“Great, sir!” Jerry said with enthusiasm. “I’ll never forget it.”
“That’s the ticket. Do these things while you’re young, boys. Sort of gives you a cushion of memories for your old age.”
John Steele’s face went grave.
“You didn’t get my telegram, did you, Sandy?”
“Telegram, sir?”
“I see you didn’t. Well, boys, buck up—there’s another dose of bad news coming. I’m afraid I won’t be able to get jobs for you.”
“No jobs!” the two youths chorused disbelievingly.
“That’s right. This low-grade ore situation has gotten so bad that ... well, to make a long story short, boys, there’s not as much work around here as there used to be. And that means jobs only for those who really need them.”
Sandy and Jerry stood as though thunderstruck. They felt as though their world had suddenly caved in on them. Neither of them knew what to say, but both felt the same weary, sinking feeling in their stomachs. For a long second, Sandy Steele stared at his father. It had been on the tip of his tongue to argue with him, to say that they could do the job as well as any grown man. But Sandy knew better.
He knew that his father would be angered by any such suggestion. He would remind Sandy that most of the men in the mines were family men with responsibilities. No, Sandy thought, this is just another one of those times where I’ve got to “take it on the chin,” as Dad says.