"When the town is asleep, and nobody 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 swishing 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.
