?" demanded Steve.

"One is very badly burned. He won't get well. As for the others, I can't promise."

"Should they all go to the hospital?"

"Yes."

"Then take them there, please. Do you need any more ambulances?"

"No; but I wish you would get some men to carry these poor fellows to the ambulances."

"Foley, will you please assign men as litter-bearers?" requested Rush, turning to the foreman of the open-hearth.

The foreman did so sullenly and grudgingly.

"They might better go home," he growled. "You fellows are trying to make a mountain out of a mole-hill."

Four men were assigned to the task, however, and these, hurrying out, soon returned with two litters. On them the injured men were placed and in turn borne to the waiting ambulances, in which they were tenderly placed. The first ambulance, being filled, was hurried away to the company's hospital, a few doors from the main offices of the mills.

Steve pushed forward his inquiry with great energy. There seemed nothing too trivial for him to inquire about, if it could possibly bear on the accident. So persistent were his inquiries, into these accident cases, as to cause those who were in any way responsible to feel a sense of uneasiness the moment they saw the lad enter their building. Rush spared no one when that person was in any way to blame. He did his work well and conscientiously, without fear or favor. As a result he made many bitter enemies as well as some life-long friends.

The men in the mills with whom he came in contact in these hurried visits had come to regard Steve as one among many. He did not side with the bosses, and, though he was the friend of the men, he did not side with them unless their side chanced to be the right one.

The reader has already recognized in Steve Rush and Bob Jarvis, the Iron Boys, who, as told in "The Iron Boys in the Mines," began their career in the great industrial world, at the foot of the deep shaft in the Cousin Jack Iron Mine. It will be remembered that they distinguished themselves there in the beginning by their courage, resourcefulness and persistent efforts to serve their employers in the best possible manner. It was in this, their first employment, that the Iron Boys became friends after a fight and from that moment began a friendship that was destined to last for years, in fact as long as the lads lived. Their escapes from death were many and thrilling, but because of their courage and cool-headedness they came safely through their apprenticeship, winning promotion and the confidence and respect of their employers.

Again, as narrated, in "The Iron Boys as Foremen," Steve Rush and Bob Jarvis met with new and exciting experiences. They became, as will be remembered, involved in a great strike, and because of their fidelity to what they believed to be the right, were expelled from the union, even after they had by their heroic efforts saved the mine from destruction by fire and dynamite, and thus saved the lives of many of their companions. The Iron Boys through their further efforts exposed the leader of the strike, proving him to be a dishonest man and a rascal of the worst type, who, instead of working for the interests of the honest but misguided members of the union, was seeking power and money, regardless of the suffering that his unworthy ambition brought to others. In the end the lads, after deeds of violence had been perpetrated, saved the bridge that was the key to the transportation of the company's product, for all of which they were handsomely rewarded by their grateful employers.

From the mines the Iron Boys took the next step in their calling which they were determined to learn from start to finish. This second step had to do with the transportation of the ore from the mines to the mills. It will be recalled by readers of "The Iron Boys on the Great Lakes" that the lads shipped on an ore boat; that they boarded the boat through an ore chute, being dumped in the hold, and that they nearly lost their lives before making their way to the upper deck of the ship. Their first experience on shipboard had to do with the fire room in which they were put to work as stokers, and where they had a most unique but desperate battle with the "black gang" of the stoke hole. Collision and shipwreck were a part of their early experiences, during which Steve Rush and his companion again proved themselves heroes. And now, after a season on the Great Lakes, they had moved on to the steel mills, where the red ore that they had helped to take from the depths of the earth was worked up into pig iron and steel. The boys had declined to take letters of introduction to the mills, proceeding there like any one else and asking for jobs.

However, unknown to them, the president of the mining company had written to Mr. Keating, general superintendent of the mills, asking the superintendent to give the boys the best possible opportunity to learn the business. The president had recounted some of their achievements, so that, though they did not know it, the superintendent was fully prepared for their coming. He had taken a liking to the frank-faced, athletic young fellows the moment he first saw them. He saw in them the making of splendid men. He reasoned, however, that their rise would be quicker were they to start in the offices of the company. It seemed too bad to start them with the rank and file in the turbulent mills, where hard, rough men toiled by day and by night at their hard labor.

Only the strongest could survive, and Mr. Keating, despite the athletic appearance of the Iron Boys, did not believe they possessed the endurance to stand up under the strain of work in the mills.

That was where he underrated the staying qualities of Bob and Steve. They had been placed in the accident department, where they had distinguished themselves almost at once. No such clear and thorough reports had ever been made of accidents in the mills as had been turned in by Steve Rush and Bob Jarvis. But Steve was not satisfied. There were some features about the work that he did not like. In the short time that he had been at the work he had witnessed scenes that had stirred him profoundly. Where his duty called him there was always suffering, and in many cases, death. Though the steel company did all in its power to protect its men, accidents of the most harrowing nature were bound to occur in that hazardous calling. The Iron Boys could not hold back or turn their heads at the sights they saw. It was their duty to face the ordeal, and face it they did.

Steve, after all the injured men had been loaded into the ambulances, hurried out, leaped to the tailboard of the last ambulance and went rolling away toward the company's hospital. He clung easily to the stanchions at the rear of the swaying wagon, thinking over the facts he had gained. The ambulance surgeon hummed softly to himself, now and then casting an eye over the moaning men who were being conveyed to the hospital. The surgeon's mind, perhaps, was far away and on more peaceful scenes.

"As soon as you have examined the men let me know who is in the best condition to be talked to," requested Rush, as the ambulance driver pulled up before the hospital. "I must get the stories of the men so far as possible."

The surgeon nodded. By the time Steve entered the hospital the grime had been washed from the faces of the burned men. Steve halted as his eyes caught sight of a boy whose eyes were fixed upon his own.

"Why, Ignatz Brodsky!" exclaimed the Iron Boy. "I didn't know you were hurt."

The Polish boy, whom Steve had befriended on several occasions, thus winning the lad's undying devotion, nodded feebly.

"Are you suffering?"

"Yes; I die."

"Nonsense. Doctor, look after Brodsky here as soon as you can, won't you?"

"I'll attend to him at once," answered the surgeon. "Why, he isn't badly hurt. He will be able to go home, perhaps by to-morrow."

"There, what did I tell you, Ignatz? Of course you are all right. I will tell your mother how you are as soon as I can get away from the mills. Is there anything you want me to do for you besides that?"

"No, sir."

"Are you able to tell me what you know about the accident?"

"Yes."

Ignatz, in halting tones, gave the investigator a homely but graphic account of how the disaster had occurred. In the first place, the men had been to blame because they had no business to be so near the small ladle of molten metal when it was being hoisted from the pit. In the second place, Ignatz said, that, after the accident, he had heard some of the men talking about the chain being defective. Steve secured the names of these men from the Polish boy, then hurried on to the others of the injured. The lad had a pleasant, encouraging word for each, making memoranda of things the wounded men wished him to do for them. They knew he would do what he promised, and it was a source of great comfort to them to know that the messages they wished conveyed to their families would have the most careful attention from the Iron Boy.

Some of the men were too badly hurt to be able to talk. These Steve did not try to question. He did, however, question others, who had been less severely injured.

The boy left the hospital with stern, set face. He drew a long breath as he emerged into the burning sunlight, shook himself and hurried to the office. There he made a verbal report to the head of the department, which very plainly placed a good share of the blame on the foreman of hearth number seven, Bill Foley.

While the head of the accident department was closeted with the general superintendent in an adjoining room, giving him the details of the disaster, Steve was busily engaged in making out his report, which he dictated to a stenographer. Bob Jarvis stood on the other side of the stenographer, his eyes fixed on Steve as he made his report. Bob, listening intently, was getting points for his own work.

Having completed his report, Rush got up, stretched himself and looked at Bob.

"I'm through with this job," announced Steve, with emphasis.

"Through with it? Why?"

"It's too slow for me."

"What's that you say, Rush?"

The Iron Boy turned and found himself looking into the face of the general superintendent.

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