"What nonsense you talk sometimes!" he retorted. "It must have been something. We'll retreat and see."
Suiting the action to the words, Hans backed water with his oars, and in the dim light of the moon we soon descried the object of our search—a curious old earthen vessel floating in the river, bobbing up and down very much like a buoy. It looked like a water-bottle of two centuries ago, and, indeed, upon investigation turned out to be such.
"Aha!" cried Hans, triumphantly, as I lifted the bottle into the boat, "it was something, after all. I knew it could not be nothing. Is it empty of contents?"
I turned the vessel bottom side up, and nothing came out of it, but there was a distinct thud within which betrayed the presence of some solid substance.
"It is not empty of contents," said I, giving it another shake, "but it hasn't any table to show what those contents are."
"Oh, we don't need a table," said Hans, failing to appreciate the subtle humor of my remark. "Just shake it out."
With a sigh over my lost joke, I did as I was bidden, and soon, after a vigorous shaking and the removal of a cork which I had not previously noticed, the substance within issued forth through the bottle's neck.
"Dear me," said I. "It appears to be manuscript."
"Let me see," said Hans. "Ah," he observed, "it is writing. Why did you say it was manuscript?"
"That is writing," I explained.