Course, treasure huntin' was just what had lured us so far from home. For nearly three weeks, now, that had been the big notion. But cruisin' around in a yacht lookin' for pirate gold as sort of a freaky lark is one thing, while actually diggin' it out and seein' it heaped before you on the sand is another. Maybe Captain Killam was expectin' to carry the game this far. He's just cocky enough for that. But it's plain to see that Auntie and Mr. Ellins had been playin' a long shot just for the sport of holdin' a ticket and watchin' the wheel turn. As for me and Vee, we'd pooh-poohed the idea consistent from the very start, and had only been let in along towards the last because we'd happened to be useful. I don't know that we was any more staggered, though, than the rest of 'em. One sure sign that Old Hickory and Auntie was excited was the fact that they'd begun callin' each other by their given names. "Cornelia," says he, "we've done it. We have achieved adventure." "In spite of our gray hairs--eh, Matthew?" says she. "In spite of everything," says Old Hickory. "True, we haven't been shipwrecked, or endured hardship, or spilled any gore. But we have outfaced a lot of ridicule. If the whiskered old sinners who hid away this stuff had met as much they might have given up piracy in disgust. Who knows?" With that Mr. Ellins snips the end from a fat black cigar, jams his hands in his pockets, and spreads his feet wide apart. He's costumed in a flannel outing shirt open at the neck, and a pair of khaki trousers stuffed into hip rubber boots with the tops turned down. Also his grizzly hair is tousled and his face is well smeared up with soot or something. Honest, if he'd had a patch over one eye and gold rings in his ears he could have qualified as a bold, bad buccaneer himself. Only there's an amiable cut-up twinkle under them shaggy brows of his, such as I'd never seen there before. "Killam," says he, "why don't you chortle?" "I--I beg pardon?" says Rupert. He's sittin' on a log, busy rollin' a cigarette, and in place of his usual solemn air he looks satisfied and happy. That's as much as he can seem to loosen up. "Great pickled persimmons, man!" snorts Old Hickory. "Let's be human. Come, we're all tickled to death, aren't we? Let's make a noise about it, then. Torchy, can't you start something appropriate?" "Sure!" says I. "How about doin' a war dance? Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh! Get in step, Vee. Now we're off. Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh!" "Fine!" says Old Hickory, droppin' in behind Vee and roarin' out the Sagawa patter like a steam siren. "Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh! Come, Captain. Fall in, Cornelia. Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh!" Would you believe it? Well, Auntie does. I never thought it was in the old girl. But say, there she is, her gray hair streamin' down over her shoulders, her skirts grabbed up on either side, and lettin' out the yelps easy and joyous. Even Rupert has to grin and join in.