Oliver had quite some trouble in deciphering the letter, which had been written in great haste. It is needless to say its contents pleased him greatly. A heavy load was lifted from his heart, for he had dreaded the thought of being recalled, and giving up the quest.
“I must not fail,” he murmured to himself, as he put the letter in his pocket. “Father expects me to succeed, even if he doesn’t say so. I am sure if I do not he will never get over the blow.”
There was some truth in this, though not as much as Oliver was inclined to believe. Yet the boy walked from the post-office with a firmer determination to follow his purpose to its end and recognize no such word as fail.
He spent the evening in writing a long reply to his father, and also in sending several letters to intimate friends, including one to Gus Gregory, which was destined never to reach his chum for reasons that will soon appear.
Oliver slept more comfortably that night than he had the first. He was up, however, at seven o’clock; and after getting breakfast and settling his bill made his way down to the steamer which was to afford him passage to Aspinwall.
Here he found all bustle and confusion. Passengers and the last of the cargo, as well as the mails, were arriving all at the same time. He sought out his stateroom and stowed away his valise, and then went on deck to view the scene.
He wondered who his room-mate was to be; but though he asked several he was unable to find out, and no one appeared.
“Maybe I will have the room all to myself,” he thought; “that will be much nicer.”
But the stream of people that were coming aboard seemed to indicate otherwise. What a motley crowd it was! Americans, Spaniards, Englishmen, several Chinamen, and half a dozen blacks.
Surely time would not hang heavily among such people. Oliver was already interested in the manners and speeches to be seen and heard around him.