Now, look. A freckle-faced parlor pirate with no more credentials than
a park pan-handler blows in from nowhere particular, and tells a wild
yarn about buried treasure on the west cost of Florida. First off he
gets Old Hickory Ellins, president of the Corrugated Trust and
generally a cagey old boy, more or less worked up. Mr. Ellins turns
him over to me, with orders to watch him close while he's investigatin'
the tale. Then, when I'm gabbin' free and careless about it to Vee,
her Auntie sits there with her ear stretched. She wants to know what
hotel I've left the Captain at. And the next mornin' he's gone. Also
on other counts the arrow points to Auntie.
There I was, too, on my way back to Old Hickory, figurin' whether I'd
better resign first and report afterwards, or just take my chances that
maybe after he'd slept on it he wouldn't be so keen about seein' this
Captain Killam again. Then the whole thing hit me on the funnybone.
Haw-haw! Auntie, the sober old girl with the mixed-pickle disposition,
suddenly comin' to life and pinchin' Old Hickory's find while he's
tryin' to make up his mind whether it's phony or not. Auntie, of all
people! More hearty haw-haws.
When I finally does drift into Old Hickory's private office and he
motions me to shut the door, I'm still registerin' merry thoughts.
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