made. He believed that, for some reason, the boys had been reduced to the ranks. The only directions he had received regarding what was to be done with the Iron Boys was the injunction of the assistant superintendent's messenger, to "make them work till they can't tell a cinder pit from a hole in the ground."

Foley grinned.

"You bet they'll work! Everybody in my division works."

Foley's head pitman was a Pole named Watski Kalinski, a heavy-faced man, surly and quarrelsome at times, especially with the few men that were under him. He understood cleaning the cinder pits, however, and he was kept in his place because of the work that his shift got through with, rather than for any especial intelligence that he might possess; which, as a matter of fact, he did not.

Foley beckoned to him.

"Put those two boys in number seven pit."

"Easy or light?" grinned Watski.

"Easy or light, you mutton-head. That don't mean anything. I know what you are getting at, but I'll have you understand that these young gentlemen are friends of mine. Give them the best you have in the house."

The words had apparently been spoken in all sincerity, but Watski grinned knowingly.

"I'll make the children happy, Mr. Foley. Do they begin this morning?"

"Yes; start them off now. I'll be around later in the day to help carry out the remains."

Watski chuckled. He walked over to where Bob and Steve stood waiting for orders to go to work, surveying them from his beady, red eyes; beady because nature had made them so, red from the heat and the cinders of years in the mills.

"What's your name?" he snapped.

"Rush."

Watski roared.

"That's the trick. Your name's Rush and you'll be Rush, for you're going to rush if you work in this section. What you been doing?"

"What we have been doing doesn't matter, so far as you are concerned. It is what we are going to do that concerns you. Will you please put us to work, or have some one do so who knows how?" asked Steve, perhaps with a touch of maliciousness in his tone.

Kalinski bristled.

"Put you to work? Get somebody to put you to work?"

"That is what I wish, sir."

"Shut up!"

"Thank you, sir."

"What's the other kid's name?"

"My name is Bob Jarvis, and don't you take any liberties with it, unless you've got an accident insurance on your life."

Watski's face wrinkled angrily. He clenched his fists, and for the moment it looked as though he would fall upon Jarvis and punish him for his boldness. Bob turned the tide by asking:

"When do we go to work? We're losing time?"

"Yes; where do we work?" urged Steve.

"See that cinder pit there?" leered the assistant.

"Yes."

"Get in! Got your shovels?"

"No."

Growling and making faces to himself the Pole walked abruptly away, returning a few minutes later with two shovels. He handed them to the boys, giving the lads a shove toward the cinder pit.

"Be good enough to keep your hands off me, and at the same time kindly tell me exactly what you wish me to do," demanded Steve.

"Wooden-heads! Fools! There is the shovels and there is the cinders. Get them together; shovel the cinders out; then if you don't get enough work shovel them back again. Oh, such——"

"Come on, Bob; Watski is getting excited. He is likely to throw a fit and fall on a hot plate, or something."

Steve walked over to the pit, surveying it questioningly.

"That looks pretty hot to me, sir. Is it ready to be thrown out?"

Bob was standing on the edge gazing at the cinders. A faint cloud of steam was rising from the pit, on which the hose had been played gingerly for some time.

Watski gave him a push, Jarvis jumping to save falling in on his face. The drop was not more than two or three feet to the cinder bed, which was some fifteen feet broad at its top, tapering slightly toward the bottom.

Bob went in up to his knees. No sooner had he done so than he uttered a wild yell.

"It's on fire! I'm burning up!" he howled. "Help me out of this hole! Wow!"

Steve saw that Bob really was in distress.

"Jump out, if it's too hot."

"I can't. I'm stuck fast."

Watski was doubled up with laughter. He howled with delight, sitting down on the cinders with arms about his knees rocking back and forth with shouts of merriment.

In the meantime Steve threw his shovel into the pit, and crawling into the pit, used the shovel for a support while he pulled his companion out.

Bob's trousers were burned to the knees; his underclothing was burned and the skin of his shins was blistered from contact with the hot cinders and slag.

Steve was so angry that he could scarcely control himself, but he was determined to avoid a fight if possible.

"Did he do that on purpose?" demanded Jarvis.

"He was in a hurry for us to get to work, and——"

"Get busy there, you lazy louts or I'll dock you for lost time!"

"You pushed me in!" shouted Bob. "You'd better not dock me. I'll have something to say about that."

"What is this disturbance about?" demanded Foley, coming up at that moment. "Watski, why aren't these men at work?"

"No good. Afraid of hot cinders."

"Does that look like being afraid?" interjected Steve, pointing to his companion's burned trousers. "I call that an outrage. However, we'll not trouble about it this——"

"You'd better not," growled Kalinski.

"This time," added Rush. "But I hope nothing of the sort will happen again. We are used to taking care of ourselves, and if we think we are being imposed upon we are likely to take matters into our own hands."

"Is that a threat—a threat directed at Kalinski?" questioned Foley, ironically.

"Oh, no. We do not make threats; that is, not until afterwards, perhaps," answered the lad significantly.

"Don't you think it would be a pretty good idea for you men to get to work?" demanded Foley. "You won't last long at this rate."

"If you can fix that pit so it will not burn the skin from our legs we will go to work."

"That's up to you."

"Then I will see what I can do. I hope the Honorable Mr. Watski Kalinski will keep away, even if he is our boss."

"Yes, he'd better keep his distance from me," growled Bob, who had been growing angrier as he gazed at the grinning pit boss.

Rush, after a quick glance at both the foreman and pit boss, began looking about for a plank. He found a piece of the required length after a time. This he threw into the pit, then climbed down on it. His shovel threw out a quantity of the hot cinders. Kalinski got them full in the face. It had been purely an accident on Steve's part, for the boss had changed his position in order to look over into the pit to see what his shoveler was doing.

The cinders burned Watski's face; they filled his eyes and filtered down inside his shirt. The boss danced a jig for the next minute or so, slapping his chest, pulling his shirt as far from him as he could and shrinking back to keep the hot stuff from burning holes through his skin.

"Whoop!" howled Bob Jarvis. "Now, how do you like it? Got a dose of your own hot stuff that time, didn't you? Good for you, Steve!"

Rush's face reddened.

"I am sorry, sir, but that was an accident. I did not know you were there. I thought you were sitting down over yonder."

Watski could not speak. His rage was consuming him and the cinders were keeping his hands fully occupied.

"I say, sir, it was an accident."