Stan Lynn: A Boy's Adventures in China

“No; I don’t suppose you do. But look here; I’m going to look over that and set it down to ignorance, as you are quite a stranger; and so let me tell you there’s only one man whom I allow to call me Sam Blunt, and I’m that man. Understand?”

The lad nodded.

“There! as you’re the son of one of the principals, and don’t know any better, I won’t quarrel with you.”

“That’s right,” said the lad coolly; and the man stared again.

“Because,” he continued, “I’m thinking that we shall have plenty of quarrelling to do with John Chinaman.”

“Is there any likelihood of our going to war?” said the lad quickly.

“Every likelihood,” said the man, watching his visitor keenly; “and if I were you I’d have a bad attack of fever while my shoes were good.”

“I didn’t know one could have, or not have, fever just as one liked.”

“I suppose not,” said his companion. “But you take my advice: you catch a bad fever at once. And then, as there is no doctor anywhere here, and I’m a horribly bad nurse, I’ll send you back to Hai-Hai at once for your people to set you right.”

“You mean sham illness?” said Stan sharply.

“What! Why, hang me if you’re not a smarter fellow than I took you for! Yes, that’s it; and then you’ll go back and be safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“Being made into mincemeat by the first party of Chinese pirates who come this way. They’re splendid for that, as I hinted to you before. Nothing they love better than chopping up a foreign devil like you.”

“Hadn’t you better have a fever too?” said the lad quietly.

“Oh, come! Better and better!” cried the other. “You’re not such a fool as you look, young fellow! No: I’ve got too much to do to go away from this go-down, and your people know it. That’s why they’ve sent you to get in my way and put me out of temper. I say, though; you’ve heard nothing about the breaking out of war?”

“Not a word since I’ve been in China. I heard something on my voyage.”

“Of course you haven’t, or your father and uncle wouldn’t have sent you down here. But you may take my word for it, there’s trouble coming – and that, too, before long. Did you see many piratical-looking war-junks as you came up the river?”

“N-no,” said Stan. “I saw several big mat-sailed barges with high sterns, and great eyes painted in their bows; but I thought they were trading-boats.”

“So they are, my lad – one day; they’re pirates the next. And perhaps on the very next they’re men-o’-war. Anything, according to circumstances, for I’ve found out that artful is the best word for describing a Chinaman. But there! you’ll soon know. Look here; after what I’ve told you, do you mean to stay?”

“Certainly,” said Stan.

“Very well, then. Come and have a look at my quarters. They’re a bit rough, but you say you won’t mind roughing it.”

“No,” said Stan; “I’ve come here to do the best I can.”

“Oh!” said the manager in a tone full of surprise; “that’s what you’ve come for, is it?”

“Of course,” said Stan, wondering at the tone the man had taken.

“Very well, then, we may as well shake hands. I was just thinking of sitting down to dinner when the junk came in sight, so you’ll come and join me – eh?”

“Yes,” said Stan; “I am getting hungry.”

“That’s right. I say, though, squire; you think me a regular ruffian, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said the lad quietly.

“Oh, come! That’s frank, anyhow.”

“It makes you rough and disposed to bully, living a solitary life like this, I suppose.”

“Humph!” said the manager, frowning; “but I don’t know what you mean by solitary. I have English clerks and checking-men, and a whole gang of coolies. Do you call that solitary?”

“But they are under you. I suppose you live a good deal by yourself.”

“Humph! Yes,” said the manager.

“And that, of course, makes you rough.”

“P’raps so. But you won’t find me so rough when you get used to me. There! come along and let’s see what my cook has got for us this evening. You’ll have to take pot-luck. Wing will contrive something better. Come on.”

There was a grim, satisfied smile in the manager’s countenance as he rose, took a great stride such as his long legs enabled him to do with ease, and clapping Stan on the shoulder, swung him round and looked him straight in the face.

“Why, youngster,” he said, “your father must have been wonderfully like you in the phiz when he was your age; but in downright style of speaking and ways you put me wonderfully in mind of your uncle Jeffrey.”

“Do I?” said Stan quietly.

“You do; but he’s a regular brick of a man.”

“That he is,” cried Stan warmly; “but that means I’m not a bit like him there.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the manager slowly. “One can’t say at the end of half-an-hour, but I’m beginning to think you will not be so very bad after all.”

“I hope not,” said Stan, smiling.

“I thought at first that you would be a regular stuck-up cub. But I don’t think so now. Look here, youngster; can you be honest?”

“I hope so.”

“Then tell me what you thought of me.”

“That you were a disagreeable bully.”

“Hah! That’s pretty blunt,” said the manager, frowning. “So that’s what you think of me, is it?”

“You asked me what I thought of you, not what I think.”

“Right; so I did. Then what do you think of me?”

“That you’re going to prove not so bad as I thought.”