book I ever read the treasure hunters had to work and fight and had an

awful time before they got what they were after.”

“That’s all right to read about,” says I, “but when it comes to the actual thing with me in it, I’d as soon it wasn’t so interesting. Nope, just hand me my treasure on a silver plate, and I’ll take it without a kick.”

“Fine treasure hunter _you_ are,” says he. “That’s against all the rules. Why, a treasure you just stumbled onto, and then walked off with without any trouble, wouldn’t seem like a treasure at all.”

“It would _spend_ like a treasure,” says I.

“If spending’s all you want of a treasure,” he says, as scornful as if I’d asked him to come and steal apples from a blind peddler, “why you can have it.”

“Well, why else do you want a treasure?” says I.

“To get it,” says he. “Just to show myself it can be done. Spending isn’t much fun.”

“Maybe not,” I says, “but I like it in moderation. Say about a hundred dollars a day to spend. Nothing big or extravagant, but just that.”

“I s’pose,” says he, “you’d buy a hundred dollars’ worth of peanuts and chocolate ice-cream soda every day.”

“All but Wednesdays and Saturdays,” I says, kind of irritated, because he thought he was so smart; “those two days I’d spend it for crackers and cheese.”

He just shrugged his shoulders and squinted down the bay. “Say,” says he, “what became of that document bag?”

“Must have gone overboard,” says I.

“Don’t believe it,” says he. “I’m going to have another look.”

“Anyhow,” says I, “it’ll be something to do.”

So we started in to search, and we hunted high and low, every place you’d think a leather case might have dropped when it was thrown, but not a sign.

“It hit up forward some place,” says Catty, so we went up in front of the bridge and looked all over again. There wasn’t anything there but the windlasses for hoisting the anchors and a couple of capstan bars and some cleats and a sort of a skylight which gave air and light to the crew’s quarters forward of the engine room. This was closed.

“Couldn’t have got in there,” says I.

Catty took a look anyhow. The skylight, or whatever they call it, was built above the deck about six inches at the sides and maybe a foot in the middle, and shaped like the roof of a house. There were hinges where the peak of the roof would be, and both sides lifted up to let in air when you wanted it. Underneath was a flat screen to keep out flies and mosquitoes. Well, Catty lifted up the lid, so to speak, and there was the leather case. It sure beat all. There it was, as big as life and three times as natural.

“Huh,” says Catty, “I dunno as we could find a better hiding place for it. Let’s leave it right there. It’ll be safe.”

“Fine,” says I, “and now that’s off our minds, what next?”

“We’ll go scouting,” says he.

“They say there’s fishing up the bay there,” says I.

“Good idea, we’ll scout and fish, too.”

So we put our tackle in the boat and rowed off. Rameses yelled at us to be back at eight bells, or we wouldn’t eat, and we promised.

There were lots of little boats fussing around the harbor, motor boats and big Cape Cod cats that carried thirty or forty folks on fishing trips—summer visitors, mostly—and there were sailing dories, and everything you could think of. It didn’t look much like a desert place where you would think of finding treasure, but in spite of all the folks and the cottages and hotels, the treasure was there just the same. It was kind of funny to think about what was going on, and none of all the people around there a bit the wiser.

We pulled along till we got abreast of where the sailors had landed, and then we rowed in close.

“Let’s land and see what happens,” says I.

“We’ll give it a try,” says Catty, and we headed in for the shore. But we hadn’t touched before a man came running toward us.

“Hey,” says he. “Private property. You can’t land here!”

“Who says so?” Catty asked.

“I do,” says the man, “and I’m plenty big to back it up.”

“Guess you are. Say, what’s going on here, anyhow?”

“Oh, a feller’s just startin’ a gold-fish farm. He’s settin’ out about ten acre of seed and he calc’lates to thrash out about twenty bushel of gold-fish to the acre. Goin’ to sell them to towerists.”

“Anyhow,” Catty says, “we can get an eyeful from here,” and that’s what we did. We anchored off there and pretended to fish but we didn’t do any real fishing, not to speak of, on account of not having bait. I don’t know how it is other places, but right where we were the fish wouldn’t bite a bare hook.

After we’d squinted at those men working ashore for half an hour, we made out what they were up to.

“Well,” says Catty, “I’ll be jiggered!”

“Yes?” says I. “Why?”

“See what they’re doing?”

“Not very clear,” says I.

He scowled at me a second. “They’re setting posts,” says he, “all around that part of the beach where there’s any chance of the treasure being, and they’re going to put a barb wire fence around it.”

“Sufferin’ mackerel!” says I, “that cooks our goose.”

“It’s a mighty slick idea,” says Catty, “but folks have got through barb wire before this.”

“But they tore their pants,” says I.