I expect
we all felt like we was about to open an April fool package, and wished
the others hadn't been there to watch. None of us could pass anyone
else the laugh; that was some satisfaction.
There was enough outsiders, though, to give us the titter. Megrue was
sure to spread the tale among Old Hickory's business friends. And who
knew what that pair of foiled interviewers would do to us? Some of
their stuff might get into the New York papers. Then wouldn't Mr.
Ellins be let in for a choice lot of joshin'! No wonder he sits
chewin' savage at a cold cigar.
When we gets near the little island, though, he rouses up. He pulls on
a pair of wadin' boots and, tosses another pair to me. Rupert, he's
all fixed up for rough work, and even Vee has brought some high huntin'
shoes.
So, when we lands, each takes a shiny new spade or a pick and makes
ready to explore the mound that looms mysterious through the mangrove
bushes. First off, Rupert has to toss out a couple of gas bombs, in
case there might be rattlers roamin' around. And, believe me, any
snake that could stand that smell was entitled to stay on the ground.
It's ten or fifteen minutes before we dared go near ourselves. Rupert
suggests that we start a tunnel in from the bottom, and sort of relay
each other as our wind gives out.
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