These threats produced the desired effect upon the fugitives, and, pausing in their descent of the steps, they hurled back the packages, then resumed their flight.
So anxious about recovering their luggage had the boys been that not until they saw the packages lying tom and untied on the platform did they look at the men whose arrival had been so opportune, and their surprise was no less when they beheld three stalwart policemen, one with a revolver in his hand.
“’T is a close shave yez had,” smiled one of them, while another growled:
“It’s a wonder the ship-owners wouldn’t have men here to meet their scabs.”
The scorn with which the word was uttered for the second time that morning stung the boys.
“We’re not scabs!” returned Phil, emphatically.
“Then what were them strikers mixing it up with yez for?” demanded the first officer.
“Were they strikers?” inquired Ted, incredulously.
“They sure were—did yez think they was a complimintery reciption committee?” grinned another.
“But what are they doing at the station here? I thought the strike was at the docks,” pursued the boy.