“And a splendid thing, too,” said Uncle Jeff. “Who wouldn’t be you, to look young and feel young?—Eh, Oliver?—Oh, you young masculine geese who are always wishing that you were men, if you only knew what you are treating with contempt, how much better it would be for you! Why, I’d give—That’ll do; I’ve done. Here, I’m coming with you to your room to go over your togs and odds and ends with you. I think I can give you a bit of advice as to what to take and what to leave behind. Perhaps, too, I can give you two or three useful things. Haven’t got a revolver of your own, I suppose?”
“No, uncle.”
“Then I’ll give you that one—mine. It hits anything, to a dead certainty, if you hold it straight. Got any fishing-tackle?”
“Yes, uncle; hooks and lines with leads.”
“That’s right. You may like to catch a few fish to make a change in your diet when it grows too regular. Wing cooks a little, but nothing like so well as Sin.—I suppose we can’t spare him to go with Stan here, can we, Oliver?”
“No; it would not be possible,” said the latter, smiling; but his voice had a suggestion of sternness in its tones as he added, “And I’m sure that Stan will be quite content to rough it for a while with Mr Blunt, and as long as he gets plain, wholesome food, will not worry himself about the cook.”
“Hear him, Stan?” cried Uncle Jeff. “That’s the way your father snubs me because I like nice things, and refuse to insult my inside by giving it any kind of hugger-mugger mess that is put before me.—Well, I confess I do like a good dinner, Oliver, and I don’t see much harm in it. Well, of course Stan will do his best for us. The Lynns always try to do their best—they can’t help it. There I come along and let’s see to your kit.”
“Don’t be in a hurry, Jeff,” said Stan’s father. “Let’s have in Wing and ask him about the return boat. He’s a very methodical fellow, and I dare say his plans are already made.”
“To be sure; let’s have him,” replied Uncle Jeff, who rose, went to the door, and called to one of the clerks to send the Chinaman in. “I dare say that he has something up his sleeve about starting. Plenty of room there for any amount of plans—eh, Stan?” he added; with the result that when the man entered, bowing and smiling in his apologetic way, Stan’s eyes immediately sought and searched the long, soft, blue silk appendages which hung well over the hands, revealing just the tips of the fingers, while from one hung out the corner of a pocket-handkerchief, and from the other the end of a fan.
A little conversation ensued, in which the Chinaman announced that he had arranged for two berths in the steamer on its return journey—either on its first, which would be in three days’ time, or, if Stan were not able to go then, on the second, which would be in a month—allowing for its sailing to the Mour River, loading up, and returning again.