My Buried Treasure | Page 7

my work just for excitement. We may be weeks, months---- How long do you think we----"
Behind his eye-glasses Edgar winked reprovingly.
"That is a leading question," he said. "I will pay all your legitimate expenses--transportation, food, lodging. It won't cost you a cent. And you write the story--with my name left out," he added hastily; "it would hurt my standing in the trade," he explained-- "and get paid for it."
I saw a sea voyage at Edgar's expense. I saw palm leaves, coral reefs. I felt my muscles aching and the sweat run from my neck and shoulders as I drove my pick into the chest of gold.
"I'll go with you!" I said. We shook hands on it. "When do we start?" I asked.
"Now!" said Edgar. I thought he wished to test me; he had touched upon one of my pet vanities.
"You can't do that with me!" I said. "My bags are packed and ready for any place in the wide world, except the cold places. I can start this minute. Where is it, the Gold Coast, the Ivory Coast, the Spanish Main----"
Edgar frowned inscrutably. "Have you an empty suit-case?" he asked.
"Why EMPTY?" I demanded.
"To carry the treasure," said Edgar. "I left mine in the hall. We will need two."
"And your trunks?" I said.
"There aren't going to be any trunks," said Edgar. From his pocket he had taken a folder of the New Jersey Central Railroad. "If we hurry," he exclaimed, " we can catch the ten-thirty express, and return to New York in time for dinner."
"And what about the treasure?" I roared.
"We'll' bring it with us," said Edgar.
I asked for information. I demanded confidences. Edgar refused both. I insisted that I might be allowed at least to carry my automatic pistol. "Suppose some one tries to take the treasure from us?" I pointed out.
"No one," said Edgar severely, "would be such an ass as to imagine we are carrying buried treasure in a suit-case. He will think it contains pajamas."
"For local color, then," I begged, "I want to say in my story that I went heavily armed."
"Say it, then," snapped Edgar. "But you can't DO it! Not with me, you can't! How do I know you mightn't----" He shook his head warily.
It was a day in early October, the haze of Indian summer was in the air, and as we crossed the North River by the Twenty- third Street Ferry the sun flashed upon the white clouds overhead and the tumbling waters below. On each side of us great vessels with the Blue Peter at the fore lay at the wharfs ready to cast off, or were already nosing their way down the channel toward strange and beautiful ports. Lamport and Holt were rolling down to Rio; the Royal Mail's MAGDALENA, no longer "white and gold," was off to Kingston, where once seven pirates swung in chains; the CLYDE was on her way to Hayti where the buccaneers came from; the MORRO CASTLE was bound for Havana, which Morgan, king of all the pirates, had once made his own; and the RED D was steaming to Porto Cabello where Sir Francis Drake, as big a buccaneer as any of them, lies entombed in her harbor. And I was setting forth on a buried-treasure expedition on a snub-nosed, flat- bellied, fresh-water ferry-boat, bound for Jersey City! No one will ever know my sense of humiliation. And, when the Italian boy insulted my immaculate tan shoes by pointing at them and saying, "Shine?" I could have slain him. Fancy digging for buried treasure in freshly varnished boots! But Edgar did not mind. To him there was nothing lacking; it was just as it should be. He was deeply engrossed in calculating how many offices were for rent in the Singer Building!
When we reached the other side, he refused to answer any of my eager questions. He would not let me know even for what place on the line he had purchased our tickets, and, as a hint that I should not disturb him, he stuffed into my hands the latest magazines. "At least tell me this," I demanded. "Have you ever been to this place before to-day?"
"0nce," said Edgar shortly, "last week. That's when I found out I would need some one with me who could dig."
"How do you know it's the RIGHT place?" I whispered.
The summer season was over, and of the chair car we were the only occupants; but, before he answered, Edgar looked cautiously round him and out of the window. We had just passed Red Bank.
"Because the map told me," he answered. "Suppose," he continued fretfully, "you had a map of New York City with the streets marked on it plainly? Suppose the map said that if you walked to where Broadway and Fifth Avenue meet, you would find