“So as to nip any little fire in the bud?” cried Stan eagerly.
“I don’t see how you can nip a fire in the bud,” said Blunt, with sham seriousness.
“Oh yes, you can,” cried Stan laughingly. “Nip it in the bud before it blossoms out into a big blaze.”
“Good boy, Stan! But the old people ought to have called you Solomon. Come on; let’s get the men at work filling the water-casks, and then we’ll serve out the firearms.”
In very few minutes the empty casks were in place, and two lines of coolies at work dipping water from the edge of the wharf, passing it from hand to hand along one line to where it was emptied into the open casks, and sending the empty buckets back along the other line to be refilled.
“Goes like clockwork,” said Stan as he watched the men.
“Thanks to you, my lad,” said Blunt. “Now then, let us consult the oracle.”
“Eh?” asked Stan.
“Old Wing,” replied Blunt; and stepping outside, he hailed the Chinaman where he was perched upon the extremity of one gable, using the glass most energetically.
“Ahoy, there! Hullo, Wing!” shouted the manager. “How many junks can you see, and how many pirates in each?”