St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1904-07-02

On the following night he went out
about eight o'clock. She kissed him in
the doorway and whispered again:
Nothing wrong, and nothing desper-
ate, Jack" and he solemnly answered:
Nothing to be ashamed of, Jess"
Yet a tempest Of violence ragged within
him as he swung down the dark, lone
ly road. What his actual purpose was
he could not himself have told.
One thing was uppermost in his
mind-hc must see Holder at once
And with the four shillings that Ber-
naby had left he had picked up an
ugly-looking, secondhand revolver.
He fingered this in his pocket as he
went along. If it were not for the sake
OF Jess and the little 'un-No, no,
he must not think of that. But he
must have his drawings back at any
cost. He almost felt elated at the task
before him. 1t would be an easier
fight, surely, than the fight Of, the past
few weeks, the fight with those gaunt
leaders to extremes-hunger and cold
and despair.
Fairlow's huge foundry, standing in
the valley before him, shines out in
. glow of its own making smoke and
flame and roaring furnaces and tower
ing chimneys. He had heard they are
to cast the stern frame of a great ship
between half-past nine and ten. That
mt u0d1np tint So
that he must be on the works until
late hour. Nothing to be ashamed Of,
Jess," he had said. But deep in his
heart he knew that he had lied.
Knowing the place intimately, 1t was
an easy matter for Jack Simpson to
slip past the time-house and into the
great works of Fairlow's. The night
was almost pitch dark, but he knew his
way and never faltered. On, past the
dark, closed warehouses and pattern
shops, over the bridge and down the
railway, past huge stacks Of coal and
iron; now over waste piece Of ground
scattered with giant cog wheels, ships
anchors, old boilers, cylinders and the
like.
7ist-someone Is coming this way.
H1 dives under wagon, jumps a low
WILL. and finds himself beside the
casting-shop, which seems to revel in
thu hum and throb and glow Of the
nights work. About II feet from the
ground there are large gaps with iron
bars across to take the place of win
dows. He climbs upon a heap of scrap
metal and peers through one Of these.
It is familiar scene to him-the long
shop with it's ea1then floor Uttered
with moldfEg boxes and tools and
strange machfnes.
Here men are busy shaping the pill
able clay into many fantastic shapes;
there, fierce, fough-built fires are bak-
lag them dry in readiness to receive
the molten metal. There is the dull |
thud Of hammers falling on sand and
dirt, and the shrfller rattle of metals |
In conflict whore the castings are be-
ln, cleaned In the center of the shop |
l vast pit showG the upper nodded por- |
lions Of the stern for mighty ship.
At the far end the furnaces roar like
savenous beasts as they are fed by ton
lfter ton Of raw ores and metals by
men stripped to the waist.
Farther on, across platform, above |
Ind past the furnaces, Is the ONCE Of |
The manager, Seton Holder. lie has
lust come out, across the platform and
Town the gangway. He puts on q pair |
II blue glasses and looks into those |
.oaring furnaces; then blows whistle.
nonstrous overhead crane rattles
aloug just under the roof and lowers
IN enormous bucket-shaped cauldron
beneath the level OF the furnace tap.
mother whistle, scarcely heard above
he thud of hammers, and a stream of
molten steel is rushing into that gi-
,antic bucket. A dozen workmen pre-
NarN 9th long trnn hara IN Sfnodv n l