The foreman took the newspaper, studied it while the supervisor kept steady
watch through the window in the door.
"Whew!" Steve's utterance was spontaneous. "They sure made a big howdy-do
about those two wrecks in the railroad yards!"
"Why shouldn't they?" demanded Harlin. "Both were unexplainable. One would
have been bad enough; but a second one, at the same spot, is ten times worse.
Read what it says about the quarry company. They're shutting down."
"Afraid to bring in dynamite," nodded Steve. "On account of danger in the
yards."
The supervisor continued his watch, while the foreman devoured more news
from the out-of-town journal. Steve was mumbling in surprised tone, half to
himself, half to the supervisor.
"Eight men killed in those smashes! We thought it was only three. Here are
facts on that boiler explosion at the dye plant last week. Two men died along
with the engineer! Say, if this gets out -"
The supervisor snapped a query that interrupted the foreman's muttering:
"Who's on the ladle, Steve?"
The foreman laid the newspaper aside and stared through the square window.
A huge device shaped like a mammoth cheese-box was moving slowly through the
furnace room, suspended from an overhead track. Workmen had ceased their labors
while it approached. Harlin was eyeing the advance of the metal monster.
"Old Joe Grandy's handling it," declared the foreman. "Best man in the
place. Always holds up when he gets close to the pouring platform, so as to
check it for himself."
"Good!" approved the supervisor. "Grandy is reliable. Let's go out, though,
and watch while he lets the ladle ride."
THE two men stepped from the office. The mammoth ladle halted as they
approached it. They saw a stocky, gray-haired man climb down from a perch where
the controls were located. Spryly, he stepped to the pouring platforms, which
were at the side of the big room.
Checking those platforms was the foreman's job. It had been done;
otherwise, no order would have been given for the ladle to make its trip. But
old Joe Grandy took nothing for granted. His job was to tilt that ladle when it
reached the pouring platforms; to loose tons of molten steel from the great
cauldron that he controlled. Old Joe was making sure that the platforms and
their troughs were ready.
"Grandy's the right man," affirmed the supervisor, nodding to Steve, the
foreman. "We'll put his system in the regulations: Always stop the ladle short
of the pouring platforms; make final inspection, then bring up the ladle."
"That's what Grandy's going to do now," returned Steve. Then, with a laugh:
"Look how spry old Joe is! Shoving back those fellows who want to boost him up
to the controls! He can make the climb himself."
Workers by the pouring platforms had seen the foreman. They were signaling
that the second inspection had shown all in order. Others, beyond the pouring
platform were chatting as they stood beneath the bulk of the motionless ladle.
"Steve'" ripped Harlin, suddenly. "What's making old Grandy wait? Why don't
he move the ladle up to the platforms? That molten steel can't wait all night."
"He's ready to move it now," snapped back the foreman. "There he goes,
