# Ralph of the Roundhouse/Chapter 12

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, snatched 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 the 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.
"Wait till to-night!"
"I'm waiting," tranquilly rejoined Ralph, poising back to view about as fine a shimmer to the bell he was working on as oil and waste and elbow grease could produce.
Meantime, Ike had blindly, savagely slapped a coat of grease on the bell opposite.
A yell went up from his wrathful lips as he applied the waste.
He nearly had a fit and if he could have found a loose missile he would doubtless have thrown it at Ralph.
​"Confound you!" he hissed. "Oh, I'll get you yet!"
"I'm here," said Ralph. "What's up. You said sand was good for the bell. Is it?"
"Say, you wait! oh, say, you wait!" foamed Ike.
Both worked their way simultaneously into the cabs, the upper wiping- done. Ralph watched his fellow-worker. The locomotives had been dumped, but there was still enough steam to run them to bed.
"Soon as I run her in," announced Ike malevolently across the two-foot space between the engines, "I'm going to jump my job."
Ralph said nothing. Ike had put his hand on the lever, intending evidently to slow back the locomotive to its stall. Ralph was expected to do the same with the other engine.
"But I'll be laying for you at quitting time, and with the bunch, don't you forget it!" supplemented Ike.
Ralph gave the lever a touch, the wheels started, but instantly he shut off steam.
Glancing sideways and out through the open front of the roundhouse, his eyes met a sight that would have paralyzed some people, but which acted on his impetuous nature like a shock of electricity.
​With one leap he cleared the cab, in two springs he had reached the doorway. The startled Ike Slump saw him disappear behind the locomotive. His bead-like eyes glowed.
Now was his chance. Leaning over between the two locomotives, he touched the lever Ralph had just shut off. The locomotive started towards its stall.
Directing his own forward, it went on its diverging course at routine slow speed.
This cleared the view from dog house and office. At that moment the foreman's strident tones belched out:
"Stop her! Where's the wiper?"
All eyes saw that the second locomotive was not manned. Some had witnessed Ralph's sensational disappearance.
Three or four made a run for the unguided locomotive. The foremost of the group sprang into the cab just as the tender struck the circular outer wall of the roundhouse.
He halted the engine, but not until the tender had smashed a hole out to daylight, taking one big window upon its back, and buried the rails under half a ton of brick and mortar.
Ike Slump descended from his locomotive serene as summer skies, as Forgan rushed up to the scene.
​"Where's the smart-Aleck that did that!" roared the foreman.
He was fairly distracted with the accumulating disturbances of the hour.
"Dunno. Got scared at hearing the steam hiss, I guess, and run for it," said Ike.
Tim Forgan paced up and down the planks, a smoldering volcano of wrath.
"There he is now," piped Ike, hugging himself with delight, as he considered that he had turned the tables on Ralph.
The foreman dashed towards the entrance of the roundhouse. Sure enough, Ralph had come into view.
Half a dozen persons were straggling after him, and some unusual commotion was evidently rife among them, but the infuriated roundhouse foreman at the moment had eyes only for the object of his rage.
Ralph's face was as white as chalk, he was out of breath, one arm of his jacket was torn away, and from the elbow to the finger tips there was a long, bleeding scratch.
The foreman ran up to him, and almost jerked him off his feet as he caught him by the arm.
"You young blunderer!" he roared—"look at your work! Five hundred dollars damage!"
Ralph seemed in an uncomprehending daze, ​and failed to take in the wrathful sweep of Forgan's arm towards the dismantled wall.
"I'll give you the same dose I gave that young imp, Slump!" shouted Forgan, losing all control of himself.
He began to drag Ralph towards the office. The latter had acted as if about to faint! Now his senses seemed to arouse abruptly.
Ralph braced back. His eyes swept the crowd about him. He caught sight of Ike Slump's gloating face, and beyond him the wrecked wall.
"Wait!" he said faintly, and then with more firmness of tone: "Stop! what do you accuse me of?"
"Accuse you of?" roared the foreman. "Hear him! I suppose you pretend not to see your work. Look at that wall, look at that engine——"
"I didn't do it," declared Ralph positively, catching on for the first time.
"Oh, I won't listen to such rot!" fumed Forgan. "You get out good and quick, but I'll give you something to remember it by before you do."
"Stop!" again spoke Ralph, and this time it was a command. " You are accusing me of something I know nothing about, Mr. Forgan. Let go my arm."
​"Why, you impudent young jackanapes! I'll lick the daylight out of you now, just to drive some truth into you!"
"Don't you dare to touch me!" cried Ralph. He was fully aroused now. The natural glitter had returned to his eye, and with a quick move he jerked free from the grasp of the foreman, powerful as it was. "I allow no man to punish me for what I did not do, and this is a place where we stand as man to man."
The foreman had been surprised at Ralph's exhibition of genuine strength, but that manifestation had only served to increase his rage.
In positive fury he posed for a savage spring at Ralph. The latter put both hands on the defensive. His lips were firmly compressed. He did not wish to imperil his position by fighting with a superior, but he was determined to stand on his rights.
At that moment, in advance of the pressing crowd outside, big Denny Sloan, the yard watchman, came into view.
"Drop that, Tim Forgan!" he ordered quickly. "Don't touch that boy, or you'll be sorry for it to your dying day!"