“Well,” says I, “we did the best we could.”
“We butted in,” says he, “and if I was Mr. Browning, I’d take me and drown me in a potato sack.”
“They haven’t found the treasure yet,” says I.
“But they’ve got it fenced in with barbed wire, and they’ll dig till they get it if they have to dig up the whole shooting match. What’s almost as bad, we can’t get a chance to dig at all. We’re licked,” he says, and looked mighty doleful.
“We might watch them till they dig it up—and then sneak it away from them,” says I.
“Fine chance,” says he. “You and I would look pretty getting a treasure away from about fifty men, to say nothing of a barbed wire fence.”
“You’ve kept hammering it into me,” says I, “that there’s always a way anything can be done.”
“If you can think of it,” says he.
“Then,” says I, “it looks like our job from now on is thinking.”
“Then let’s go back to the yacht and think,” says he.