"Bad lot," commented Limpy, coming back for some more bricks.
"Foreman?"
"No, Slump. It was two of his poison drinks four years ago that sent me home one night on the wrong tracks, crippled me for life, lost me my run, and made a pensioned drudge of me for the rest of my years," declared the helper bitterly.
By five o'clock the débris had been cleared away from the break in the roundhouse wall, the derailed locomotive backed to place, and things ready for the masons to repair the damage in the morning.
Ralph was walking away from a cursory inspection of the spot, when a whistle sounded directly outside. Then a hissing voice echoed:
"Hey, Slump!"
Ralph turned. A man was moving around the edge of the break in the wall.
"I'm not Slump," announced Ralph. Then he recognized the stranger. It was the tramp-like individual who had come after Ike Slump's dinner pail two nights previous.
"Oh!" he now said, drawing back in a suspicious, embarrassed manner. "Where's Ike?"
"He has gone home, I suppose," answered Ralph.