“I shall station the two carpenters and four men at those doors, ready to close them up when necessary. Tut, tut, tut!”
“What’s the matter?” said Stan, startled by his companion’s ejaculations.
“In the hurry and excitement I haven’t found time to say a few words to the Chinamen about fighting for us. Never mind; I’ll have a few words with them over the supper, dinner, or whatever it is.”
They passed down and went outside on to the wharf, where, before inspecting the addition to their defences, they both looked up, and Blunt hailed Wing, who was still seated astride the gable, shading his eyes from the ardent sun and slowly sweeping the horizon.
“Well, Wing,” cried Blunt; “see anything of the enemy?”
“No. Not come yet. Velly long time.”
“And a good job, too,” said Blunt to his companion, who, after another good look at the patient figure in the blue frock, crouching all of a heap and looking like a very amateurish beginner astride of a huge razor-backed horse, said:
“Don’t let us forget to send the poor fellow up some tea and bread-cake. He must be half-famished.”
“So must everybody be,” said Blunt. “I know I am. Here, how are you getting on, my lads?” he continued, turning to the working party.
“I think we’ve got on as far as we can, sir,” replied the clerk. “I was hoping that you’d come soon and tell us what more to do. We’ve packed in nearly fifty bales, as you see.”