THE envelope was a square, thinnish one, addressed in very small, black handwriting.
"It must be from The Bottle," Jerry said; "otherwise they would n't have thought you were a boy and put Christopher."
I had been thinking just the same thing while I was trying to open the envelope. It was one of the very tightly stuck kind that scrumples up when you try to rip it with your finger, and we had to slit it with a fruit-knife before we could get at the letter. There were sheets of thin paper all covered with writing, and when Jerry and Greg saw that, they both fell upon it so that none of us could read it at all. I