We'll give you three minutes."
And of course, havin' it batted up to me that way by the big boss, and
with Vee gazin' at me expectant, I had to produce.
"You'll stand for any little tale I tell 'em, eh?" I asks.
"Absolutely," says he.
So we gets to work with the dozen or more canvas sacks that Rupert has
been foxy enough to bring along. In the bottom we puts a shovelful of
sand; then we dumps in the gold pieces and jewels promiscuous, with
more sand on top, not fillin' any sack more'n a third full. That made
'em easy to handle, and when they was tossed into the launch there was
no suspicious jingle or anything like that.
Half an hour later we was chuggin' away from the little natural jackpot
that we'd opened so successful, headed for the _Agnes_. And, believe
me, the old yacht looks mighty homey and invitin', lyin' there in the
calm of the mornin' with all her awnin's spread and a trickle of blue
smoke driftin' up from the forward galley.
"Any orders?" asks Mr. Ellins, as we starts to run alongside.
"I got a few words to say to them early-bird sailors that's
house-cleanin' the decks," says I. "I'm goin' to ask you to stay in
the boat, Mr. Ellins, and look worried. The rest can go aboard.
Captain Killam might rout out the chef and get action on an early
breakfast.
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