Stan Lynn: A Boy's Adventures in China

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER FIVE.

  "HE'S A REGULAR BRICK."

  "This is pleasant!" thought Stan as he stepped on to the gangway. "Ifthis man is our servant he oughtn't to speak to me like that. Here! Ishall have a to go back by the next boat. Father and Uncle Jeff don'twant me to be treated like this."

  It was a cheerless welcome to the place that was to be his new home forthe time, and a feeling of resentment began to grow up within him as hestepped on to the wharf, meeting the manager's eyes boldly, andgradually feeling more and more determined to maintain his position andnot allow himself to be, as he termed it, "sat upon" by this bullyingsort of individual.

  A fierce stare was exchanged for some moments before the manager spokeagain, more gruffly than ever, just as Wing handed him the packet ofletters he had brought.

  "Better come in here," he said.--"You, Wing, tell the skipper to makeall fast. I won't have any unloading till the morning."

  He led the way to what seemed to be the office of the great warehouse,for there were desks, stools, and writing implements, while maps hungfrom the wall, and bills of lading in files decorated the place in a waywhich made it look more grim and showed up its bareness.

  As soon as they were inside, the manager perched himself on a highstool, took a big ebony ruler off the desk, and began rolling it to andfro upon his knees, before opening the principal letter of the batch,one which Stan could see plainly had been written by his uncle.

  This missive the manager read through twice before laying it flat uponthe table and giving it a bang with his open hand.

  "Bah!" he growled. "Stan Lynn--Stan Lynn. What a name for a boy! Whydid your people christen you that?"

  "They didn't," said Stan coolly, though he could feel a peculiartwitching going on along his nerves.

  "What!" cried the manager fiercely--quite in the tone he would have usedto a contradictory coolie. "Why, look here," he continued, bringing hishand down on the packet of letters with another heavy bang which madethe ink start out of the well. "Why, I have it here, in your father'shandwriting. Um--um--um! Where is it? Oh, here: `my son Stan'."

  "Nonsense! Let's look," said the boy sharply, and quickly steppingforward to look at the writing. "'Tisn't; it's `Stanley,' only myfather has contracted the `ley' into a dash. It's a way he has."

  "Then it's time he began to write plainly. Who's to know what hemeans?"

  "Any one," said Stan quite as fiercely. "And look here; you wouldn'tspeak of my father's writing like that if he were here."

  "What!" roared the manager, giving the desk a tremendous bang with thebig ebony ruler to frighten Stan, who began to perspire profusely, butnot from alarm. His temper, that had been fast asleep, was aroused bythe reception he was having, and feeling at once that life with this manwould be unbearable, he spoke out at once boldly and defiantly.

  "I spoke plainly enough," he said haughtily, "and you know what I said."

  "Well," cried the manager, "of all the insolent young coxcombs I everencountered, you take the prize. Do you know who I am?"

  "Yes," said Stan; "my father's manager."

  "Yes, sir, I am," he roared; "and I know how to manage men, let alonecocky, conceited boys. Don't you think you are coming here to lord itand set up your feathers, and crow and grow scarlet in the comb. Ishall soon cut that for you, so just get ready to take your proper placeat once. I'd have you to know that I have as much authority and am asmuch master in this solitary, out-of-the-way place as if I were a king."

  "Over the Chinese coolies, perhaps," said Stan firmly, "but not overme."

  "What I--Why, the boy's mad with conceit."

  "No, I'm not," said Stan--"not conceited at all; and if you behaveproperly to me you'll find that I shall help you in every way I can."

  "Behave properly! Oh, come! this is rich. Here's a boy who ought to beat school, where he would get the cane if he did not behave himself,vapouring about as if he had come to be master here. There! the soonerwe understand each other the better--Mr Stanley--sir."

  There was a mocking sarcasm in the delivery of these last words thatmade the boy writhe. But he mastered his temper bravely enough, andsaid coolly:

  "I don't want to be called `Mr Stanley' and `sir.' I was christenedStanley, but my friends looked upon it as being too pretentious. Theyalways call me Stan."

  "Oh, I see! Thank you for the kind explanation," said the managersarcastically. "Well, here you are; and now you are here, what do youwant? I see you've brought a gun. Come snipe and duck shooting?"

  "My father has fully explained in his letter, I believe."

  "Explained? Perhaps so; but I have not had time to read it yet, soperhaps you will speak."

  "That is easily done. You wrote to the firm asking for help andcompanionship."

  "Of course I did; and I took it for granted that Mr Jeffrey Lynn wouldcome and share the burden of my enormously increasing work."

  "It is all explained in the letters, as I told you," said Stan. "Unclewas coming, but the Chinese made an attack on the place."

  "Eh? What's that?" cried the manager excitedly; and Stan gave him abrief account of what had passed, while every word was listened toeagerly.

  "It was quite out of the question for my father to be left," ended Stanat last, "and so I am sent to help instead."

  "Humph!" said the manager, looking grave. "It has come to that, has it?Restless, uncontrolled savages. Well," he added, changing his toneagain, "so they've sent a boy like you?"

  "Yes."

  "And for want of decent help and companionship, I'm to make the best ofyou?"

  "I suppose so," said Stan coldly, and wishing the while that he was backat Hai-Hai, home, or anywhere but at this solitary _hong_.

  "But I don't think you'll like the life here, young fellow," said themanager, with an unpleasant smile. "There's a very savage, piraticallot of Chinese about on this river. It has an awful character. Ifyou'll take my advice--Will you?"

  "Of course," said Stan quietly. "You must know better, from yourexperience here, than I do."

  "That's right; I do. Well, then, you take it: go back by the next boat.It doesn't look as if things are very safe at Hai-Hai, but it's aparadise to this place here."

  "I'm sorry to hear that," said Stan, "but I certainly can't go back; Ihave come to stay."

  "Oh, very well!" said the manager. "I've warned you. I wash my handsof the whole affair. But I'll promise you this: I'll get your remainstogether."

  "My remains?" said Stan, aghast.

  "Of course; they are sure to hack you to pieces--it's a way they have.And there'll be some difficulty, perhaps, in recovering your head. Theygenerally carry that off as a trophy; but I'll do my best to get youback to the old folks in a cask of Chinese palm-spirit. Will that do?"

  During the past few moments Stan had felt a sensation as if cold steelof wondrously sharp edge were at work upon his back and across his neck;but the tone of the question brought him back to himself, and he repliedcalmly:

  "Capitally. But, by the way, if the savage pirates come and treat melike that, where will you be?"

  "Eh?" said the manager, staring. "Where shall I be?"

  "Yes. Isn't it just as likely that I should have to do this duty foryou?"

  "Oh, I see! Yes, of course; but--Ha, ha, ha! Come! you have gotsomething in you after all. You are pretty sharp."

  "Just sharp enough to see that you are trying to frighten me."

  "Humph!" ejaculated the manager, with a dry smile. "But you've had asample of what these people can do, and I won't answer for it that theydon't try some of their capers here. Then you mean to risk it?"

  "Of course," said Stan. "My father and uncle sent me to help you."

  "Well, don't blame me if you get your head taken off."

  "No," said Stan coolly, and with a peculiar smile; "I don't think Ishall do that--then."

  "More do I," said the manager grimly. "Well, here you are, and Isuppose I must make the best of yo
u."

  "I suppose so," said Stan.

  "You'll have to work pretty hard--make entries and keep the day-book. Isuppose you can do that?"

  "I suppose so," said the lad, "but I can't say for certain till I try."

  "All right; then the sooner you try the better, because I've got enoughto do here in keeping things straight; and if you find that you can't, Ishall just pack you off back to your father and uncle. You're tooyoung, and not the sort of chap I should have chosen for the job."

  "Indeed! What sort of a lad would you have chosen?"

  "Oh, not a dandified, pomatumed fellow like you, who is so veryparticular about his collar and cuffs, and looks as if he'd be afraid todirty his hands."

  "I don't see that because a fellow is clean he is not so good for work,"said Stan.

  "Oh, don't you? Well, I've had some experience, my lad. I want here afellow who knows how to rough it. You don't."

  "But I suppose I can learn."

  "Learn? Of course you can, but you won't. There! you've come, and Isuppose, as I said before, I must make the best of you; but next timeyou see the heads of the firm, perhaps you'll tell them that I don'tconsider it part of my business as manager of this out-of-the-way placeto lick their cubs into shape."

  "Hadn't you better write and tell them so?" said the lad warmly.

  "What!" roared the man. "Now just look here, young fellow; you and Ihad better come to an understanding at once. Whether it's clerk,warehouseman, or Chinese coolie, I put up with no insolence. It's aword and a blow with me, as sure as my name's Sam Blunt."

  "Sam!" said the lad quietly. "What a name! Why did your peoplechristen you that?"

  The manager tilted his stool back till he could balance himself on twoof its legs and let his head rest against the whitewashed wall of thebare-looking office, staring in astonishment at his visitor. Thenleaning forward again, he came down on all four legs of his tall stool,caught up the big ebony ruler, and brought it down with a fresh bangupon the desk, which made the ink this time jump out of the little wellin a fountain, as he stared fiercely at the lad, who returned his gazeperfectly unmoved.

  "Well, of all,"--he said; he did not say what, but kept on staring.

  "What sort of a fellow do you call yourself?" he cried at last.

  "I don't know," was the cool reply.

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

  The lad nodded.

  "There! as you're the son of one of the principals, and don't know anybetter, 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 ofquarrelling 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 Iwere 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 catcha bad fever at once. And then, as there is no doctor anywhere here, andI'm a horribly bad nurse, I'll send you back to Hai-Hai at once for yourpeople 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 whocome 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 afool as you look, young fellow! No: I've got too much to do to go awayfrom this go-down, and your people know it. That's why they've sent youto get in my way and put me out of temper. I say, though; you've heardnothing 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 youdown here. But you may take my word for it, there's trouble coming--andthat, too, before long. Did you see many piratical-looking war-junks asyou came up the river?"

  "N-no," said Stan. "I saw several big mat-sailed barges with highsterns, and great eyes painted in their bows; but I thought they weretrading-boats."

  "So they are, my lad--one day; they're pirates the next. And perhaps onthe very next they're men-o'-war. Anything, according to circumstances,for I've found out that _artful_ is the best word for describing aChinaman. But there! you'll soon know. Look here; after what I've toldyou, do you mean to stay?"

  "Certainly," said Stan.

  "Very well, then. Come and have a look at my quarters. They're a bitrough, 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'vecome 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 ofsitting down to dinner when the junk came in sight, so you'll come andjoin 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 likethis, I suppose."

  "Humph!" said the manager, frowning; "but I don't know what you mean bysolitary. I have English clerks and checking-men, and a whole gang ofcoolies. 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 thisevening. You'll have to take pot-luck. Wing will contrive somethingbetter. Come on."

  There was a grim, satisfied smile in the manager's countenance as herose, took a great stride such as his long legs enabled him to do withease, and clapping Stan on the shoulder, swung him round and looked himstraight in the face.

  "Why, youngster," he said, "your father must have been wonderfully likeyou in the phiz when he was your age; but in downright style of speakingand 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 himthere."

  "Oh, I don't know," said the manager slowly. "One can't say at the endof half-an-hour, but I'm beginning to think you will not be so very badafter all."

  "I hope not," said Stan, smiling.

  "I thought at first that you would be a regular stuck-up cub. But Idon'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'swhat 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."

  "Dinnee all getting velly cold, cookee say, Mistee Blunt," said Wing ina deprecating voice; and they both started to see that the Chinaman hadentered quietly upon his thick, soft boot-soles.

  "All right, Wing; co
ming," cried the manager shortly.--"Come along,captain; you and I are going to be great friends."