“God, I’d hate to have to depend upon an American Consul at a time like this,” is heard from the “Horse-killer.”
Routledge’s nerve was taxed to smile at this.... Seven-thirty. Consul Milner reappears in the Square, this time followed by two Japanese officers of rank.... Routledge’s door is unlocked, and he is called out into the hall.
“This is the gentleman—and I’ll vouch for him.” Milner observes, holding out his hand to Routledge. “Weed, my boy, how are you? Missed the train last night at Yopanga, I suppose, and came down the river. Didn’t you know we’re a closed port down here?”
“Yes, but I knew you were here, Consul. The battle’s on at Liaoyang, I understand.”
The eyes of the men managed to meet. The Japanese officers bowed politely, and the two Americans left the garrison.... Bingley’s voice is loudly upraised. The Japanese officers politely inform him that the order for his release has not yet reached them.
“Milner,” said Routledge, “would it complicate matters if I fell upon your neck and wept?”
“Wait till we catch the train, Weed. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” the Consul whispered.
“Badly.”
“So I concluded when I got the slip from you. That’s why I went to headquarters to fix things before coming here—saved a few minutes. Also I told my Chino to get up the carriage. It’ll be ready.... Our British friend will have to get his business transacted at once or he won’t get off for Shanhaikwan this morning.... Great God, Weed, did you get the battle—any of it?”
“I was with the left wing all day yesterday, Consul—it seems like a month ago. Oku was beating his brains out against the Russian intrenchments.”