Part 34 (1/2)
”Here, the kiddie's going to have first shot at the chops!” exclaimed Bob.
Picking up a fork, Jarvis speared a steaming hot chop from the pan, and, running across the room, held it out for the baby in Mrs. Olsen's arms.
The child extended a chubby fist for the hot morsel, whereat its mother uttered a cry of protest and quickly drew the child out of harm's way.
”Mercy! Don't do that! It would kill the little one.”
”What, a lamb chop kill anybody? Why, I've eaten hundreds of them, and they have never killed me yet.”
”What on earth are you trying to do, Bob?” demanded Steve Rush, turning on his companion.
”Oh, he wants the baby to eat a chop,” answered Mrs. Olsen, half laughing, half crying.
”Well, of all the mutton heads!” exclaimed Steve. ”Does the baby drink milk, Mrs. Olsen?”
”Yes, when we have it.”
”Oh, that's too bad. But never mind; I'm going out in a few minutes, and I will send in some fresh milk for the little one. Come, now; sit up and have something to eat.”
The family gathered at the table. The doctor, in the meantime, had wrapped the child in blankets, and, telling Mrs. Olsen she might call at the company's hospital in the morning to see it, the kind-hearted physician strode out of the house with his little burden. It was but a short distance to the company's hospital, and he believed he would be able to get the child there much more comfortably in his own arms than in the hospital ambulance.
With a gladness in her eyes that had not been seen there for many days Mrs. Olsen seated herself at the table. Segunder had to be fairly pushed there by Steve. Even when the big Icelander had taken his place at the table he did not eat. He sat with his big eyes fixed wonderingly on the face of Steve Rush.
”Now, you are all fixed and we will leave you. I'll send the milk in for the baby as soon as I can find it. I'll get it, even if I have to milk somebody's cow on the sly. Segunder, you come to me at the mine in the morning, and I will see that you get to work. Good night, all. Come on, Bob.”
All at once Segunder Olsen's face was buried on his arms on the table and his huge frame was shaking with sobs of joy. He understood at last.
All that had been so unreal to him for the last hour had now become sudden, sweet realities.
The Iron Boys hastily left the house, and though neither would have admitted it, there was a suspicious moisture in the eyes of each.
CHAPTER XXI
THE ICELANDER ON THE TRAIL
ON the following morning Olsen reported to the mine, as directed by Steve. The latter had made some inquiries and the results had aroused his suspicion. Barton, the mine captain of the Red Rock, denied that Olsen had applied to him for work. He grew suddenly red under Steve's questioning. But Steve had Mr. Penton's authority for putting the Icelander to work, and the big man, after gripping Rush's hand until the boy felt like crying out, went to work with a will.
When Steve went home for lunch he found a note from Miss Cavard in which she wrote:
”You offered to help me relieve some of our poor, suffering people. I am taking you at your word. There is a family in dire distress on Cave Street. Their name is Allison. If you will meet me there to-night at eight o'clock, we will see what can be done for them. I wish to consult with you about some other charitable work, and that is one of the reasons I am asking you to meet me as stated above.
”Sincerely, MARIE CAVARD.”
Steve decided that he would go. There was no good reason why he should not, and his heart really ached for the suffering families of the striking miners. If there were anything he could do to relieve their sufferings he would willingly do it. Already no small part of his wages had been devoted to this very work. Bob Jarvis also had contributed liberally to the cause.
Nothing of moment occurred during the day. When evening arrived Rush, dressed in his best, slipped out, not telling his companion where he was going. He found the house of the Allisons without difficulty. Steve knocked and was admitted. The hall in which he found himself was dark, and the house was as silent as if deserted. The lad did not even see any one who might have opened the door.