I had been watching the stove, and caught the simple order of movements. Two or three men, with long lunging thrusts, loosened the glowing cinder inside a fire-box; another pulled it out with a hoe into a steel wheelbarrow; another dumped the load on a growing pile of cinder over the edge of the platform. When one of the men disappeared for a chew, I grabbed the wheelbarrow at hauling-out time, and worked into the job. In fifteen minutes that fire-box was cleared out, and we moved to the next stove. We skipped that; the door was locked and wedged. I learned later that, if we had opened it, the blast (being "on" in the stove) would in all likelihood have killed us. It blows out with sufficient pressure to carry a man forty yards. But the next stove we tackled. I tried the thrusting of the bar this time. The trick is to aim well at a likely crack, thrust in hard and together, and with all the weight on the bar, spring it up and down till the cinder gives. It was good exercise without strain, and so cool in comparison with open-hearth work that I took real joy in the hot cinder. The heat was comparable to a wood fire, and only occasionally was it necessary to hug close. We did five stoves, taking the wheelbarrow with us, and carrying it up the steps, when we passed from one level to another. After the five came a lull. Two of the men rolled cigarettes, the rest reinforced a chew that already looked as big as an apple in the cheek. For both these comforting acts "Honest Scrap" was used, a tobacco that is stringy and dark, and is carried in great bulk, in a paper package. The men sat on steps or leaned against girders. A short Italian near me, with quick movements, and full of unending talk, looked up and asked the familiar question, "What job you work at last time?" "Open-hearth," I said. "How much pay?" "Forty-five cents an hour." "No like job?" "No, like this job better," I returned. He paused. Then, "What job you work at before open-hearth?" "Oh," I said, "I was in the army." His face became alert at once, and interested. The others stopped talking, also, and looked over at me. "Me have broder in de American army; no in army, mysel'; me one time Italian army. How long time you?" "Nearly two years," I said. "Oversea?" "Yes, but didn't get to front, before war over. No fight," I answered, adopting abbreviated style, as I sometimes did. It seemed unnecessary and a little discourteous to use a rounded phrase, with all the adorning English particles. He jumped down from the steps and took up a broom, executing a shoulder arms or two, and the flat-hand Italian salute, performed with a tremendous air. "Here," I said, "bayonet." I took the broomstick, and did the bayonet exercises. The gang stood up and watched with delight, making comments in several languages. Especially the eyes of the Italians danced. The incident left a genial social atmosphere. Adolph came in from behind one of the stoves as I was concluding a "long point."