"Water connections damn important thing," said Lonergan. I was beginning to see why. The whole wall of the great cone-shaped furnace was covered with cooling water-conduits. Without these the furnace would melt away.
We ranged from furnace to furnace, climbing up to a platform that ran around the fattest part and spending long quarter-hours on our bellies unscrewing valves. There was always something leaking. Ralph could come and take a look at the furnace, and send us after tools.
"Ralph's all right," said Lonergan, "has new names though for everything. Doesn't call a goddam wrench a wrench, calls it a 'jigger.' Have to learn all your tools over again by his goddam Hunky names."
Young Lonergan was very "white" to me, as they say. "I'll show you how to clean that peephole." And he grabs a cleaning rod, and imparts the knack of knocking cinder out of that important little observation post.
"I used to work stove-tender," he explained.
"If you want to know anything ask Dippy, he'll talk, don't McLanahan, he don't know he's livin'.... Have a chew?"
"No, I'll smoke."
One day we had been discussing the bosses, and how they had got their start, till the talk drifted to young Lonergan and his own very typical career of youth.
"Used to work on the open-hearth," he began. "I used to test the metal—you know in the little shanty where 'Whiskers' is now. Chemist!" he grinned.
"Then, by God, I went to work in the blooming-mill, chasing steel—you know; keepin' track of all the ingots comin' in. A hell of a job—by God you didn't stop a second—you knew you'd been workin', boy, when you pulled out in the mornin'. I worked my head off at that job.