They took their evening meal at a small restaurant in the town, and later on strolled along the all but deserted battlements of the coast, and one or two of the ancient looking streets, and around a tumbled-down convent.
“Panama is almost a city of the past,” remarked Mr. Whyland. “Its former glory seems to be gone for good.”
At nine o’clock a boat came to the wharf to take them and Captain Morris and the first mate on board. It was a fine moonlight evening; but as soon as they reached the deck of the Polly Eliza they went below, so heavy was the night dew.
Oliver, with Gus as a room-mate, slept soundly that night. When he awoke the peculiar noise overhead told him that the ship was getting underway. He sprang up and aroused his companion.
“Don’t want to get up. Let me sleep,” mumbled Gus.
“You’ve got to,” was all Oliver replied; and he gave Gus a poke that started the stout youth at once.
“Wonder you wouldn’t wake a fellow in the middle of the night,” grumbled Gus, as he began slowly to dress.
“Middle of the night? It’s seven o’clock, at least.”
“Well, what of it? You say it as if it meant ten.”
“Oh, come, Gus, hurry up. We want to see the steamer leave Panama—at least I do.”