to a half-breed Peruvian that comes slinking to your window,
no matter how enticing may be his tales of treasure.

Your most faithful

BOTTLE MAN.


"_Do_ you think he dreamed it?" Jerry said.

"Whatever it was, he must have been glad to get back," I said,
switching off the light so that we could talk in the dark, which is
more creepy and pleasant.

"But the treasure!" Jerry said. "Do you suppose there ever was such
treasure in the world? That's something like! Imagine finding gold
trees and birds eating jewels on the Sea Monster! By the way, do you
know about 'Cornelia'?"

I said I thought she had something to do with sitting on a hill and
her children turning to stone one after the other, but Jerry said
that was Niobe and that it was she who turned to stone, not the
children. He has a fearfully long memory. So we put on the light
again and looked it up in "The Reader's Handbook," because we didn't
want to bother the grown-ups, and we found, of course, that she was
the Roman lady who pointed at her sons and said, "These are my
jewels!" when somebody asked her where her gold and ornaments were.
So naturally the Bottle Man didn't feel like repeating such a
complimentary thing, being an un-stuck-up person, but we did think
it was nice of his mother.