"Ike, you are very much mistaken."

"Yah!"

"I never mentioned what you told me to any one."

"Cut it out! We'll settle that to-night. Now you get to work."

Ralph at last understood the situation, but he saw the futility of attempting to convince his obstinate companion of his error.

Besides, the foreman in the distance was watching him from the corner of one eye, and Ike thought it best to apply himself to business.

"You just watch me for an hour or two," he bolted out grudgingly.

Ralph did not spend a happy forenoon. Ike was sullen, grumpy and savage.

He made his helper hold the grease pail when it was unnecessary, till Ralph's arms were stiff, dropping splotches of oil on his shoes. He let the exhaust deluge him, as if by accident, and refused to engage in any general conversation, nursing his wrath the meantime.

He knew how to clean up an engine, although, Ralph divined, in the most slipshod and easiest way that would pa.s.s inspection. Ralph was learning something, however, and was patient under the slights Ike put upon him from time to time.

About eleven o'clock there was a lull in active work.

Mr. Ike Slump lounged on the bench, indulging in a smoke and trying to look important and dangerous, both at once. Then, as if casually, he began kneading a fat, juicy ball of waste and grease, poked it under the bench, and said to Ralph:

"There's two switch engines coming in. You can take one of them, and see if you know how to handle it."

"I'll try," announced Ralph.

"When you come to the bell, give her a good, hard rubbing. They'll give you some sand at the supply shed."

"Sand?" repeated Ralph vaguely.

"Sure. Dump it in with the grease in the little pail, and don't fail to slap it on thick and plenty."

Ralph said nothing. He started for the pa.s.sageway with more thoughts than one in his mind. As he shot a quick glance back of him, he observed Ike leap from the bench, poke out the grease ball, palm it, and disappear from his range of vision.

Ralph went to the supply shed and got a can full of sand. Then he started back the way he had come.

As he did so, he observed the foreman turn into the pa.s.sage in front of him.

Ralph was due to pa.s.s by him, for the foreman was pursuing his way at a leisurely gait, but Ralph did nothing of the sort.

He guessed considerable and antic.i.p.ated more from the recent suspicious movements of his temporary master, and smiled slightly, allowing the foreman to precede him.

As Tim Forgan stepped through the doorway leading into the roundhouse, that happened which Ralph Fairbanks had foreseen.

His enemy, lying in wait there to "christen" his new work suit as he had threatened, let drive, never doubting but that the approaching footsteps were those of Ralph.

With a dripping swush the ball of waste and grease cut through the air and took the roundhouse foreman squarely in the face.

CHAPTER XII--IKE SLUMP'S REVENGE

The roundhouse foreman staggered back with a gasp.

The oil splattered over his face, neck and chest, the waste separated and dropped down inside his vest.

Then, astonished, Forgan dashed the blinding grease from his eyes, ran forward, took a stare in every direction, and doubled his pace with a roar like a maddened bull.

"You imp of Satan!" he yelled.

He had detected Ike Slump, unmistakably the culprit. With agile springs, fairly terrified at his mistake, Ike had taken to flight.

In his haste he tripped over a rail. His pursuer pounced down on him before he could get up, s.n.a.t.c.hed him up with one hand by the collar, grabbed half a loose box cover with another, dragged him into the little office, banged the door shut with his foot, and the work of retribution began.

The men in the dog house had been attracted by the turmoil. Now they stood gazing at the closed office door.

A grin ran the rounds, as from within escaped sounds unmistakably connected with the box cover, mingled with the frantic yells of Ike Slump.

"That kid's been spoiling for just this for some time," observed a gray-bearded engineer.

"Has he?" echoed an extra--"well, just! He's been the bane of Forgan's life ever since he came here. The boss had to keep him because Ike's father is a crony, but he's getting real enjoyment for the privilege!"

There was nothing malicious in Ralph's nature, but he felt that Ike Slump deserved a lesson. Ralph proceeded calmly on his way as though nothing had happened, carried his can of sand over to the bench, mixed it well in one of the small oil pails, took up the other and some waste, and went over to one of the two switch engines that had just come in.

They stood on adjacent tracks, not yet run to stall. Ralph began his first task as a real wiper. He had watched Ike carefully, and it was no trick at all to follow in his mechanical groove, and much improve his system, besides.

Ralph was busy on the bell as the door of foreman's office was thrust open.

Ike Slump was as quickly thrust out. He was blubbering, limp, and smarting with pain.

Forgan was red-faced and panting from his exertions.

"Now then," he said, "you get to work, or get out and home to your father, just as you like."

"He'll kill me if I do!" came from Ike.

"He ought to. Hustle there, now!"

Ike went to the bench, picked up the grease pail, and climbed to the cabin of the other switch engine.

He cast an angry glance at Ralph.

"Played it smart, didn't you!" he snarled.

"You shouldn't complain," answered Ralph calmly.