I hurries past to where Mr. Piddie
is tryin' to make his ingrowin' dignity let loose its grip for a minute.
"Ah!" says he. "Back from the sunny South, eh? And how did you find
Florida?"
"Easy," says I. "We looked it up on the map."
"No, no," says Piddie; "I mean, how was the weather down there?"
"No weather at all," says I. "They just have climate. How are things
around the shop, though?"
"Very satisfactory," says Piddie, rubbin' his hands.
"Bound to be," says I, "with you and Mr. Robert sittin' on the lid."
With which soothin' josh and a pat on the shoulder, I slips through
into the private office, where Mr. Robert sits puffin' a cigarette
placid in front of a heaped-up desk. When he sees me, he grins.
"Well, well!" says he, shovin' out the cordial palm. "So the treasure
seekers have returned, have they?" And he chuckles.
"Uh-huh!" says I, doin' a little grin on my own account.
"At least," he goes on, "you have a fine tropical complexion to show
for your trip. Little else, I presume?"
"Brace yourself, Mr. Robert," says I, "for you got a jolt comin'."
"Why," says he, "you can't mean that--"
I nods.
"Rupert had the right dope," says I. "It was just where he said it
was--jewels and everything.
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