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Show 19 Big John picked up a full bucket and dumped cold water in a rush over Jame's head. Jame groaned and tried to sit up, but fell backward again. "Just let the dumb bugger lay there," Baldy Weitz yelled. "He got what he was asking for, the son of a...." Instead of concerning himself with Jame's bleeding head, Weitz picked up the billet and carried it back to the storage area, where he flung it in disgust on top of the pile. On the other bench, Dutch Schwenk sat slumped, with tears running down his cheeks. "Six years it took me to grow it this long," he moaned. "Six whole years shot to hell." If Karl hadn't been so worried about Jame, he might have felt sorry for Dutch Schwenk, who looked ridiculous with half a mustache. "All you houligans get yourselves back and start the next heat," Baldy Weitz bawled. "Clyde, you be the rougher from now on. We'll have to work short-handed for the rest of the day. Albert, go over to the ten-inch mill and see if they can spare us a smoke-hole boy. You...!" Weitz stabbed his finger at Karl. "Get that jackass Culley out of here. Take him home. He's finished in this mill." "How can I take him home?" Karl pleaded. "He can't even stand." "He'll be able to stand," Weitz sneered. "A crack on the head won't hurt the likes of him. He's got pickled pigs' feet where his brains oughta be." Karl pulled Jame's arms to try to lift him, but Jame's head rolled backward on his limp body. |