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 hoarse 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.