"She ain't countin' on draggin' you off on this batty gold-diggin' excursion, is she?" I asks the other evenin', as I was up makin' my reg'lar Wednesday night call. Vee shrugs her shoulders. "I'm sure I don't know," says she. "You see, although she knows perfectly well I've heard all about it, Auntie makes a deep mystery of everything connected with this cruise. It's that absurd Captain Killam who puts her up to it, I believe." "Romantic Rupert?" says I. "Oh, he's a soft-shell on that subject. Accordin' to his idea, anybody who overhears any details of this pirate treasure tale of his is liable to grab a dirt shovel and rush right off down there to begin diggin' Florida up by the roots. He loses sleep worryin' as to whether someone else won't get there first. It would be tough if Auntie should take you along, though. I'd hate that." "Would you?" says Vee. "Really? Well, I've been asked to visit at three places--Greenwich, Piping Rock, and here in town. How would that be?" "Not so bad," says I, "specially that last proposition. I'm strong for your visitin' here in town." "Perhaps we shall hear to-night whether I'm to go or not," says Vee. "They are to hold some sort of meeting here--everyone who has been asked on the cruise. There's someone now." "It's Mr. Ellins," says I, "and-- Oh, look who he's towin' along--J. Dudley Simms. He must be for comic relief." Just why him and Old Hickory should be such great friends I never could make out, for they're about as much alike as T and S. Dudley's as thin as Mr. Ellins is thick; he always wears that batty twisted smile, while Old Hickory's mouth corners are generally straight, and he knows no more about finance than an ostrich does about playin' first base. Mr. Simms owns a big block of Corrugated preferred, and he's supposed to be on the Board; but all he ever does is to sign over proxy slips and duck directors' meetings. "I'm an orphan, you know," is his stock remark when anyone tries to talk business to him. Even if he didn't wear gray spats and a wide ribbon on his eyeglasses, you'd spot him for a funny gink by the offset ears and the odd way he has of carryin' his head a little to one side. "What a queer-looking person!" whispers Vee. "Wait until you hear him spring some of his nutty conversation," says I. By this time the bell buzzes again, and Helma shows in a dumpy little woman with partly gray hair and Baldwin apple cheeks--evidently a friend of Auntie's by the way they go to a clinch. "Mrs. Mumford," says Vee. "Auntie's donation to the party, eh?" says I. "Just listen to her coo!" "S-s-sh!" says Vee, snickerin'. That's what it was, though--cooin'. Seems to be her specialty, too, for she goes bobbin' and bowin' around the room, makin' noises like a turtle-dove on a top branch. "O-o-o-oh, Mr. Ellins!" says she. "So glad to know you. O-o-o-oh!" And she smiles and ducks her head and beams gushy on everyone in sight.