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.

CHAPTER II

MAKING A NEW START

"I BEG your pardon, Mr. Keating," apologized Steve, reddening a little.

"So this work is too slow for you, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"It strikes me that it has been rather the opposite. You certainly have excitement enough, don't you?"

"Well, yes, sir, but——"

"Step into my office."

"Rush's going to get his," mumbled the telephone operator, coming to life for the moment. "I shouldn't care to be in his shoes just at present."

"Sit down, Rush. I will confess that I am rather surprised at the remark that I just overheard you make."

Mr. Keating was a man well past middle age. His hair was gray, his bristling mustache of the same shade, gray, twinkling eyes adding greatly to the general effect of the face. But it was the square-set jaw and the firm set of the lips that revealed the iron in the make up of the superintendent. All this Steve Rush saw at a glance and understood.

"Perhaps I should not have been quite so outspoken," admitted the lad. "That is a fault of mine."

"That is not always a fault. Most honest men are outspoken, my lad. But to return to the subject of our discussion. I was in hopes you would like the place we have given you. It is an important position and difficult to fill. On the other hand, you have shown remarkable aptitude for the work. You have done better in it than any other man we ever had."

"Thank you, sir."

"All the more reason why I wish you would stay. You are not thinking of leaving the employ of the company, are you?"

"No, sir."

"Then what is the matter?"

"Nothing is the matter, sir, except that I don't particularly enjoy being the trouble man. It is really my business to get others into trouble, and——"

"Not at all."

"It so turns out, just the same."

"I am sorry you look at it in that way."

"What is more, Mr. Keating, I wish to learn the real business of iron and steel making."

"It strikes me that you have a pretty good start already," said the general superintendent, a grim smile appearing on his face.

"I shall never learn it where I am. Of course I have learned a great deal about first aid to the injured and the like, also location of the different departments in the mill. However, sir, I want to learn the business, and I want to learn by actual experience everything about the mills."

"A very praiseworthy ambition. But we like you very well where you are. As I have