Steve Rush and Bob Jarvis glanced inquiringly at the telephone operator. Being in the accident department, they were interested every time they heard the telephone bell ring. It was their duty, immediately upon an accident being reported in any of the mills, to proceed to the scene at once and gather all the facts for the future use of the company. Furthermore, they were allowed considerable latitude in the disposal of persons who had been injured. "Anything doing?" questioned Jarvis. "Accident," answered the operator in a tone that led one to believe that the mere effort of speaking gave him pain. "Where?" "Number twenty-four," meaning the building bearing that number. "That's in your district, Rush." Bob Jarvis grinned. "I am in luck that it isn't in my division. It's hot enough here, but excuse me from going into the mills on a day like this. Want any help, Steve?" "No, thank you. And besides, you are too lazy to work to-day. You would only be a handicap to me. What is the accident, did they say?" The operator shook his head wearily. Steve Rush, picking up a pad of paper which he stuffed in his pocket, hurried from the office and started across the street on a run. As he did so he saw a red light burning dimly at the peak of one of the long row of soot-blackened mills that made up the plant of the Steelburgh mills, a signal indicating that a disaster of some sort had occurred in that building. Seeing that signal it was the duty of the Iron and Steel Police, who kept order in the mills, to report the fact to the accident department at once. Steve did not need the red light to guide him. He was by this time familiar with the location of all the buildings, though there were some, such as the plate mills, where the armor plate was made for the ships of the Navy, which he had never entered. No one save those who were employed there were able to gain admission to the buildings where secret processes were employed. Steve dashed by the guard at the gate. "Here, where are you going?" demanded the guard. "Accident department." "Let me see your card!" demanded the officious gate guard. "Some other time. Can't you see I am in a hurry?" answered the lad, running past the gate and into the yards at top speed. The Iron and Steel Police like nothing better than an opportunity to show their authority. The result was that Steve had gotten but a short distance inside the yard when policemen, seeing him running, began shouting at him from all sides to halt. Perhaps they had seen him passing in and out, daily, for several weeks. But this made no difference. He was running, and all persons going faster than a walk must have a reason for so doing. It was their duty to stop the runner and learn what it meant. At least, that was the way these guardians of the mills construed their duty.