envelope and shouting:

"The Bottle Man!"

It was addressed to all of us, but I turned it over to Jerry to do
the honors with, on account of his being a poor invalid and Abused
by Fate. He had the envelope open in two shakes, with the
complicated knife he always carries, and pulled out any amount of
paper. He stared at the top page for a minute, and then said:

"Here, Greg, this is for you. You can be pawing over it while we're
reading the proper one."

But I said, "Not so fast," and "Let's hear it all, one at a time."

So I took Greg's and read it aloud, because he takes such an
everlasting time over handwriting and this writing was rather queer
and hard to read. This is his letter:

_Respected Comrade Gregory Holford:_

I am writing to you separately because you wrote to me
separately, and very much I liked your letter. I cannot tell
you how much relieved I am to hear that toast has been
substituted for barnacles in your diet. In the long run,
toast is far better for a mariner, however hardy he may be.

It is indeed a long way from Wecanicut to the Equator,--but
are you sure you measured to ME.--_Mid_ Equator? It is very
different, you know. The bearded one is pleased with me and
has not brought his poison bottles of late, but thank you for
not wanting me to die just now. I do not know of any treasure
in Bluar Boor, but I refer you to the enclosed letter which
tells something of treasure elsewhere. I hope your search on
Wecanicut, my dear sir, will be richly rewarded.

Please note that I refer to _natives_, not _savages_. There
is a vasty difference; more than you perhaps might suppose.

May I inscribe myself your most humble servant,

THE BOTTLE MAN.

P.S. I'm so glad your Bones are still where they belong.

Greg was counting elaborately on his fingers, and said:

"I believe he answered _everything_ in my letter, but please let me
have it, because there are some things I need to work out myself."

"Now for the business," Jerry said. "This must be the whole sad
story of his life,--there's pages of it. Coil yourself up
comfortably, Chris, and I'll fire away."

So I coiled up beside Greg on the Gloucester hammock, and Jerry
began to read.

CHAPTER V

From my desolate island refuge I salute the Intrepid Trio!
Good sirs, what you tell me of the "Sea Monster" makes my
flesh creep and my hair stir with terror. A murderous bad
place I should