And sure enough, after coffee had been
passed, he proceeds to tackle the situation square and solid, like he
always does. He waves off the stewards and sends for Lennon, the yacht
captain.
One of these chunky, square-jawed gents, Captain Lennon is, and about
as sociable as a traffic cop on duty. His job is runnin' the yacht,
and he sticks to it.
"Captain," says Mr. Ellins, "I want to know something about your crew.
What are they like, now?"
The Cap looks sort of puzzled.
"Why, they're all right, I guess," says he.
"Please don't guess," cuts in Auntie. "Are they all good, responsible,
steady-going trust-worthy men, on whose character you can absolutely
depend?"
"I couldn't say, madam," says he. "We don't get 'em from divinity
schools."
"Of course not," chimes in Old Hickory. "What we really want to know
is this: Do your men suspect what we are here for?"
The Captain nods.
"How much do they know--er--about the buried treasure, for instance?"
demands Old Hickory.
Captain Lennon shrugs his shoulders.
"About twice as much as is so, I suppose," says he. "They're great
gossips, sailors--worse than so many old women."
"Huh!" grunts Mr. Ellins. "And about how long have they known all
this?"
"I overheard some of them talking about it before we sailed," says the
Captain.
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