“Yes, uncle,” was the reply, and Stan hurried out.
Chapter Three.
“A Bloodthirsty Young Ruffian.”
Stan had been long enough in the great port to know something of the habits of the people, and he was in nowise surprised to find that not one of the employees had put in an appearance that morning; nor yet that Pi Sin, the general man-of-all-work of the household, who slept in the house, was nowhere to be found, for the simple reason that he had dropped from one of the windows and made off at the first alarm.
The lad was balked, then, at the offset, and had to return to his uncle for instructions.
“Gone—eh?” said Uncle Jeff. “Of course he would go. It doesn’t take much to scare one of his kind. You’ll have to fetch the barber for me, Stan. Know where he lives?”
“No,” said Stan.
“Keep along the wharf-side till you come to the big pagoda half and mile along the river, and then go down the narrow lane under the pagoda walls till you come to his place, just opposite the gate. You’ll see his shop. Tell him to come at once.”