“I don’t know,” was the cool reply.
“No; I don’t suppose you do. But look here; I’m going to look over that and set it down to ignorance, as you are quite a stranger; and so let me tell you there’s only one man whom I allow to call me Sam Blunt, and I’m that man. Understand?”
The lad nodded.
“There! as you’re the son of one of the principals, and don’t know any better, I won’t quarrel with you.”
“That’s right,” said the lad coolly; and the man stared again.
“Because,” he continued, “I’m thinking that we shall have plenty of quarrelling to do with John Chinaman.”
“Is there any likelihood of our going to war?” said the lad quickly.
“Every likelihood,” said the man, watching his visitor keenly; “and if I were you I’d have a bad attack of fever while my shoes were good.”
“I didn’t know one could have, or not have, fever just as one liked.”
“I suppose not,” said his companion. “But you take my advice: you catch a bad fever at once. And then, as there is no doctor anywhere here, and I’m a horribly bad nurse, I’ll send you back to Hai-Hai at once for your people to set you right.”