Watching him make it, and drinking the tea woke me up. "What time is it?" I asked. "Four-thirty," said he. "Thanks for the tea." Then the summoning signal for a third-helper rang out--a sledge-hammer pounding on sheet iron. They were "spooning up," that is, making front-wall, on Number 6. All through that stunt I was wide awake, quite refreshed, though with the sense, the conviction, that I had been in the mill, doing this sort of thing, for a week at the inside. Coming back to Seven from that, I found Fred flat on his back, looking "all in." Jock came up for a drink of water, and looked over at me. "You look to me," he remarked, "like the breaking up of a bad winter." He laughed. 5 A.M. _Monday_ The sun came into the mill, looking very pallid and sick beside the bright light from the metal. I watched the men on Eight make back-wall, and heard the sounds; I sat on the bench, my legs as loose as I could make them, my head forward, eyes just raised. "Lower, lower, goddam you, lower!" came a desperate command to the "pull-up" man to close the furnace doors. "Get out--" "One more--" "Up, up, goddam it! where are your ears?" "Come on, men, last door." "My shovel you son-of-a--!" Now they were tapping on Number 6. The melter came out of his shanty; he had had a sleep since the last furnace tapped. He rubbed his eyes, and went out on the gallery. I could hear his "Heow." Four poor devils were standing in the flame, putting in manganese. Thank God, I don't shovel for Six. "A jigger," from Fred. "Sure." When I went for it, the sores on the bottom of my feet hurt, so that I walked on the edges of my shoes. I was so delighted with the idea of its being six o'clock, with no back-walls ahead, that I almost took pleasure in that foot. I stopped in front of a fountain and put my right arm under the water. The recorder in the Bessemer was asleep. He was a boy of twenty. I woke him up, and grinned in his face. "Fifteen thou' for Number 7." "You go to hell, with your goddam Number 7!" I grinned at him again, knew it was just the long turn, knew he'd give me that fifteen thousand pounds; went down stairs again-- Twenty minutes of seven. It's light. Nobody talks, but everyone dresses in a hurry. Everyone's face looks grave from fatigue--eyes dead. We leave at ten minutes of seven. 7 A.M. _Monday_