“Yes,” he cried, “there’s Wing holding up a little flag so that it blows straight out.”
“A pocket-handkerchief Union-jack?” cried Blunt.
“Yes, that’s it; and there’s some one else on board beside the boatmen. Why—yes—no—yes—no.—Oh, do stand still, whoever you are! I can’t see if you bob about so.—Yes, it is. Look, Mr Blunt—look! Here’s Uncle Jeff come so as to see everything for himself.”
“Right, Lynn, right,” cried the manager; “so it is. Three cheers for him. We’ll give them when he’s close up. Well, hurrah for one thing! We’re not going to show him the ashes of his big warehouse along with our burnt bodies.”
“Ugh!” cried Stan. “What a gruesome idea! Let’s get out and have the flag hoisted on the pole.”
“Ah! and we’ll have every one out too, so as to give him a warm welcome. But are you quite sure it is your uncle?”
“Certain,” cried Stan proudly. “You never saw anybody but Uncle Jeff standing up in that free-and-easy way, just as if he didn’t care a snap of the fingers for the whole world.”
“Yes, that’s Mr Jeffrey,” said Blunt, lowering his glass and drawing in a deep breath; “the very sight of him seems to do a man a power of good. Out with you, Lynn, and send Lawrence to hail the boys. We’ll all turn out and man the edge of the wharf. I want your uncle to see that I haven’t lost a man.”
A few minutes later clerks, warehousemen, and coolies were all standing at the edge of the wharf, with the flag fluttering and straining from the halyards, where it had been run up to the head of the signal-pole; while as soon as the boat came within hailing distance Lawrence acted as fugleman and headed three good, hearty, welcoming cheers. These, in spite of the admixture of Chinese squeak from the throats of the coolies—a squeak which ended with a hoarse croak—sounded so pleasant to Uncle Jeff’s anxious ears that he whisked off his sun-helmet, tossed it on high, and gave forth a thoroughly deep, hearty British hurrah, while, not to be outdone, Wing, who stood behind, bared his pig-tailed head to wave his lacquered, shining black hat, and echoed the shout with his alto pipe.
In another minute the sail was being lowered, and the next, as the boat glided up against the wharf, Stan sprang on board, to have his hands grasped by his big, manly relative.