Marjorie turned to Judy. “Try Alf. He’s your brother.”
“Alf Powell,” Judy screamed. “You’ll be sorry if you don’t come right out. What we have is something really yummy!” She added quietly to Marjorie, “That’ll get him!”
“Yummy,” they heard both Alf and Brook repeat, and then from Jimmy as he opened the door and stuck his head out:
“Why didn’t you say you had food in the first place?”
“Look,” said Marjorie, showing him the piece of paper. “Judy and I found this in a bottle buried in the sand under a big rock on the beach. We think it’s part of a message that has something to do with the buried treasure.”
“Oh, you dopey kids,” Jimmy said in a very condescending tone of voice. “Your imagination works overtime. It’s fantastic,” he said over his shoulder to Alf and Brook, “what they can think up in their spare time.”
But Jimmy took the paper from Marjorie, and gave it a contemptuous glance. “What a mess,” he said. “You know perfectly well you rigged this up yourselves, but you can’t fool me.”
“We didn’t, honest,” Marjorie said, tossing her blonde head. “But if that’s the way you feel about it, give it back to me. Furthermore, if we find any more clues you’ll be the last person in the world we consult.”
Jimmy tossed it to her with a grin. “Run along, kids. We haven’t time for your monkey business. We’re going for a swim, and then we’re going to get the Bronc ready for our camping trip.” He slammed the door in Marjorie’s face. “Scram. Later, if we men haven’t anything better to do, you can try to fool us with your phony clues.”
“See?” Marjorie bitterly asked Judy. “That’s a brother for you! If we do find anything in the storage room, let’s not tell a soul!”