Stan Lynn Part 56

"Oh, bother that! I could grow stronger fast enough if my mind were quite at rest I'm beginning to think that poor old Wing has come to grief, and if he doesn't reach here by to-morrow night I shall make up a little cargo and send Mao with an urgent despatch to the princ.i.p.als.

It's growing serious. Here, come and let us plan what to send."

"You had better rest patiently," said Stan. "Who's to rest patiently with not a dozen rifle-cartridges on the premises?"

"You," said Stan, smiling.

"What! Do you know the enemy may even now be on their way to make a fresh attack?"

"No, they mayn't," replied Stan.

"What! How do you know?"

"By seeing your weather-gla.s.s point to fine weather."

"My weather-gla.s.s?"

"Yes--old Mao. He seems to be as satisfied as possible, sitting smoking his opium-pipe and watching his men caulk and varnish the _Chee-ho_."

"Well, he does look pretty well content; but it's weary work waiting, and I feel convinced that the message has never reached the princ.i.p.als."

"I can see a proof," cried Stan excitedly, "that you are only looking on the black side of things."

"What do you mean?" said Blunt, staring at the way in which the lad had sprung to his feet to run to the open window looking down the river.

"Here's the boat in sight, sir," cried Lawrence, hurriedly opening the door.

"What! our boat?" cried Blunt excitedly.

"Yes, sir, with Wing showing his signal. Try the gla.s.s, sir."

Blunt s.n.a.t.c.hed the gla.s.s offered to him, but before he could get to the window and focus it with his trembling hands, Stan had taken down his own binocular and was leaning out, bringing the matting-sailed boat close into the room, as it were.

"Yes," he cried, "there's Wing holding up a little flag so that it blows straight out."

"A pocket-handkerchief Union-jack?" cried Blunt.

"Yes, that's it; and there's some one else on board beside the boatmen.

Why--yes--no--yes--no.--Oh, do stand still, whoever you are! I can't see if you bob about so.--Yes, it is. Look, Mr Blunt--look! Here's Uncle Jeff come so as to see everything for himself."

"Right, Lynn, right," cried the manager; "so it is. Three cheers for him. We'll give them when he's close up. Well, hurrah for one thing!

We're not going to show him the ashes of his big warehouse along with our burnt bodies."

"Ugh!" cried Stan. "What a gruesome idea! Let's get out and have the flag hoisted on the pole."

"Ah! and we'll have every one out too, so as to give him a warm welcome.

But are you quite sure it is your uncle?"

"Certain," cried Stan proudly. "You never saw anybody but Uncle Jeff standing up in that free-and-easy way, just as if he didn't care a snap of the fingers for the whole world."

"Yes, that's Mr Jeffrey," said Blunt, lowering his gla.s.s and drawing in a deep breath; "the very sight of him seems to do a man a power of good.

Out with you, Lynn, and send Lawrence to hail the boys. We'll all turn out and man the edge of the wharf. I want your uncle to see that I haven't lost a man."

A few minutes later clerks, warehous.e.m.e.n, and coolies were all standing at the edge of the wharf, with the flag fluttering and straining from the halyards, where it had been run up to the head of the signal-pole; while as soon as the boat came within hailing distance Lawrence acted as fugleman and headed three good, hearty, welcoming cheers. These, in spite of the admixture of Chinese squeak from the throats of the coolies--a squeak which ended with a hoa.r.s.e croak--sounded so pleasant to Uncle Jeff's anxious ears that he whisked off his sun-helmet, tossed it on high, and gave forth a thoroughly deep, hearty British hurrah, while, not to be outdone, Wing, who stood behind, bared his pig-tailed head to wave his lacquered, s.h.i.+ning black hat, and echoed the shout with his alto pipe.

In another minute the sail was being lowered, and the next, as the boat glided up against the wharf, Stan sprang on board, to have his hands grasped by his big, manly relative.

"Why, Stan, boy," he cried, "we never thought we were going to send you out of the Hai-Hai frying-pan into the Nang Ti fire. But you were not burnt?"

He held the lad back at arm's-length and uttered a loud puff like a whale getting rid of its confined breath.

"No, I can see you were not. Eyes bright, colour fresh, and hearty as can be. Hah! that's a comfort. We shouldn't have sent you if we had known.--Here, Blunt," he continued, "do you call this management, bringing down all the ruffians of the river to attack the place! Why, hang it, man! you do look as if you have had more than your share of trouble. You've lost pounds since I saw you last. Coming round again, though, I can see."

"Yes; there's nothing much wrong now," was the reply as the pair shook hands heartily. "The wound's healing up nicely, thanks to Wing here.-- Well, Wing, how are you?"

"Badly," was the reply. "Been fletting."

"Fretting? What about?"

"Misteh Blunt and young Lynn. S'posee pilate come back and Wing not bling ca'tlidge."

"But you've brought them now?" said Blunt eagerly.

"Yes, plenty big box full. Bling Misteh Jeffley too. All leady fightee when pilate come."

"And a very welcome recruit if needed," said Blunt, smiling. "But we don't want any more of that work--at any rate till I get strong again.-- You've heard, Mr Lynn, how I caved in and left your nephew to fight the battle?"

"Oh yes. I've heard all about it from Wing," said Uncle Jeff dryly. "I gave him a lesson in the use of the revolver before he left home, but I didn't know he was going to turn out such an awful fire-eater as he has."

"Don't you think you had better come in and have something to eat, uncle?" said Stan quietly. "It will do you more good than making fun of me."

"Fun, Stan, my lad? Oh! I don't call this fun. Wing says you've become quite a general."

"Wing's a--Chinaman," said Stan, with a laugh full of annoyance, which made the two men exchange glances--looks which the lad interpreted to mean, "Hadn't we better leave off?"

And in this spirit Uncle Jeff clapped his hand upon the boy's shoulder and said heartily:

"Take me round and show me the damage done by the enemy, my boy."

"There's very little to see, uncle, but the chipped stone and the leaden bullets and pieces of iron the enemy poured in."

"The bullets--eh? What! in the stone?"

"No, no, uncle," cried the lad. "Stuck in the door-posts and woodwork."

"What about the windows where the stink-pots came flying in as if all the stars in the sky had broken loose?"

"Oh, they must have been flying across the office, uncle, when Wing was nursing Mr Blunt. We didn't see those upstairs."