"Three weeks from to-day," returned the other, whose English was perfect save in moments of excitement. "I have a group to finish for the Metropolitan here. Then we go."
"All right. I'll meet you up here three weeks from to-day, with my friends, at twelve sharp."
Such was the interesting prelude to the letter which came to Charlie Collins at Calgary, Canada, five days later. Charlie was one of the boys whom the General had proposed to take with him to Africa. Born in Nova Scotia, he had tramped his way across the continent at the age of seventeen, when his father died. Catching the Peace River fever he had made his way back to Calgary, then up to Peace River Landing, where he went to work to make enough money to turn homesteader. At this juncture Schoverling had met him while on a hunting trip. The General had become keenly interested in the boy, whose ambitions were high. Charlie was accustomed to depending on himself, which caught the explorer's fancy. He had knocked the homesteading notion out of Charlie's head and got him a position at Calgary, where he was now learning the trade of electrician.
So when Charlie walked into the office on that Saturday morning and found a bulky letter from the Explorers' Club, he tore it open in keen anticipation. For five minutes he stood reading in amazement; then he uttered a yell that brought the eyes of the office force down on him, and rushed to the paymaster's desk.
"Give me my time, Mr. Clarke!" he cried, his gray eyes and pleasant, healthy face denoting high excitement. "I've got to quit right off!"
"What's the matter? Fallen heir to a million?" laughed the man behind the window, who was used to his men quitting at a moment's notice.
"Better than that! Jumping sandhills! I'm going to Africa!" almost shouted the boy, as he grabbed his pay envelope and put for the door.
"Hey! Better take your hat!" shouted some one, and Charlie made a quick return for his forgotten headgear, then vanished. When he found himself in his boarding-house room with the door locked, he flung off his coat and settled down to read over once more the wonderful letter. It was written in the customary vein of the explorer—as if he was talking to his reader.
"My dear Charlie:—
"Draw your time and beat it for New York. Meet me at the Explorers' Club at noon of the 22nd. Bring Jack Sawtooth ditto. You don't know him but you will soon. We're going to Africa—sail the night of the 22nd, so hump yourself, old man!