“Oh,” answered Stanley, with a grin, “they was more scared than hurt.”
Allan drew a quick breath of relief.
“But didn’t the bomb wreck the place?” he asked.
“Oh, it wrecked it all right; at least this end of it; but by good luck, it blew the end wall out, instead of in, and the roof didn’t fall until everybody had scrambled out. I thought there’d been at least a dozen killed by the way they hollered after the bomb went off, but nobody was hurt beyond some cuts and bruises.”
“Well, that was good luck!” said Allan. “That takes the biggest kind of a load off my heart.”
“Yes; and the best luck of all,” added Stanley dryly, “is that I caught the man who did it.”
“The man who did it?” Allan stopped short in amazement to look at his companion. “Do you mean it, Stanley?”
“Mean it? I should say I did. It was the merest luck—I fell right on to him as he was gettin’ away, and when I started to take him back to the freight-house he was scared to death—but he don’t deny it, fer that matter.”
“Who was it?” asked Allan. “One of the strikers?”
“No,” said Stanley, grinning again. “One of the strike-breakers.”