But the news don’t seem to impress Lieutenant Commander Faulhaber very serious.

“Not really?” says he, chucklin’.  “Oh?  Then that’s the reason for all this mystery?  Treasure hunting!  Well, well!” And he grins more expansive than ever as he takes another look around.

Next he’s introduced proper to everybody, and inside of ten minutes we’re all sitting down to breakfast together, while J. Dudley explains how him and Folly has been lifelong chums.

So we didn’t get pinched, after all.

“Although,” says the lieutenant commander, as he starts back towards the Petrel, “I suppose I ought to fine you for exceeding the speed limit.”

The Agnes has got under way again, and we’d stopped wavin’ good-by to the jackies, when I catches a glimpse of a head bein’ poked cautious out from under the canvas cover of one of our lifeboats.  Nudgin’ Vee to look, I steps up to Mr. Ellins, who’s talkin’ with Auntie and Mrs. Mumford, and points out my discovery.  By that time the head has been followed by a pair of shoulders.

Old Hickory just narrows his eyes and stares.

“Why!” gasps Mrs. Mumford, “it—­it’s Captain Killam!”

“Yep!” says I.  “Rupert the Reckless.  Only this trip he seems to be playin’ it safe, eh?”

“In hiding!” says Auntie.  “All the time, too!”

“Huh!” grunts Old Hickory, watchin’ Killam crawl out and slip around a corner.  But say, Mr. Ellins can make that “Huh!” of his mean a lot.  He knows when he’s been buffaloed, take it from me.  My guess is that Rupert’s stock is in for a bad slump.  I’d quote him about thirty off and no bids.

CHAPTER XIV

AUNTIE TAKES A NIGHT OFF

It looked like a case of watchin’ out for the stick to come down.  Uh-huh!  The good yacht Agnes had been tied to her anchor less than half a day when this grand treasure-hunting expedition of ours showed symptoms of collapse.  It was weak in the knees, groggy in its motions, and had fur on its tongue.  If there’d ever been any stock issued by the Ellins-Hemmingway Exploration and Development Company, I’ll bet you could have bought in a controllin’ interest for two stacks of cigarette coupons and a handful of assorted campaign buttons.

You see, Old Hickory and Auntie had hung all their bright hopes on this Captain Rupert Killam.  They’d listened to his tale about a secret mangrove island with a gold and jewel stuffed mound in the middle, and they’d taken it right off the fork.  His mysterious and romantic motions had them completely buffaloed—­at first.

But on the way down here Rupert’s reputation as a bold, bad adventurer had gradually been oozin’ away, like a slow air leak from a tire.  His last play of hidin’ his head when the Agnes had been held up by a gunboat had got ‘most everybody aboard lookin’ squint-eyed at him.  Even Mrs. Mumford had crossed him off her hero list.