Scrambling on board the tug, and taking her by storm, they voiced their opinions of the _Alsatian_ and the International Line in language which caused the feminine passengers to clap their hands to their ears and flee from the rail. A junior officer with whom Captain O’Shea had scraped acquaintance halted to explain, in passing: “The blackguards went on strike for more pay and recognition of their union. The company patched up the trouble yesterday, but the beggars were stirred up again this morning by the chap the bobbies put the irons on. He persuaded them to kick up a rumpus just before sailing-time.” “If they have signed articles, ’tis more like a mutiny than a strike,” observed O’Shea. “They know that right enough,” said the officer, “but they don’t seem to care whether they are jugged for it or not. It’s an incident of the general labor trouble in this port, I presume. The longshoremen’s strike is not settled yet, you know.” “And what will ye do for a fire-room gang?” O’Shea asked him. “There was near a hundred and fifty of them that quit just now.” “Hanged if I know,” sighed the officer as he walked away. The tug was black with the mob of strikers, who were packed wherever they could find standing-room. The police could do nothing with them, and the distracted skipper of the tug decided to make for a quay and get rid of his riotous cargo. The passengers of the _Alsatian_ surmised that sailing-day might be indefinitely postponed and they bombarded the officers with excited demands for information. Captain O’Shea and Johnny Kent, philosophers of sorts, viewed the situation with good-natured composure, and were more interested in the summons to the dining-saloon for luncheon than in the strike of the fire-room gang. “As long as I get three square meals per day and a dry bunk I ain’t especially uneasy about anything,” remarked Johnny Kent as he fondly scanned the elaborate menu card. “Same here,” replied O’Shea. “But that jumpy gentleman, Jenkins P. Chase, must be throwing assorted fits by this time.” Facing them across the table was a blond, spectacled man with a small, pointed beard, his appearance notably studious and precise. Although he spoke English with cultivated ease and fluency, the ear detected certain shades and intonations to indicate that he was a German by birth. He was affable to his neighbors at table and courteous to the steward who waited on him. Garrulous, sociable Johnny Kent found him companionable, and ventured to inquire: “Your first trip to America? Business or pleasure?” “Both. I shall interest myself in studying scientific education in the United States. I am a chemist by profession, and also a lecturer on the subject before the classes of a university. Yes, it is my first voyage to your wonderful country. Tell me, please, have you met the famous Professor Crittenden, of Baltimore?”