"Who'd ever think of running across you down here?
After tarpon, eh? That's me, too. Hung up my third fish for the
season only yesterday; a beauty, too--hundred and sixty-three
pounds--and it took me just two hours and forty-five minutes to make
the kill. But say, Ellins, this is no stand for real strikes. Now,
you move up to Boca Grande to-morrow and I'll show you fishing that's
something like."
"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?"
Embarrassin' pause. Very. Nobody 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.
Pages:
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236