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.