Part 29 (1/2)
Two persons entered the room. One was Ike Slump. The other Ralph recognized as the second-hand dealer, Cohen. The latter carried a lamp, which he placed on a shelf. He closed the door after him, and sat down on a box. Ralph's range of vision was immediately impeded. Ike had lifted himself to the edge of the hogshead and perched there, his feet dangling and beating a tattoo on the staves with his heels.
”Now then, Slump,” were Cohen's first words, ”you're bound to leave?”
”Haven't I got to?” demanded Ike testily. ”I'm in a nice box, I am--lost my job, don't dare to go home, and no money.”
”I gave you some.”
”A measly ten dollars in a week, not a fiftieth part of what I brought in. See here, Cohen, you haven't given me a fair deal. I've taken all the risk, and what have I got?”
”The risk? the risk?” repeated Cohen. ”My young friend, it's me who takes all the risk. Suppose the railroad men should drop in here and find the stuff? Where would I be? As to money, will anybody else you know touch the stuff?”
”Well, I've got to get some funds, I'm going to slope the town for good,” announced Ike. ”Now, there'll be no slip up if I carry out your plans?”
”Not a bit of it,” answered Cohen. ”I have no facilities here for handling railroad junk. Jacobs, at Dover, has. I don't dare to s.h.i.+p it by rail. He has his own melters. I furnish the horse and wagon. We'll load you up, and cover the boxes with vegetables. All you've got to do is to drive out of town and deliver the goods at Dover. You say your friend, the tramp, will go with you?”
”Yes, but what about the team? I won't come back, you know. I'm going West for a spell.”
”Jacobs will attend to the team. See, here is a letter--give it to him.
He'll give you the twenty-five dollars I promised you, and that's the end of it.”
”All right. What time shall we start?”
”When the town is asleep, and n.o.body nosing around. Say one o'clock, sharp.”
”I'll be ready.”
The conference seemed ended. Ralph comprehended that his double mission would be ineffective unless he got word to Ike Slump's father and the roundhouse foreman within the next four hours.
He lay snug and still, formulating an escape from the place as soon as the two plotters should withdraw.
Ike slipped to the floor, took out a cigarette, lit it, threw the match away, and stretched his arms and yawned.
”Give me a little loose change to play with the crowd, Cohen, will you?”
he asked.
Cohen reached in his pocket, but very quickly drew out his hand again empty, to point it excitedly at the hogshead with the sharp cry.
”Fire! look there! You stupid, see what you've done!”
”What have I done? Ginger--the cigarette!”
Ralph quivered as he listened and looked. A swis.h.i.+ng sound accompanied a brilliant flare. Ike had carelessly thrown the match with which he had lighted his cigarette into the midst of the dry, tindery excelsior.
”Put it out! Stamp it out!” yelled Cohen.
Ike grabbed a handful or two of the flaming ma.s.s, burned his fingers, and retreated, while Cohen made a frightened rush for a stand in one corner of the room holding a big pitcher.
He ran at the hogshead with it. It was half-full of water. Cohen doused it into the hogshead just as Ralph, unable to stand the pressure any longer, arose upright.