an extra case of Gordon come in I
sneaked out at night and buried it. That was just before I sold the
place to you and--By George, me lad!"

Here he has stopped and is gazin' at me with his mouth open.

"Well?" says I.

"I canna mind digging it up again," says he.

"That doesn't sound much like a Scotchman," says I, "being so careless
with good liquor. But you were in such a rush to get back to town maybe
you did forget. Where did you plant it?"

Mac scratches his head. "I canna seem to think," says he.

And about then I begins to get a glimmer of this brilliant thought of
mine. "Would it have been in that three-cornered strip that runs along
by the road?" I asks.

"It might," says he.

I didn't press him for any more details. I'd heard enough. I finished my
invalid's lunch and slid out. But say, when I caught the 5:13 out to
Harbor Hills that afternoon I had something all doped out to slip to
that bunch of comic commuters. I laid for 'em in the smokin' car, and
when Nick Barrett discovers me inspectin' my palm blisters he starts in
with his kidding again.

"Oh, you'll be able to get out and dig again in a week or so," says he.

"I hope so," says I.

"Still strong for it, eh?" says he.

"Maybe if you knew what I was diggin' for," says I, "you'd--well,
there's no tellin'."

"Eh?" says he. "Whaddye mean?"

I shakes my head and looks mysterious.

"Isn't it green corn, or string beans that you're aimin' at, Torchy?" he
asks.

"Not exactly," says I. "Vegetable raisin' ain't in my line. I leave
that to Dominick. But this--oh, well!"

"You don't mean," insists Nick, eyein' me close, "buried treasure!"

"I expect some would call it that--in these days," says I.

Uh-huh! I had him sittin' up by then, with his ear stretched. And I must
say that from then on Nick does some scientific pumpin'. Not that I let
out anything in so many words, but I'm afraid he got the idea that what
I was after was something money couldn't buy. That is, not unless
somebody violated a sacred amendment to the grand old constitution. In
fact, I may have mentioned casually that a whole case of Gordon was
worth riskin' a blister here and there.

As for Nick, he simply listens and gasps. You know how desperate some of
them sporty ginks are, who started out so gay only a year or so ago with
a private stock in the cellar that they figured would last 'em until the
country rose in wrath and undid Mr. Volstead's famous act? Most of 'em