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.
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