? ? ? ? Even the little bugs of the black book were familiar friends, though their arrangement meant nothing to him; but these bugs were new and unheard of.
? ? ? ? For twenty minutes he pored over them, when suddenly they commenced to take familiar though distorted shapes. Ah, they were his old friends, but badly crippled.
? ? ? ? Then he began to make out a word here and a word there. His heart leaped for joy. He could read it, and he would.
? ? ? ? In another half hour he was progressing rapidly, and, but for an exceptional word now and again, he found it very plain sailing.
? ? ? ? Here is what he read:
West Coast Of Africa, About 10x Degrees South Latitude. (So Mr. Clayton says.)
February 3 (?), 1909.
Dearest Hazel:
? ? ? ? It seems foolish to write you a letter that you may never see, but I simply must tell somebody of our awful experiences since we sailed from Europe on the ill-fated Arrow.
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