George Fenn - Stan Lynn - A Boy's Adventures in China

“All right, Wing; coming,” cried the manager shortly. – “Come along, captain; you and I are going to be great friends.”

“Don’t think we are going to be great friends,” said Stan to himself as he sat down that night upon the edge of his clean, comfortable-looking Chinese bed, in a perfectly plain but very clean little room adjoining that occupied by the manager. “He was very civil, though, and took great care that I had a good dinner. He didn’t seem to mind in the least my having spoken as I did.

“Perhaps I oughtn’t to have spoken so,” he continued after a few minutes’ thought about his position. “I don’t know, though; I didn’t come here as a servant, and he was awfully bullying and rude. Phew! How hot it is!”

He rose and opened the window a little wider, to look out on the swiftly flowing river, across which the moon made a beautiful path of light, that glittered and danced and set him thinking about the home he had left, wondering the while whether father and uncle were thinking about him and how they were getting on.

“I shall write and tell them exactly how Mr Blunt treated me; but perhaps it would be only fair to wait and see how he behaves to-morrow and next day. I couldn’t complain about how he went on to-night. ‘Be great friends,’ he said half-aloud after a pause. Perhaps we may; but oh, how sleepy I am! Better leave the window as it is. I’ll lie down at once. I can think just as well when I’m in bed.”

This was not true, for the only thing Stan Lynn thought was that the pillow felt quite hot. Then he was fast asleep, without so much as a dream to deal with; and the next time he was conscious, he opened his eyes in wonder and stared at the open window and the sunshiny sky, fancying he heard a sound.

“Do you hear there, squire?” came, with a sharp rapping at the boarded walls of the room. “Time to get up. There’s a tub in the next room, and plenty of cold water.”

“Yes. Thank you. All right I won’t be long.”

“Don’t,” came back, in company with the sound of gurgling and splashing. “Breakfast early. Busy day for us.” Bur-r-r !

“What did he mean by that?” said Stan.

The bur-r-r ! was repeated, and then there was a rattle which explained the meaning of the peculiar noise.

“Cleaning his teeth,” muttered Stan as he sprang out of bed. He sought and found the tub and other arrangements which proved that the manager had surrounded himself with the necessaries for living like a civilised Englishman, even if he was stationed in a lonely place in a foreign land, and he was just putting the finishing touches to his dress when there was a heavy thump from a big fist on the door.

“Look sharp, Squire Lynn! I’m going to tell them to bring in the coffee.”

“Nearly ready,” cried Stan; and a few minutes later he descended the plain board stairs, which were scrubbed to the whitest of tints.

There was a white cloth on the table, with a very English-looking breakfast spread; and plain and bare as the place was, with nothing better than Chinese mats to act as a carpet, curtain, and blind, there was the appearance of scrupulous cleanliness; and rested by a good night’s sleep, and elastic of spirit in the fresh air of a beautiful morning, Stan felt ready to make the best of things if his host proved to be only bearable.

There he sat – his host – reading hard at a letter, and he made no sign for a few moments, and paid no heed to Stan’s “Good-morning!” but read on, till he suddenly exclaimed, “‘Very faithfully yours, Jeffrey Lynn,’” and doubled the letter up and thrust it in his pocket.

“Morning, squire,” he continued. “Rested? I read all the correspondence before I turned in, and I’ve just run through your uncle’s letter again. I say, he gives you an awfully good character.”

“Does he?” said Stan.

“Splendid. Ah! here’s old Wing. I’m peckish; aren’t you?”

“Yes; I’m ready for my breakfast,” replied the boy as Wing entered, smiling, with a big, round lacquer tray loaded with the necessaries for a good morning meal.

“That’s right. We’ll have it, then, and afterwards see to the unloading. There isn’t much consigned to me this time. After that you’d like to see the warehouses and what we’ve got there, and learn who the different fellows are, before we have an hour or two in the counting-house – eh?”

“Yes; I’m ready,” said Stan, smiling, and having hard work to keep from looking wonderingly at the man who had given him so unpleasant a reception the previous evening.

“Is he a two-faced fellow,” thought Stan, “and doing all this to put me off my guard? Why, he’s as mild as – ”

Stan was going to say “mild” again, but at that moment a wild hubbub of angry voices in fierce altercation burst out, the noise coming through the open window from the direction of the wharf beyond which the junk was moored.

“Yah!” roared the manager, springing from his seat and rushing to the open window, his face completely transformed, as he roared out a whole string of expletives in the Chinese tongue. He literally raged at the disputants, whose angry shouts died out rapidly, to be succeeded by perfect silence; and then the manager turned from the window, with his face looking very red and hot, and took his place again.

“That’s the only way to deal with them,” he cried, “when you’re not near enough to knock a few heads together. You’ll have to learn.”

“What was the matter?” said Stan, who felt in doubt about acquiring the accomplishment, and whose better spirits were somewhat damped by this sudden return to the previous evening’s manner.

“Matter? Nothing at all. There! peg away, my lad. Make a good breakfast. I always do. Splendid beginning for a good day’s work. – What!” he roared, as there was the merest suggestion of a fresh outburst, which calmed down directly, “Yes, you’d better tear me away from my bones! You do, and I’ll turn tiger. Ah! you’ve thought better of it. Lucky for you! – Nice row that; just as I said, about nothing. Divide themselves into two parties; my coolies on one side, the junk’s crew on the other. If I hadn’t gone and yelled horrid Chinese threats at them there would have been a fight, and half the men unfit to work for the rest of the day. You’ll get used to them, though, I dare say. Not bad fellows, after all, when they’ve got some one over them who won’t let them bite, kick, and scratch like naughty children. Well, how did you leave the governors?”

“Oh, very well, considering what a scare we had the other night. I thought the villains would kill us.”

“Yes, but you wouldn’t let them. I told your uncle the last time I saw him that he didn’t take precautions enough, but he said he didn’t believe any one would dare to attack a place so near the city. Revolvers are all very well at close quarters, but not heavy enough for a horde of savages who think nothing of fighting to the death. Got a revolver?”

“Yes,” said Stan; “and a gun.”

“That’s right. And after what you said, I suppose you know how to use the pistol?”

“I can shoot with it a little,” said Stan, colouring slightly. “I suppose you have one?”

“What! Living out in this unprotected place? Well, rather! I’ll show you my little armoury after breakfast.”

“Have you ever been attacked?”

“Not yet; but it’s safe to come some time or other, so I hold myself ready. It’s not quite so bad as I said last night.”

“No; I didn’t think it was,” replied Stan coolly; and he was conscious that his host was watching him keenly.

“But without any nonsense, you may have to fight, my lad, if you stay here.”