Stan Lynn Part 26

"But where is he?"

"I don't know: Let's wait a bit and see. It is quite possible that he is making his way back by land, as the boat was sent home, and it may be days yet before we see him. It is quite as possible that we may not see him for a long time, for he will be afraid to show his face here on account of losing you."

"But he'll get to know that I escaped," cried Stan.

"Some day, perhaps. Then he'll come--delighted. Let's wait, for it may be some days or weeks, hanging about as he will be in the country, which is terribly unsettled, as I have just learned, by a fresh incursion of pirates and disbanded soldiers. Wait, my lad--wait. By-and-by perhaps I may be able to come down heavily upon one of the up-country mandarins for compensation; but we shall see. China is a place where matters move very slowly, and law and order are very seldom at home. I don't like the news at all that I have been hearing about what is going on up-country. It hinders trade, too. I'm very glad, however, that you are safely back, instead of being weeks wandering about from plantation to plantation."

"Then you feel pretty sure that Wing is not dead?"

"No, not pretty sure," replied Blunt; "only very hopeful about his being alive. What do you think of that?"

"That I feel much better satisfied. It would have been bad enough if any poor servant of the _hong_ had suffered, but horrible for Wing to have come to so sudden an end. I liked Wing."

"So did--So do I," said Blunt, correcting himself. "Cheer up. He'll come along smiling some day, as soon as he hears you are back."

Something happened much sooner than either of the Europeans at the _hong_ antic.i.p.ated.

The next day Stan talked a good deal with Lawrence, the foreman of the coolies, and several of the clerks about Wing's absence, and could not find one who believed that the man was dead.

"Unless he has fallen amongst pirates," said Lawrence. "That would be different. He had charge of you, and he lost you. _Ergo_, as the old fellow in Shakespeare says, he's afraid to meet Mr Blunt. I should feel just the same if I were Mr Wing."

Stan felt more encouraged still; and the very next morning, as he was going through the big warehouse, his attention was suddenly caught by a figure stepping out of a small _sampan_ which had just reached the side after crossing the river.

"Hi! Mr Blunt!" cried Stan. "Look through that window. Isn't that Wing?"

"Wing?" replied the manager thoughtfully as he bent down to examine the Chinese brand on one of a stack of tea-chests. "Not likely yet. He has a long way to come overland."

"But I'm sure I saw him step out of a boat on to the wharf."

"Hardly likely. These fellows look so much alike in their blue frocks and glazed hats. Where did you see him?--Why, hullo! Well done! It is he after all."

For just then the object of their conversation came slowly in through the open door, ragged, worn out, and dejected, the very shadow of the trim, neat Chinaman familiar to Stan. Coming out of the bright sunshine, he stood with puckered face blinking and looking about, and so weak and weary that he seemed to be glad to hold on by the first pile of bales he reached.

There he stood, peering about till he dimly made out the tall, upright, unmistakable figure of the manager in his white garb, when he made a deprecating movement with his hands as if about to salaam like a Hindu, and he was in the act of bending down when he suddenly saw Stan.

In an instant the man's whole manner was changed. Throwing up his hands, he uttered a hoa.r.s.e cry, and ran forward to throw himself upon his knees at the lad's feet, flinging his arms about his legs, and then burst forth into a fit of sobbing, crying like a woman, and the next minute laughing hysterically.

"Wing t'ink young Lynn go dead. Wing t'ink bad soljee man killee dead young Lynn. Oh deah! oh deah! Come along. Walkee allee way tellee Misteh Blunt. Ha, ha, ha! Allee light now. Give poo' Wing eatee dlinkee. Feel dleadful bad. Allee light now. Oolay! oolay! oolay!"

The poor fellow began his cheer fairly, but ended it in a miserable squeak, and then loosened his grasp of Lynn, and pressing his sleeve-covered hands to his mouth to stifle the hysterical cries struggling to escape, he began to rock himself to and fro; while Stan, who felt touched by the poor fellow's display of emotion, stood patting his shoulder and trying to calm him.

"No, no, Wing; not a bit dead," he said, with a husky laugh. "They took me prisoner and shut me up. Why, I've been thinking you were killed.

What became of you? How did you get away from the brutes?"

"Wing tellee soon. Wing tellee soon. Allee chokee chokee. Got floatee velly full. Makee cly like big boy so glad young Lynn allee 'live."

"Well, it makes me ready to laugh to find you're alive," said Stan, though his features did not endorse his words. "Here, tell us where you have been."

"Evelywheh," said the poor fellow. "Bad soljee put big pitchfolks to Wing, makee lun away. Keep folly Wing. Wing tly come back. Soljee put pitch-folk to Wing back and dlive light away. Makee lun velly fa.s.s.

Come light away tell Misteh Blunt. Allee way soljee, allee way pilate.

Wing wantee lie down and die. Wantee come tellee young Lynn plisneh.

Wing t'inkee nevah get back to _hong_. Come at las' find young Lynn allee 'live. Wing leady lie down die now."

The poor fellow sank over sideways as he said the last words very feebly, and it was quite evident that he was not very far from death's door through his exhaustion.

"Poor beggar!" said Blunt gruffly. "There's no deception here. Get something out for the poor fellow at once, Lawrence. Look at him; he must have suffered horribly. He looks as if he has been travelling night and day. My word! I'll never think him a coward again. Fancy coming to meet me with such news as that! I should have been ready to kill him if it had been true."

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

"BIG JUNK BOAT."

Poor Wing lay for about a couple of hours, during which everything possible was done, and then he began to recover rapidly, when, after superintending, the manager insisted upon the poor fellow doing nothing but try and sleep.

"Wing wantee tell Misteh Blunt evelyting," he said, with a piteous look.

"Not now," said Blunt sharply. "Get well first."

"Allee velly dleadful," said the poor fellow feebly.

"Yes, I know; but I'm not going to blame you, my man. You did your best. Get strong again, and tell me all about the troubles then."

Wing gave him a horrified look, glanced at Stan and then back at Blunt, his countenance looking drawn and his complexion more sallow than ever, while his lips moved as if he was speaking, but no sound came.

"Well, why don't you rest?" cried Blunt. "What's the matter with you?

Been so much frightened?"

Wing nodded sharply, and gave Stan a look full of horror and despair.

"Why, what's the matter with the fellow? Not been wounded, have you?"

Wing shook his head.

"Why don't you speak?" cried Blunt, so roughly that the man held out his hands in a gesture evidently intended to mean deprecation. It was as if he meant to say, "Don't be angry with me; it is not my fault."

"Well, I see you're upset, my man," cried the manager, softening his manner. "Perhaps you had better ease your mind. Speak out. Now then, what's the matter? Have you lost the money I gave you?"

"No, no, no," cried Wing, shaking his head violently. "Velly solly-- velly solly," he murmured.

"Very sorry for what?" cried Blunt, catching the man's arm and looking at him sternly.

Wing, who seemed weak in the extreme, shivered as he shrank from the manager's eyes, and turned appealingly to Stan as if begging him to intercede.

"The poor fellow doesn't seem to know what he is saying," said Stan quietly, "and he's frightened of you."

"Humph!" replied Blunt. "I thought I spoke gently enough to him.--Here, Wing, don't look at me in that scared way. I told you that I was not going to blame you. Speak out. What is it? You have something else to say?"