She and Auntie think nothing at all of driftin'
into places like Nagasaki or Honolulu or Algiers, hirin' a furnished
flat or a house, and campin' down just as if they belonged there;
places where they speak all kinds of crazy languages, where ice-cream
sodas don't grow at all, and where you don't even know what you're
eatin' half the time. Think of that! But Auntie's an original old
girl, take it from me.
"She ain't countin' on draggin' you off on this batty gold-diggin'
excursion, is she?" I asks the other evenin', as I was up makin' my
reg'lar Wednesday night call.
Vee shrugs her shoulders.
"I'm sure I don't know," says she. "You see, although she knows
perfectly well I've heard all about it, Auntie makes a deep mystery of
everything connected with this cruise. It's that absurd Captain Killam
who puts her up to it, I believe."
"Romantic Rupert?" says I. "Oh, he's a soft-shell on that subject.
Accordin' to his idea, anybody who overhears any details of this pirate
treasure tale of his is liable to grab a dirt shovel and rush right off
down there to begin diggin' Florida up by the roots. He loses sleep
worryin' as to whether someone else won't get there first. It would be
tough if Auntie should take you along, though.
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