They had landed near the foot of Brannan Street, and now walked up to Kearney Street. A policeman directed them to the post-office, and it did not take the party long to reach the place.
There were letters for all three. How eagerly Oliver cut open the envelope and read that which had been penned by his father! This was what he wrote:—
“I trust that when you receive this you will have had a safe journey. I suppose you found the trip a tedious one, not because it is devoid of interest, but because you were undoubtedly anxious to reach its end and begin the active part of your quest.
“I received your letter containing the particulars of what occurred in New York. I believe you are able to go ahead without my advice, and all I have to say is, be careful; for I am now sure that Colonel Mendix is a thoroughly bad man, and may get desperate if brought to bay.
“I inclose you an express money-order for one hundred dollars. Use it as you think best. I know you will not do so recklessly.
“I suppose that Gregory boy is with you. If he is, see that he does not get into trouble. His parents are much worried about him.
“I am getting well rapidly, and expect to be about before long. In the meanwhile I trust you will keep me posted on what you are doing, as I am getting more anxious every day. Write as soon as you receive this.”
Such was the gist of the affectionate father’s epistle. But there was much besides,—kind, loving words that need not be repeated here, but which, nevertheless, went straight to Oliver’s heart.
“I’ll write him a letter at once,” he thought; and buying stamps and paper, did so, stating that a long letter would follow almost immediately.