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