the rest of my years," declared the helper bitterly.
By five o'clock the debris 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.
"Didn't—that is, he hasn't left his dinner pail for me, has he?" floundered the tramp.
"No, he took it with him. At any rate, his locker is empty."
"All right," muttered the fellow, edging away.
Ralph remembered that heavily-weighted dinner pail of Ike Slump's with some suspicion.
