Glen had a broken-off broom in one hand and a bag pretty well filled over his shoulder. He was warding off the approach of Slump, who seemed bent on pestering him from malice or robbing him for profit. Ralph ran forward to the rescue of his young protege, who was no match in strength or size for the bully.
He was not in time to prevent a sharp climax to the scene. Glen swung the heavy bag he carried around to deal his tormenter a blow. Slump either drew a knife or had one concealed up his sleeve all along. At any rate he caught the circling bag on the fly. The knife blade met its bulging surface and slit it woefully, so that a stream of golden grain poured out.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” burst out Glen Palmer, indignantly.
“Strangers pay toll around here, or I know the reason,” derided bad Ike Slump.
“Just drop that, Slump,” spoke Ralph, stepping forward.
“Humph!” growled Ike, retreating a step or two and looking rather embarrassed. “I didn’t expect you.”
“I see you didn’t,” observed Ralph. “This petty business doesn’t seem to accord very well with your high pretentions of last evening.”
“He has wasted all my grain!” cried Glen, tears starting to his eyes. “He said I’d have to pay toll to the gang, whatever that is, if I came around here gathering up chicken feed, and the flagman yonder has given me permission to sweep out all the cars after they have emptied at the elevators.”
“Don’t worry,” said Ralph, reassuringly. “I will see to it that you are not interfered with, that your rights are respected after this.”
“Huh!” scoffed Ike, and then with a great start and in a sharp change of voice he shouted out, “Hello, I say, hello!”