“I’m sorry to say yes, my lad, and I’d a great deal rather have heard that you had spent your time wandering on the banks of this splendid river, catching nothing, perhaps, but filling your young mind with things to remember when you grow old. Ah! life’s a very lovely thing if human beings would not spoil it as they do.”
Stan smiled at his uncle’s words, but he did not see life in the same light after his experiences at Hai-Hai and at the hong; though he was quite ready to agree as to the way in which men spoil the world, and he did say this, very tersely, later on:
“Especially Chinese pirates, uncle.”
“Just so, my boy. But really it is all so beautiful here,” said Uncle Jeff, “that now I have been refreshed and feel rested, it is more than ever hard to believe what a desperate fight you have had. I wish I had been here.”
“So do I, uncle,” said Stan merrily; but he turned serious the next moment. “No, I do not, uncle. It was very horrible, and you might have been shot.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Stan. You and your men escaped pretty well. However, matters were best as they were—eh, Blunt?”
“Certainly,” said the manager. “The defence could not have been in better hands.”
“Oh, don’t!” cried Stan, speaking like a pettish girl. “Now you are both sneering at me.”
This was of course denied, but the lad was only half-convinced, and too glad to hear the conversation take a different turn.
“We must achieve some better means of defence, Blunt,” said Uncle Jeff. “You ought to have a good little piece of artillery here—something that would tell well on a junk—sink her if it was necessary.”