Round and round that treasure heap we prances, like so many East Side kids 'round a Maypole in Central Park, with the yuh-huhs comin' faster and louder, until finally Auntie slumps on the sand and uncorks the only real genuine laugh I've ever known her to be guilty of. No wonder Vee stops and rushes over to her. "Why, Auntie!'" says Vee. "What's the matter?" "Matter?" says Auntie, breathin' hard and chucklin' in between. "Why, my dear child, I haven't done anything so absurd as this since--since I was forty, and--and it has done me a world of good, I'm sure." What do you know about that? Admits she carried on as late as forty! And here I'd supposed she was born scowlin' about the time tabasco sauce was invented. Well, once more I got to revise my ideas about her. Maybe she ain't any frostier underneath than the rest of us. "Allow me, Cornelia, to present you with the palm," says Mr. Ellins, handin' her a palmetto leaf. "As a war dancer you betray evidence of previous proficiency. Doesn't she, Torchy?" "I'll bet she could have had Mrs. Sittin' Bull crowded into the back drop," says I grinnin'. And Auntie returns the grin. You might know it would be Rupert who'd break the spell. "I am wondering," says be, "just how we are going to get all this treasure on board the yacht without the crew knowing all about it." "Why wonder?" says Old Hickory. "Leave it to Torchy." "Ah, say!" I protests. "No alibis," insists Mr. Ellins, slappin' me encouragin' on the shoulder. "Strategy is what we want from you, young man. Plenty of it under that brilliant hair of yours. 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."