"In a week or less you could be back at work." The accompanying sardonic grin said plain as print, "But this dainty dandy is done with work." Weak and done though Arthur was, some blood came into his pale face and he bit his lip with anger.
Schulze saw these signs.
"Several men are _killed_ every year in those works--and not through their carelessness, either," he went on in a milder, friendlier tone.
"And forty or fifty are maimed--not like that little pin scratch of yours, my dear Mr.Ranger, but hands lost, legs lost--accidents that make cripples for life.

That means tragedy--not the wolf at the door, but with his snout right in the platter." "I've seen that," said Arthur.

"But I never thought much about it--until now." "Naturally," commented Schulze, with sarcasm.

Then he added philosophically, "And it's just as well not to bother about it.

Mankind found this world a hell, and is trying to make it over into a heaven.