Us and the Bottleman | Page 9

of Wecanicut. When you're standing on
the very end you might think you really were on a deserted island,
because you can look straight out to sea.
We cut back cross-country through the bay-bushes and the dry, tickly
grass to our usual part of Wecanicut, where the grown-ups were just
beginning to collect the baskets and things and to look at their watches.
We posted the letter on the way home, and Greg jiggled the flap of the
letter-box twice to make sure that it wasn't stuck.
It was that week that Jerry sprained his ankle jumping off the
porch-roof and had to sit in the big wicker chair with his foot on a
pillow for days. He hated it, but he didn't make any fuss at all, which
was decent of him considering that the weather was the best we'd had
all summer. We played chess, which he likes because he can always
beat me, and also "Pounce," which pulls your eyes out after a little
while and burns holes in your brain. It's that frightful card game where
you try to get rid of thirteen cards before any one else, and snatch at
aces in the middle, on top of everybody. Jerry is horribly clever at it
and shouts "Pounce!" first almost every time. Greg always has at least
twelve of his thirteen cards left and explains to you very carefully how
he had it all planned very far ahead and would have won if Jerry hadn't
said "Pounce" so soon.

Also, Father let Jerry play the 'cello, and he made heavenly hideous
sounds which he said were exactly like what the Sea Monster's voice
would be if it had one. Just when we were all rather despairing, because
Dr. Topham said that Jerry mustn't walk for two days more, the very
thing happened which we'd been hoping for. Greg came up all the
porch steps at once with one bounce, brandishing a square 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 call it, and not one
to trifle with. Yet it might well be, as you think, that the
sudden-appearing cavern is the mouth of a pirate cave fairly bursting
with treasure, and only now exposed