“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.

“Friends,” says he, “you all know what it was that we came down here for.  It sounded foolish in New York, I acknowledge.  Even in these surroundings, our enterprise may have appealed to some of you as a bit fantastic.  But—­Torchy, will you and Captain Killam bring those sacks?”

Did we have ’em goggle-eyed?  Say, when we dumped peck after peck of treasure and sand in the middle of the dinner table, and they got to pawin’ over those weird old gold pieces and them samples of antique jewelry, it was a knockout for fair.

“My word!” gasps J. Dudley.  “You must feel like successful bank robbers.”

“Wonderful!” says Professor Barr, breathin’ excited through his whiskers.  “Why, some of these doubloons must have been coined during the reign of—­”

“Cornelia,” breaks in Mrs. Mumford, “will you look at that old brooch.  It’s exquisite!”

“Then it is yours as a souvenir of the trip,” says Auntie—­just like that.

Next, Dudley and the Professor was asked to pick out a trinket.  After which Mr. Ellins suggests that they divide the loot into five equal piles, and that we draw numbers to see who get which.  Rupert wasn’t strong for this free and casual way of splittin’ the gate receipts, but he gives in.  And when we each has our heap in front of us, with the sand scraped into the middle of the cloth, Old Hickory has the glasses filled once more, and starts up that pirate song of his: