Ah well, _Grata superveniet quae
non sperabitur hora_, as the poet so truly says, and I cannot
express to you how eager, how happy I am, in the thought of
communicating with some one other than the natives of this
desolate isle. These inhabitants, though friendly on the whole,
are uncouth and barbaric. They spend their entire time fishing
from boats which they build themselves, or squatting beside their
huts mending their fishing implements.
The good soul with whom I am lodging is calling me to my scanty
repast. In the rude language of the place she tells me that there
is "Krabss al ad an dunny." How can I live long, I ask, on such
fare?
Hopefully, your
CASTAWAY COMRADE.
P.S. My address--mail reaches me from time to time, by aforesaid
vessel--is P.O. Box 14, Blue Harbor, Me. ME stands for Mid
Equator, but the abbreviation is sufficient. Blue Harbor is my own
literal translation of the native Bluar Boor. Box 14 refers to the
native system of delivering messages. P.O. has, I think, something
to do with the P. & O. steamers, which, however, do not very often
touch here.
"I _told_ you it would go around the world!" Greg said, when I had
finished, and Jerry and I were staring at each other.
"_Well!_" Jerry said at last. "_What_ luck!"
"I should rather say so," I said; "suppose a fisherman had found it,
or no one at all.
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