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Show 16 he could make a wooden Indian fall down laughing. At the same time Karl felt uneasy, because when Jame got too high-spirited, he could really raise the roof, shingle by shingle. "What am I gonna do? That's for me to know and you to find out,' Jame answered, dropping one eyelid in a sly wink. "Smoke-hole boy!" Baldy Weitz yelled. "Get over here and start loading number 431." Karl jumped up quickly to show the foreman how eager he was to get back to work, but Jame grabbed his hand. "Look at that, your hands are blistering," Jame said. "A little bit, maybe." "You need work gloves. They don't give 'em to us, you have to buy your own. I got an extra pair -- wait a minute, I'll go get 'em. They're an old pair, with holes where they were burned through from sparks, but they'll keep the billets from rubbing any more blisters on you." Jame's gloves were too big for Karl, but he wore them anyway, flattered that Jame was concerned for him. The billets for the second heat were again two inches square, but at three feet in length they were half again as heavy as the first ones. Karl could manage to push only three at a time on the hand cart. Luckily, the order was for just five dozen rods, and it was filled more quickly than the first one had been. By the time he'd loaded the last of the billets chalk-marked 431, Karl was glad to drop on the bench and rest. After the rolls had shut down, Jame sat beside him, looking as fresh and lively as he'd looked when the seven o'clock whistle blew, |