"Thanks, Barney," says Old Hickory, "but I'm no whaler. In fact, I'm no fisherman at all."

"Oh, I see," says Megrue. "Just cruising, eh? Well, that's all right if you like it. People come to Florida for all sorts of things. Which reminds me of something rich. Heard it from my boatman. He tells me there's a party of New York folks down here hunting for pirate gold.

Haw, haw! How about that, eh?"

Embarra.s.sin' pause. Very. n.o.body dared look at anybody else. At least, I didn't. I was waverin' between a gasp and a snicker, and was nearly chokin' over it, when Old Hickory clears his throat raspy and menacin'.

"Well, what about it?" he asks snappy.

"Why," says Megrue, "it seems too good to be true, that's all. As I told the boys up at the hotel, if there are any real treasure-hunting bugs around, I want to get a good look at 'em--especially if they're from New York. That's one on you, eh, Ellins? Proves you have a few folks in the big town who have bats in their belfries, don't it?"

That gets an uneasy squirm out of Old Hickory, but he comes right back at him.

"Just why?" he demands.

"Why, great Scott, Ellins," goes on Megrue enthusiastic, "don't you know that buried treasure stuff is the stalest kind of tourist bait in use on the whole Florida coast? The hotel people have been handing that out for the past fifty years. Wouldn't think anyone could be still found who'd bite at it, would you? But it seems they exist.

Every once in a while a new lot of come-ons show up, with their old charts and their nice new shovels, and go to digging. Why, I was shown a place just north of Little Gasparilla--Cotton River, they call it--where the banks have been dug up for miles by these simple-minded nuts.

"Every now and then, too, they circulate that musty tale about an old Spaniard, in Tampa or Fort Myers or somewhere, who whispers deathbed directions about finding a chest of gold buried at the foot of a lone palmetto on some key or other. And say, they tell me there isn't a lone tree on this section of the coast that hasn't been dug up by the roots. Good old human nature can't be downed, can it? You can suppress the green-goods and gold-brick games, but folks will still go to shoveling sand if you mention pirates to 'em. What I want is to see 'em at it once."

The harder you jolt Old Hickory, though, the steadier he gets.

"Huh!" says he, smilin' sarcastic. "An ambition such as yours ought to be gratified. Take a good look at us, Megrue."

"Wha-a-a-at!" gasps Barney, starin' at him. "You--you don't mean that--that--"

"Precisely," says Old Hickory. "We are the crack-brained New Yorkers you are so anxious to see."

Well, when he recovers his breath he does his best to square himself.

He apologizes four different ways, gettin' in deeper with every turn, until finally he edges towards the stairs and makes his escape.

"At least," remarks Old Hickory, "I suppose it is something to provide a source of innocent merriment. I trust we are not overlooking anyone who might wish to be amused."

Before the evenin' was over he had his answer. About eight-thirty out comes a fast motor-boat and ties up alongside without askin' leave.

Reporters, two of 'em. They climbs up, grinnin' and amiable, specially the fat one in the tight-fittin' Palm Beach suit. They wanted to know when we was goin' to start digging and if we'd mind their bringin' out a movie machine, so one of 'em could get a few hundred feet of film for a picture news service that he represented.

"It ought to be great stuff," says Fatty.

"Young man," says Old Hickory, breathin' hard and talkin' through his teeth, "have you any idea what a splash you'd make if you were dropped overboard?"

"Oh, come, guv'nor," protests Fatty; "we only want to--"

About then, though, he decides to make a scramble for his boat and the interview was off. Old Hickory stands glarin' after the pair until they're out of sight. Then he chuckles unpleasant.

"For a private, not to say secret, enterprise," says he, "it occurs to me that ours is rather well advertised. What next, I wonder?"

"There's a big boat headed this way on the other side," says I. "Seems to me I hear a band, too."

"Excursionists!" says Auntie. "Do you suppose they would have the impudence?"

"Looks like a moonlight round trip, with the _Agnes_ as the object of interest," says I. "Yep! They've got the searchlight on us."

"This is insufferable!" says Auntie, and beats it below, to lock herself in her stateroom.

"Gr-r-r-r!" remarks Old Hickory, and follows suit.

We never did trace out who had done such thorough press work for us; but I have my suspicions it was the chief steward, who went ash.o.r.e reg'lar every morning after milk and cream. But the round-trippers surely was well posted. We could hear 'em talkin' us over, shoutin'

their comments above the rumble of the engine.

Vee and I didn't want to miss any of it, so we hikes up on the bridge and camps behind the canvas spray shield. Captain Lennon come up, too, sort of standin' guard. It was 'most like bein' under fire in the trenches.

"That's her--the _Agnes_ of New York!" we heard 'em sing out. "My, what a perfectly swell yacht, Minnie! Ain't they the b.o.o.bs, though?

Hey, Sam, why dontcher ask them squirrels can they make a noise like a nut? Huntin' pirate gold, are they? Who's been kiddin' 'em that way?"

"Little sample of Southern hospitality, I expect," says I. "All they lack is a few ripe eggs and some garden confetti."

"I wonder if Auntie can hear?" giggles Vee. "Do you know what this makes me feel like? As if I were a person in a cartoon."

"You've said it," says I. "What I mind most, though, is that fresh gink with the searchlight. Say, Cap'n, why couldn't we turn ours loose at him as a come-back?"

"Go ahead," says Captain Lennon, throwin' a switch.

Say, that was a great little thought, for the _Agnes_ has a high-powered glim, and when I swung it onto that excursion boat it made theirs look like a boardin'-house gas jet with the pressure low. You could see the folks blinkin' and battin' their eyes as if they was half blinded. Nest I picks up the pilot house and gives the man at the wheel the full benefit.

"Hey! Take off that light," he sings out. "I can't see where I'm runnin'. Take it off!"

"Switch off yours, then, you mutt," says I, "and run your cheap sandwich gang back where they belong under the hominy vines."

My, don't that raise a howl, though! They wanted to mob us for keeps then, and all sorts of junk begun to fly through the air. Then Cap'n Lennon took a hand.

"Sheer off there!" he orders, "or I'll turn the fire hose on yon."

Well, the excursion captain stayed long enough to pa.s.s the time of day, but when he saw the sailors unreelin' the hose he got a move on; and in half an hour we was lyin' quiet again in the moonlight.

Must have been well on towards midnight, and I was just ready to turn in when Mr. Ellins comes paddin' out of his stateroom, luggin' two pairs of hip rubber boots.

"Torchy," says he, "call Killam, will you?"

By the time I'd routed out Rupert, I finds Auntie and Vee waitin' in the main cabin, all dressed for travel.

"I may be the oldest joke on record," says Old Hickory, "but I propose to know before morning what is in that mound. Of course, if anyone feels foolish about going--"

"I do, for one," speaks up Auntie, "and I should think you would, too, Matthew Ellins. We've been told how silly we are enough times to-night, haven't we?"

"We have," says Old Hickory. "Which is just why I propose to see this thing through."

"And I am quite as stubborn as you are," says Auntie. "That is why I am going, too."

Vee and I didn't put up any apologies. We just trailed along silent.