e
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:

"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest--
Yo-ho-ho! and a bottle of rum."

Right in the midd