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CHAPTER II
OF course we did n't really suppose that any one would pick up the bottle, unless it might be some Greek fisherman who would sling it back into the water again. I'm afraid I suspected that it would just bob about under some slimy pier-head until it got smashed at last, but Greg was so sure that it would go to Kamchatka at least, or some out-of-the-way place, that I hated to tell him my fears. He asked everybody the queerest questions about currents and the Gulf Stream, and then sat figuring things out on his fingers. He'd never been so much interested in the other bottles we'd launched the summer before, but then, they had n't our address in them, and he was littler, too.
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