CHAPTER XII
IKE SLUMP'S REVENGE
The roundhouse foreman staggered back with a gasp.
The oil splattered over his face, neck and chest, the waste separated and dropped down inside his vest.
Then, astonished, Forgan dashed the blinding grease from his eyes, ran forward, took a stare in every direction, and doubled his pace with a roar like a maddened bull.
"You imp of Satan!" he yelled.
He had detected Ike Slump, unmistakably the culprit. With agile springs, fairly terrified at his mistake, Ike had taken to flight.
In his haste he tripped over a rail. His pursuer pounced down on him before he could get up, snatched him up with one hand by the collar, grabbed half a loose box cover with another, dragged him into the little office, banged the door shut with his foot, and the work of retribution began.
The men in the dog house had been attracted
