[Illustration: "HE WENT TO WORK THROWING WATER ON THE BURNING BOXES."]

This nitroglycerin-mill, it seems, was on the Pacific coast, whence they
used to ship the dynamite on vessels that loaded right alongside the
yards. One day a mixing-house exploded, and hurled burning timbers over
a vessel lying near that had just received a fresh cargo. Her decks were
piled with boxes of explosives--wooden boxes, which at once took fire.
When this "certain man" rushed down to the dock, the situation was as
bad as could be. There were tons of dynamite ready to explode, and a hot
fire was eating deeper into the wood with every second. And all the
workmen had run for their lives!

"Well," said the superintendent, "what this man did was to grab a bucket
and line, and jump on the deck. Yes, it was burning; everything was
burning. But he went to work lowering the bucket overside and throwing
water on the flaming boxes. After a while he put 'em out, and the
dynamite didn't explode at all; but it would have exploded in a mighty
short time if he had kept away, for the wood was about burned through in
several places. I know that's a true story, because, well--because I
_know_ it."

"Don't you call that man brave?" I asked.

The superintendent shook his head. "He was brave in that particular
instance, but he might not have been brave at another time. You never
can tell what a man will do in danger. It depends on how he feels or on
how a thing happens to strike him. A man might act like a hero one day
and like a coward another day, with exactly the same danger in both
cases. There's a lot of chance in it. If that man I'm telling you about
had been up late the night before, or had eaten a tough piece of steak
for breakfast, the chances are he would have run like the rest."

III

HOW JOSHUA PLUMSTEAD STUCK TO HIS NITROGLYCERIN-VAT IN AN EXPLOSION AND
SAVED THE WORKS

I DROVE over from the works to Kenvil under the escort of a red-nosed
man who discoursed on local matters, particularly on the prospects of
his youngest son, who was eighteen years old and earned three dollars a
day.

"What does he do?" I asked.

"He's a packer," said the red-nosed man.

"What does he pack?"

"Dynamite. Guess there ain't no other stuff he c'd pack an' get them
wages. Jest the same, I wish he'd quit, specially sence the big blow-up
t' other day."

"Why, what blew up?" I inquired.

"Freezing-house did with an all-fired big lot of nitroglyceri