Simple way to pa.s.s the time, eh? But, somehow, we couldn't seem to take it in that we'd actually done the trick. I know I couldn't. I've always kidded myself along, too, that I was something of a speed artist when it came to framin' up a situation. I expect we all hand ourselves little floral offerings like that. But when we get up against anything really new--that is, some sensation we ain't happened to meet before--we find we ain't such hair-trigger propositions, after all. We catches ourselves doin' the open-face act, while the little stranger idea stands tappin' patient on the wood.

Course, treasure huntin' was just what had lured us so far from home.

For nearly three weeks, now, that had been the big notion. But cruisin' around in a yacht lookin' for pirate gold as sort of a freaky lark is one thing, while actually diggin' it out and seein' it heaped before you on the sand is another.

Maybe Captain Killam was expectin' to carry the game this far. He's just c.o.c.ky enough for that. But it's plain to see that Auntie and Mr.

Ellins had been playin' a long shot just for the sport of holdin' a ticket and watchin' the wheel turn. As for me and Vee, we'd pooh-poohed the idea consistent from the very start, and had only been let in along towards the last because we'd happened to be useful. I don't know that we was any more staggered, though, than the rest of 'em. One sure sign that Old Hickory and Auntie was excited was the fact that they'd begun callin' each other by their given names.

"Cornelia," says he, "we've done it. We have achieved adventure."

"In spite of our gray hairs--eh, Matthew?" says she.

"In spite of everything," says Old Hickory. "True, we haven't been shipwrecked, or endured hardship, or spilled any gore. But we have outfaced a lot of ridicule. If the whiskered old sinners who hid away this stuff had met as much they might have given up piracy in disgust.

Who knows?"

With that Mr. Ellins snips the end from a fat black cigar, jams his hands in his pockets, and spreads his feet wide apart. He's costumed in a flannel outing shirt open at the neck, and a pair of khaki trousers stuffed into hip rubber boots with the tops turned down. Also his grizzly hair is tousled and his face is well smeared up with soot or something. Honest, if he'd had a patch over one eye and gold rings in his ears he could have qualified as a bold, bad buccaneer himself.

Only there's an amiable cut-up twinkle under them s.h.a.ggy brows of his, such as I'd never seen there before.

"Killam," says he, "why don't you chortle?"

"I--I beg pardon?" says Rupert.

He's sittin' on a log, busy rollin' a cigarette, and in place of his usual solemn air he looks satisfied and happy. That's as much as he can seem to loosen up.

"Great pickled persimmons, man!" snorts Old Hickory. "Let's be human.

Come, we're all tickled to death, aren't we? Let's make a noise about it, then. Torchy, can't you start something appropriate?"

"Sure!" says I. "How about doin' a war dance? Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh! Get in step, Vee. Now we're off. Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh!"

"Fine!" says Old Hickory, droppin' in behind Vee and roarin' out the Sagawa patter like a steam siren. "Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh! Come, Captain.

Fall in, Cornelia. Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh!"

Would you believe it? Well, Auntie does. I never thought it was in the old girl. But say, there she is, her gray hair streamin' down over her shoulders, her skirts grabbed up on either side, and lettin' out the yelps easy and joyous. Even Rupert has to grin and join in.

Round and round that treasure heap we prances, like so many East Side kids 'round a Maypole in Central Park, with the yuh-huhs comin' faster and louder, until finally Auntie slumps on the sand and uncorks the only real genuine laugh I've ever known her to be guilty of. No wonder Vee stops and rushes over to her.

"Why, Auntie!'" says Vee. "What's the matter?"

"Matter?" says Auntie, breathin' hard and chucklin' in between. "Why, my dear child, I haven't done anything so absurd as this since--since I was forty, and--and it has done me a world of good, I'm sure."

What do you know about that? Admits she carried on as late as forty!

And here I'd supposed she was born scowlin' about the time tabasco sauce was invented. Well, once more I got to revise my ideas about her. Maybe she ain't any frostier underneath than the rest of us.

"Allow me, Cornelia, to present you with the palm," says Mr. Ellins, handin' her a palmetto leaf. "As a war dancer you betray evidence of previous proficiency. Doesn't she, Torchy?"

"I'll bet she could have had Mrs. Sittin' Bull crowded into the back drop," says I grinnin'.

And Auntie returns the grin.

You might know it would be Rupert who'd break the spell.

"I am wondering," says be, "just how we are going to get all this treasure on board the yacht without the crew knowing all about it."

"Why wonder?" says Old Hickory. "Leave it to Torchy."

"Ah, say!" I protests.

"No alibis," insists Mr. Ellins, slappin' me encouragin' on the shoulder. "Strategy is what we want from you, young man. Plenty of it under that brilliant hair of yours. We'll give you three minutes."

And of course, havin' it batted up to me that way by the big boss, and with Vee gazin' at me expectant, I had to produce.

"You'll stand for any little tale I tell 'em, eh?" I asks.

"Absolutely," says he.

So we gets to work with the dozen or more canvas sacks that Rupert has been foxy enough to bring along. In the bottom we puts a shovelful of sand; then we dumps in the gold pieces and jewels promiscuous, with more sand on top, not fillin' any sack more'n a third full. That made 'em easy to handle, and when they was tossed into the launch there was no suspicious jingle or anything like that.

Half an hour later we was chuggin' away from the little natural jackpot that we'd opened so successful, headed for the _Agnes_. And, believe me, the old yacht looks mighty homey and invitin', lyin' there in the calm of the mornin' with all her awnin's spread and a trickle of blue smoke driftin' up from the forward galley.

"Any orders?" asks Mr. Ellins, as we starts to run alongside.

"I got a few words to say to them early-bird sailors that's house-cleanin' the decks," says I. "I'm goin' to ask you to stay in the boat, Mr. Ellins, and look worried. The rest can go aboard.

Captain Killam might rout out the chef and get action on an early breakfast."

"Ay, ay, Captain Torchy," says Old Hickory. "Here we are, with a smiling reception committee to greet us, as usual."

There was five in the scrubbin' squad, includin' the second mate, a pie-faced Swede by the name of Nelse; and, while they seems mighty busy with pails and mops and bra.s.s polishers, I notice they all manages to drift over to our side of the yacht. You couldn't exactly accuse them of wearin' grins, but they did look as though something amusin' had occurred recent. Which shows we was still doin' duty as human jokes.

But that's just what I makes my play on.

As soon as I can dash up the landin' steps, I beckons the second mate to follow me aft.

"Call your bunch back here, too," says I, "So there'll be no bonehead plays made."

Then, when I gets 'em together, I tips Nelse the knowin' wink.

"You ain't supposed to know a thing about what's been goin' on to-night, eh?" I asks.

Nelse, he shrugs his shoulders.

"Aye yust know about work," says he, lyin' free and easy.

"That's a swell motto to pin on the wall," says I. "But listen, Nelse, while I put a case to you. Suppose, now, you'd been tipped off that if you dug under a certain bush in a certain back yard you'd find--well, something worth luggin' away? Ah, never mind shakin' your head! This is only supposin'. And we'll say the neighbors were wise; they'd watched you go out with your spade and lantern. And after you'd near broke your back diggin' you found you'd been buffaloed. Are you followin' me?"

Who says a Swede is all solid maple from the neck up? Nelse's b.u.t.termilk blue eyes flickers with almost human intelligence. Some of the men smother a snicker.

"Well," I goes on, "we'll say you was sensitive about it. In order to duck their frivolous remarks when you came sneakin' back, maybe you'd be deceitful enough to bluff it through. You might lug something home in the bag, even if it was only some loose real estate. I don't say you would, mind you. You got such an honest, cash-register face. But there are shifty parties who could do that and never bat an eye. I ain't mentionin' any names."

I didn't need to. To a man, they glances over the rail at Mr. Ellins.

"Then that's all," says I. "Only you got to lay off with them merry expressions when you lug those sacks aboard. Handle 'em careful and reverent, and stow 'em in the main cabin where you're told. If you do it well I expect there'll be more or less in it for all of you. Now, then, got your cues, have you?"