“That’s bad,” said Catty to me, “not just because Mr. Topper has appendicitis, though that’s bad enough, but on account of the treasure. What’s going to become of it while Mr. Topper’s sick and Mr. Browning can’t attend to it?”
“Dunno,” says I.
“I know,” says he. “Mr. House’ll dig and dig till he gets it.”
“Now,” says I, “isn’t that too bad—after all the trouble we’ve gone to. It doesn’t seem right. I’d like to see that treasure.”
“So would I,” says Catty, “and,” he says, with his chin sticking out like it does when he’s got his mind all made up, “I’m going to see it.”
“Maybe,” says I, “Mr. House’ll show it to you.”
“Don’t be sarcastic,” says he, “it isn’t your strong point. Now tell me this: what’s the matter with our going after the treasure ourselves? It can’t do any harm, the way things are, and it may do some good.”
“I’m willing,” says I, “though we’ll probably make some kind of a mess of it and get into trouble.”
We were sitting on deck while we talked, watching the Porpoise. While we looked we saw them lower the starboard dinghy and Mr. House and one of the crew got into it and rowed toward us. They kept coming until they were alongside, and Mr. House looked up like he was kind of surprised to see us.
“Well,” says he, “where’d you come from, and where’s our dink?”