Ralph of the Roundhouse/Chapter 11
CHAPTER XI
ON DUTY
Ralph cut across lots on his way to the roundhouse. He was not one whit ashamed to be seen wearing a working cap and carrying a dinner pail and the bundle under his arm, but cap, pail and overalls were distressingly new and conspicuous, and he was something like a boy in his first Sunday suit and wondering if it fitted right, and how the public took it.
It was too early to meet any of his school friends, but crossing a street to take the tracks he was hailed volubly.
Ralph did not halt. His challenger was Grif Farrington, his arm linked in that of a chum whom Ralph did not know, both smoking cigarettes, and both showing the rollicking mood of young would-be sports who wished it to be believed they had been making a night of it, and thinking it smart.
"What's the uniform, Fairbanks?" cried Grif, affecting a critical stare—"going fishing? Is that a bait box?"
"Not a bit of it. It's my dinner pail, and I'm going to work, at the roundhouse."
"Chump!"
"Oh, I guess not."
"Double-distilled! Make more money going on the circuit with the club. Personally guarantee you ten dollars a week. Got scads of money, me and the old man. Sorry," commented Grif in a solemn manner, as Ralph continued on his way unheeding. "Poor, but knows how to bat. Pity to see a fellow go wrong that way, eh?" he asked his companion.
Ralph laughed to himself, and braced up proudly. Between idle, dissolute Grif Farrington and himself he could see no room for comparison.
Some sleepy loungers were in the dog house, and a fireman was running his engine to its stall. Ralph went over to the lame helper he had seen the day previous.
"I'm to begin work here to-day, I was told," he said. "Can you start me in?"
"I'm not the boss."
"I know that, but couldn't you show me the ropes before the others come?"
"Why, there's an empty locker for your traps," said the man. "When the foreman comes, he'll tell you what your duties are."
"No harm putting in the time usefully, I suppose?" insinuated Ralph.
"I suppose not," answered the taciturn helper. He seemed a sickly, spiritless creature, whom misfortune or a naturally crabbed temper had warped clear out of gear.
Ralph stowed his dinner pail in the locker, slipped on overalls and jumper and an old pair of shoes, and placed the fingerless gloves he had prepared in a convenient pocket.
The lame helper had disappeared. Ralph noticed that the place needed sweeping. He went to where the brooms stood, selected one, and started in at his voluntary task.
He felt he was doing something to improve the looks of things, and worked with a will. He had made the greasy boards look quite spick and smooth, and was whistling cheerily at his work, when a gruff growl caused him to look up.
The foreman, Tim Forgan, confronted him with a lowering, suspicious brow.
"Who told you to do that?" he demanded sharply.
"Why, nobody," answered Ralph. "I like to keep busy, that's all. No harm, I hope?"
"Yes, there is!" snapped Forgan. Ralph surprisedly wondered why this man seemed determined to be at odds with him. He had not fallen in with very cheerful or elevating company. Forgan continued to regard him with an evil eye.
"See here," he said roughly, "I'll have discipline here, and I'll be boss. I'll give you your duties, and if you step over the line, get out. This isn't a playroom, as you'll probably find out before you've been here long."
Ralph thought it best to maintain silence.
"You take that box and can yonder, and go to the supply and oil sheds and get some waste and grease. Slump will be here soon, take your orders from him for to-day."
Ralph bowed politely and understandingly.
"I'll tell you another thing," went on Forgan harshly. "Don't you get to knowing too much, or talking about it. I'll have no spying around my affairs."
Ralph was astonished. He tried to catch the keynote of the foreman's plaint. Suspicion seemed the incentive of his anger, and yet Ralph could trace no reason for it.
An open doorway led from one side of the roundhouse. Ralph picked up a heavy sheet-iron pail and a tin box with a handle. Just then the helper came into view.
"Where do I go for oil and waste?" asked Ralph.
The helper surlily pointed through the doorway. Ralph found himself in a bricked-in passage, slippery with oil, and leading to a narrow yard. On one side was a row of sheds, whose interior comprised bins for boxes filled with all kinds of metal fittings. On the other side were like sheds, full of cans, pails and barrels. From here some men were conveying barrow loads of pails and cans filled with oil and grease, and Ralph went to an open door.
Inside was a grimy, greasy fellow marking something on a card tacked to the wall. Ralph told him who he was, got both receptacles filled, and went back to the roundhouse.
He sat down on a bench and watched a fireman go through the finishing touches on his engine which put it "to sleep." The last whistle sounded, and in through the doorway came Ike Slump.
The latter was a wiry, elfish fellow, usually very volatile and active. On this especial morning, however, he looked ugly, depressed and wicked. He went over to his locker, threw in his dinner pail, put on a pair of overalls, and for the first time observed Ralph.
"Hello!" he ejaculated, taking a step backward, hunching his shoulders, showing his teeth, and lurching forward much with the pose of a prize fighter descending on an easy victim.
"Good-morning, Ike," said Ralph pleasantly.
Ike Slump indulged in a vicious snarl.
"Morning nothing!" he snapped. "What you doing here?"
"I'm going to work here."
"Who says so?"
"The foreman."
"When?"
"Yesterday, and ten minutes ago. In fact, I am waiting to begin under your directions, as he ordered."
"Oh, you are!" muttered Ike darkly, and in hissing long-drawn-out accents. "That's your lay, is it? Well, say, do you see those?"
Ike glanced keenly about him. Then advancing, he strutted up to Ralph, bunched one set of coarse, dirty knuckles, and rested them squarely on Ralph's nose.
Ralph did not budge for a second or two. When he did, it was with infinite unconcern and the remark:
"Yes, I see them, and a little soap and water wouldn't hurt them any."
"Say! do you want to insult me? say! are you spoiling for a fight? say"
"Keep a little farther away, please," suggested Ralph, putting out one of those superbly-rounded, magnificently-formed arms of his, which sent the bullying Ike back, stiff and helpless as if he was at the end of an iron rod.
"Say" Ike began on his war dance again. "This is too much!" Then he subsided as he noticed the foreman cross the roundhouse. "No chance now, but to-night, after work, we'll settle this!"
"Just as you like, Ike," assented Ralph accommodatingly—"only, drop it long enough just now to start me in at my duties, or we'll both have Mr. Forgan in our hair."
Ike unclinched his fists, but he continued to growl and grumble to himself.
"A nice sneak you are!" Ralph made out. "Thought you'd be smart! Gave away my tip, didn't you?"
"See here, Ike, what do you mean?"
"I mean I told you I was going to leave, and you promised to hang around and come on deck when I'd had my pay."
"The way things turned out," said Ralph, "there was no occasion for that."
"You bet there wasn't! You just sneaked the word to Forgan double-quick, he told the old man, and I got a walloping, locked up on bread and water yesterday, and all my plans scattered about leaving. You bet I'll cut the job just the same, though!" declared Ike, with a vicious snap of his jaws. "Only, you gave me away, and I'm going to pay you off for it."
"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 shipshod and easiest way that would pass 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 passageway 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 passage in front of him.
Ralph was due to pass by him, for the foreman was pursuing his way at a leisurely gait, but Ralph did nothing of the sort.
He guessed considerable and anticipated 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.