Beadle's Dime Library No. 412 — page 3: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Larry Locke, the Man of Iron. 3 ~~ — at which Mrs. Skelly threw up her hands in sur- rise, ejaculating: pre Holy Fathers! ye so, I d’no?” ‘‘ Reckon it was the hard work ma’am,” said Larry, simply. ‘‘ It’s good on the muskle, but it makes a feller short.” Mrs. Skelly looked at him rather in a pitying way, as she answered: ** Ah, me poor boy, it’s not the likes of you should be coming here, The other b’yes ll kill ye, so they will.” Larry gave her a quick glance and smile that had a great deal of quiet confidence in it, as he retorted: ‘*] kin take care of myself, ma’am, I reckon, T come here to be a iron man, and a iron man I’m goin’ to be.” ‘* What’s that ye say?’ asked another voice, as the master of the house himself came trudg- ing in from his work, black and grimy. ‘* You want to be a iron man?” ‘‘ Yes,” returned Larry, boldly, wheeling round to confront Mr. Skelly, who only laughed good-naturedly as he ansvvered: ** Ah, go home to yermammy! What’d the likes of you do shovelin’ ore?” “If I can’t beat any boy of my age at it, I don’t ax to come,” declared Larry, proudly. Skelly laughed. ‘“Yer age? Sure ye ain’t twelve!” ‘* 1m sixteen,” returned Larry, stoutly. Mr. Skelly looked at him more closely, and came up to feel him on the arms and shoulders, after which he said: ‘*Maybe ye are, maybe ye ain’t; but I know this: The boss won’t let us take Peer if he can help it, and the other b’yes "ll kill ye. Can ye foight; what’s yer name?” ‘*My name’s Larry Locke, and I ean fight like a streak,” returned Larry, at which Skelly seemed to be pleased, for he said to his wife as he went into the shanty: “Let him have a bite and a corner on the floor, Bridget. He'll get ull he wants as soon as Tom Trainor gets at him.” Sixteen? And whatstunted CHAPTER IIT. AT THE MILL. THE rolling-mill of Skinner & Son was one of the largest in the town of Holesburg, and was distinguished by a peculiarly lofty chimney, with a stripe of black bricks down one side of it, while the legend ‘‘ BESSEMER STEEL RAILS,” ran across the three hun:red feet of the mill itself, in letters that took in two stories of windows. Mr. Elisha Skinner, head of the firm, was a heavy-built old man, with a grim jaw, a shaven upper lip and a long, white beard. He rarely smiled, but still more rarely frowned, He had a cold, collected way of doing things that served him well in business, and a quiet, masterful air that showed he was used to taking care of him- self in the world. Forty years before he had been a poor black- smith and wheelwright, and it was by dint of hard work, scheming and saving, that he had risen to be the heaviest steel manufacturer in Pennsylvania. Mr. Skinner stood at the door of the little of- fice, the next morning after Larry came to Holesburg, looking into the big yard and talking to the handsome young man who had thrown the boy his careless bounty by the roadside; while the gorgeous tandem stood near the steps, a great contrast, in its spick-and newness and beauty, to the grimy surroundings. The open, careless face of the young owner was an equally strong contrast to the furrowed countenance of the old ironmaster, but it was evident, from the fond way in which the old man looked at the young one, that they were united by endearing ties. Paul Van Beaver was the only grandson and heir apparent of Elisha Skinner, and the living link which connected the rich but plebeian manu- facturer with the aristocratic Patroons of Beaverwyck. Left an orphan at an ensly age, he had been spoiled to his heart’s content by the two grandfathers with whom nature had vided him to replace his parents, é In his presence alone Elisha Skinner was known to smile, and people said that he fairl adored the boy, having had so much trouble with his own son, who had e away from home years before, with a cloud on his name, never mentioned since by the old man. It was with a smile that he said now: ‘* Well, Paul, and so you got the check?” ‘Yes, thank you, sir,” returned the young man, brightly. ** Ever so much obliged to you, I’m sure, sir. You’re too kind tome. I hardly know what to do with so much money. I’m afraid I shall throw it away.” The old ironmaster looked at him in the kind- ly way he always affected, saying: ‘‘T don’t fear that, Paul. ouw’ll never bring disgrace on us all by any act of pert. Only keep away from women. Don’t run away th by any idea that it’s a fine thing to be Ss. pro- viciou Paul colored slightly. : “T hope not, sir. ny Ai ae don’t run that way. I like horses and boats and fun, general- ly, but I don’t care about girls; at all events, not the kind you mean. By the by, governor, do you know I met the queerest boy in the road, yesterday !” ‘‘ Indeed! Why the queerest?” asked his grandfather. ‘* Well, I should say the cheekiest, perhaps,” answered Paul. ‘‘If he didn’t actually hail me as I passed him and wanted me to give him a lift into Holesburg, as if I had been a farmer driving to market. Mr. Skinner smiled slightly. sh a he thought your harses needed work, hat did you tell him?’ ‘*Oh, I threw him some change, and told him to buy some soap. Somehow I took an interest in him. He was so dirty and so forlorn, and yet didn’t seem to mind it a bit. I say, governor, l’ve got a favor to ask of you.” ‘** What is it?” asked Skinner. As he spoke his face grew colder, and Paul did not fail to notice it, for he said: ‘‘Now don’t be crusty, governor. The boy told me he was coming into Holesburg to try and get work in an iron mill. I want toask you this: will you give him a place?” Mr. Skinner answered more forbiddingly than he had yet spoken: ‘‘My dear Paul, please attend to spending the money and leave me to attend to the making of it. You don’t know what you ask. We don’t want boys in these mills, We want strong men and good hands. I can’t afford to have boys here unless they are very remarkable ones.” ‘‘ But.this is a remarkable one.” “How? in what way?” ** Well, for pluck, for one thing.” “We don’t want pluck; we want muscle. How oid is this boy?” ‘* About twelve I should say.” ‘* That settles it, I can’t take him.” Paul looked vexed as he said: ‘* Well, one would think I asked a wonderful igs I tell you I’ve taken a fancy to this Oy. He had his back turned to the gate, and his grandfather, who was looking over his head, interrupted him, pointing: ‘** Is that the boy?’ Paul turned his head and exclaimed: ‘** Why, sure enough: that’s the identical lit- = shaver. Now, governor, don’t be a brute to im. As he spoke, up trudged Larry Locke, and Paul greeted him witha smile: — ‘*Why, Larry, is that you? And, by Jove, if you haven’t washed your face! That’s right. ow sneak out. This gentleman is the boss here. What do you want?” Mr. Skinner looked vexed. If any one else had spoken so, the manufacturer would have answered sharply, but he fairly idolized his grandson, Moreover, mg with that straightforward boldness which Paul had remarked in him, spoke out at once to the magnate: a Say, boss, I want a job to learn to be a pud- er. Mr. Skinner looked at him coldly. ‘*‘ A puddler? You? Why, that needs a man. You’re only a boy, sonny.” ‘“‘I’m pretty strong for my age,” averred a2 **' You jest try me.” » “Yes, try him,” urged Paul, good-naturedly ; but his interference seemed to vex his grand- father, who retorted: **My dear Paul, will you mind your own af- fairs? What's your name, boy?” ** Larry Locke.” ‘“Humph! Well, Larry, there’s only one place I can give you—” ‘‘T know,” interrupted Larry, unceremoni- ously. ‘Jim Skelly wants a helper.” Mr. Skinner stared coldly at him. ‘ anes up your head. You're too cheeky by have to fight the biggest ’prentice in the mill. We want strong boys, not midgets like you.” Larry listened unconcernedly and replied: ‘‘That’s all right, boss. Dm sixteen, though I ain’t em tall—” ‘*T should say not,” interrupted the fronmas- ter, with some contempt. ‘‘ Yousixteen? You don’t look over twelve.” wag looked up at him quietly, and his voice had a defiant ring in it as he answered: **If you don’t b’lieve I’m sixteen, jest bring on any feller my age, and you'll see. I kin take keer of myself.” Paul Van Beaver burst out laughing. ‘*There’s grit for you, governor! Bring on your ’prentice. TPll bet you ten dollars Larry whips him!” Again a faint smile crossed Skinner's face. His grandson was the only person that had power to call one forth. ‘“‘ All right,” he said. ‘‘Tell your man to go in and pass the word for Tom Trainor. If your boy whips him, he shall have a place.” aul Van Beaver seemed to be delighted at the idea. ‘“‘Anything for fun,” he replied. ‘ Here, Jim, run in and tell Mr. Mathews to pass the word for Tom Trainor, out in the yard. Mr. Skinner wants him.” Mr. James Boggs, of Northamptonshire, Eng- ou want to be Skelly’s boy, you'll | i ET I land, groom, was standing at the head of Paul’s leader, and he hesitated slightly, saying: ‘*Can the boy hold Thunderbolt, sir?’ “Certainly. Here, Larry, you go to the lead- er’s head while J:m calls Trainor,” said Paul. Larry nodded and went to Boggs, who said to him sharply: | ** Now, then, mind your eye, and don’t go to playin’ any tricks on the ’oss,” ‘* All right, boss,” was the. tranquil reply. ‘Keep yer shirt on. I kin take keer of myself and the hoss too.” Mr, Boggs favored him with a scowl and de- yarted in high dudgeon while Larry stood by hunderbolt’s head, which he could just reach, and observed to the magnate of the mill, with infinite coolness: ‘* Say, boss; is them horses good goers?” It was Paul who answered: ‘Pretty good, Larry. Why do you ask? Would you like to take care of them?” Larry shook his bead. ‘*No, sir. I’m goin’ to be an iron man, I am. When I gets rich, Ill drive my own team, l will. Grooms ain’t no ’count. They don’t make nothen but day’s wages.” Mr. Skinner, for the first time, seemed to be struck by the boy’s words; for hesaid to Paul, not ungraciously : ‘*Boy’s got the right spirit, Paul; right spirit. But then we want muscle.” ‘** Muscle,” echoed Larry. ‘‘ That’s me, every time, boss.” At the same moment out came Mr, James Boggs, who reported: ‘** 'Trainor’s a-comin’ sir.” Then he went to Thunderbolt’s. head and shoved Larry away, saying: “There, get out. Sbhouldn’t wonder if you’d been jerkin’ his mouth while [ was away.” Larry curled his lip, retorting: ‘Oh, give usa rest! I know what a hoss is, as well as the next man,” Paul heard him, and said to his grandfather: ing.” Mr. Skinner made a wry face. ‘*T guess Tom will take the cheek out of him. He’s a terror to the other ’prentices. Here he comes.” Out from the side-door of the mill came a big, burly boy, with a sullen face, bullet-head and large ears. He came up in a slouching way, eyed Larry with a sniff of contempt, wiped his nose on the back of his hand, and said to Skinner: ‘** Did yer want me, boss?” “Yes. This boy wants to come in as a *prentice, and I’ve told him he can’t do it un- Jess he whips you. Can you handle him?” Tom Trainor turned and lhoked at with an indescribable mixture of anger and contempt. He stood nearly a bead taller than the little tramp. ‘Handle him?” he echoed. ‘Tl just take the head off him, boss. Come, ’skeeter, git out of this yard. Wedon’t want no kids like yow Git, I say!” Larry, in the mean time, had thrown his stick and bundle aside, and was eying his antagonist with perfeet coolness, ‘Say, bubby,” he retorted, tauntingly, “‘ take off yer boets, and I'll sweeten your coffee for you,’ Tom’s only answer was to rush at the short boy and level a ferocious kick at him, which oe tecane by an active spring, while Paul Van ver stepped out, crying: ‘‘ Pair play there! If you want to kick, take off $ ig * me apiece et saying he caught i y by the arm but Tom turned on him in & moment and growled: **'You leave mealone. I fight my own way. I don’t take off no boots, I don’t.” “No, no,” cried old Skinner, pelts his long beard: ‘‘that won’t do, Tom. . Van Beaver says take ’em off, and sodoI.” | or one moment it seemed as if the big ’pren- tice were going to strike Paul, for he g at him like a wild beast; but then he seemed to remember himself, for he began to kick off his boots, wling: « Albright, a if you say 90. I can eat him up anyway.” Then he turned on Larry, and made for the boy like a demon. CHAPTER IV. THE BOY OF IRON. Tom TRAINOR was a big, burly boy for his age, and an old rough -tumble fighter, who had long been the terror of all the ’prentices in the mill, of whom he was the oldest. He rushed at Larry with a perfect hurricane of blows, expecting to beat him down by main force, and for a moment it seemed as if he would do it, for he drove the smaller boy back and all around the yard, piling blow on blow, while Larry was ducking a jumping back, uuable to return a blow. “Your boy won’t get in, Pauk’ said Mr. Skinner, dryly. ‘‘Tom’s doing what he likes aul, who was watching them eagerly, re torted, with some heat: See (ECON MICE JOO cS ‘‘Isn’t he cheeky‘ It’s. positively refresb- (Ele)