Auntie falls for it, too. She has me whisper in her ear just where the
treasure is stowed and how complete we'd thrown the crew off the trail.
I works up that sketch of my talk with the Swede second mate until I
had her shoulders shakin'.
"What a boy you are!" says she, gaspy.
"Don't overlook the fact that I'll be votin' next year," says I.
"How absurd!" says Auntie.
"We do grow up, you know," says I. "It's a habit we have. And now,
how about a glass of that iced pineapple the steward fixes so well?
Sure! Lemme fetch a couple."
The climax was when she got me to holdin' a skein of yarn for her. As
Old Hickory strolls by and sees me with my hands stuck out, I thought
he was goin' to swallow his cigar.
Still, I couldn't get just the right cue. Not that I'd mapped out
anything definite. I only knew I had something special and particular
to say to Auntie, but I couldn't spring it unless I got the proper
hunch. So the afternoon petered out, and the sun dropped into the
Gulf, and folks begun disappearin' to dress for dinner.
The word had been passed that this was to be a special event to-night,
so it's full white flannels for the men and evenin' gowns for the
ladies. You see, we hadn't told the outsiders a word.
Pages:
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261