“That was a rather lively pace you set for us,” almost chuckles Old Hickory.

“I have never enjoyed a ride more,” says Auntie.  “My blood is still tingling from it.”

“And mine,” says Mr. Ellins.  “We nearly overhauled you once.  Did your cab hit anything?”

“Only the hub of an ashcart,” says she.  “We lost part of a front fender.  And once a traffic policeman tried to arrest us.  We rushed him, though.”

“Auntie!” comes from Vee husky, as she drops back on a window seat.  But Auntie takes no notice.

“I say,” goes on Old Hickory, “has Killam shown you the jewelry he dug from the mound?”

Auntie nods.  “It is genuine antique,” says she, “the Louis Treize period, one piece.  If there is much like that, no collection in the world can match it.”

“Hm-m-m-m!” says Old Hickory.  “I am rather interested in that sort of thing myself.  Then there is the bullion.  Of course, if it should turn out to be part of the Louisiana Purchase money, and it became known that it had been recovered, I suppose the federal government would step in, perhaps claim the larger share.”

“That would be an outrage,” says Auntie.  “There’s no sense in that, not a bit.  You—­you mean you would give the information—­that is, unless—­”

“I never make threats,” says Old Hickory, “even when I think I have been cheated out of doing something I’ve wanted all my life to have a try at.”

It’s Auntie’s turn to stare at him.  And hanged if she don’t sort of mellow up.

“Really?” says she.  “I—­I had no idea.  And it would be fun, wouldn’t it, sailing off for that enchanted coast to hunt for a real treasure island?”

“‘Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum!’” roars out Mr. Ellins.

It’s the battiest remark I ever heard him make.  I was lookin’ for Auntie to throw some sort of a fit.  But she don’t.  She comes nearer chucklin’ than anything else.

“Mr. Ellins,” says she, “I think perhaps I have misjudged you.  And I—­I suppose I really ought not to attempt such a thing alone.  Shall we—­er—­”

“Why not?” says he, reachin’ out his hand.  “Share and share alike.”

“Agreed!” says Auntie.  “And now, suppose we get the Captain and look for that yacht.”

They was so anxious to get at it that they chases off without a word to either Vee or me.  She just sits there starin’ after ’em.

“Did anyone ever hear of anything quite so absurd?” says Vee.

“I don’t know,” says I.  “I never worked in a filbert factory myself.  I’m sure of one thing, though.  With them two on the job, it’s goin’ to be put up to Rupert to come across.”

CHAPTER XI

A JOLT FROM OLD HICKORY

You know Old Hickory Ellins ain’t what you might call a sunshine distributor.  His disposition would hardly remind you of a placid pool at morn, or the end of a perfect day.  Not as a rule.  Sort of a cross between a March blizzard and a July thunderstorm would hit it nearer.