“You tell it well,” says I.  “Just as though I hadn’t been doin’ my best to dodge the net!  But what chance has a man got when he’s cornered at breakfast and she offers to—­ Ouch!”

Vee springs one of them boardin’-school tricks of hers, shootin’ a teaspoonful of water accurate across the table.

“Rough-houser!” says I, moppin’ my eye with the napkin.  “If your Auntie can’t train you, maybe she’ll let me try.”

“Oh, no doubt she would,” says Vee.

“I might ask her,” I suggests.

“I’d love to be around when you did,” says she, rollin’ her eyes impish.

“Meanin’ I wouldn’t dare, eh?” says I.

Vee only dabbles her pink finger-ends in the little glass bowl, and chuckles like she was rememberin’ something funny.

“Suppose I did and got away with it?” I asks.

Vee gives me a quizzin’ glance from them gray eyes, one of the kind that sort of warms me up under my vest.

“I couldn’t decorate you with the Victoria Cross,” says she.

“But would you take a chance on the results?” I asks.

“One of the silly things I’ve learned from you,” says Vee, lowerin’ her eyelids fetchin’, “is to—­to take a chance.”

“Vee!” says I, startin’ to dash around the table.

“Hush!” says she, wavin’ me hack.  “Here come your eggs.”

Say, what went on durin’ the rest of the day I couldn’t tell.  I expect it was a good deal the same kind of an afternoon we’d been havin’ right along, but to me it was three X double A with the band playin’.  I was light in the head and I had springs in my heels.  Everything and everybody looked good to me.

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.