I jollied Old Hickory into lettin' me tip the sailors that had lugged the sacks aboard, and I threw in some of his best cigars just by way of relievin' my feelin's. Whenever I passed Captain Rupert Killam I hammered him on the back folksy and told him he sure was some discoverer. I even let Mrs. Mumford feed me an earful about how the late dear Mr. Mumford always remembered to send home a bunch of roses on their weddin' anniversary. Rather than revisit the scene himself, I suppose. But when it come to playin' opposite Auntie--say, I was right there with the Percy-boy stuff: givin' her a hand up the stairs when she came on deck, leadin' her to a chair on the shady side, and hintin' how she looked mighty chipper after an all-night session such as we'd had. Talk about smooth stuff! I had the inside of a banana peel lookin' like a nutmeg grater. 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. In fact, they didn't even know we'd been away from the yacht durin' the night. It's a swell feed the steward puts on, too, considerin' where we was. Nothin' dry about it, either; for, while Mr. Ellins ain't a great hand to overdo irrigation, he's no guide to the Great Desert. There was silver ice buckets on the floor, and J. Dudley Simms lost a side bet to Professor Leonidas Barr on namin' the vintage. He was five years too young. Not until coffee had been served did Old Hickory give any hint that this was to be a regular celebration, with post-prandial doin's. Then he proceeds to chase out all the help, lockin' the doors behind 'em. Next he has me pull the shades over the cabin windows.