but I think
myself it is nothing at all, and that it might as well be thrown
overboard."

"What makes him think it's a code?" said Grant.

"Nothing much that I know of," replied Pop. "He said it was found sewed
inside the lining of a coat his father used to have and so he thought it
must be valuable. He said that the neighbors used to tell some kind of
weird stories about his father having been connected with buried
treasure or something like that, and he is sure this has something to do
with it. Personally I think he is mistaken about it."

"If he thinks it so valuable why did he give it to you?" demanded Fred.

"He didn't really give it to me to keep. He wanted me to try and
decipher the code and tell him what it says."

"Did you do it?" laughed John.

"No, you Son of Neptune," exclaimed George. "I did not. I offered to
read the numbers to him, but he said he could do that much himself."

"Where's this treasure buried?" asked Fred.

"That's just what Petersen wants to find out," said Pop. "That certainly
was an awfully smart question to ask, Fred."

"I thought he might know the island or whatever it is where the stuff is
supposed to be buried, but not the exact location of the jewels on the
island."

"How do you know it's jewels?"

"It always is, isn't it?"

"I don't know anything about it," said Pop. "For all we know Petersen
may be playing a joke on us. We're all landlubbers of course and the
crew might have decided to initiate us a little."

"Perhaps," agreed John. "The parchment looks old though."

"What are the numbers, Grant?" asked Fred. "Read them out."

"Twenty," began Grant when he was interrupted.

"Add 'em up, you fellows," laughed George. "The total tells how old Anne
is."

"Let him read them, Pop," urged John. "Give him a chance."

"Twenty, one, eleven, five, one, three, fifteen, twenty-one, eighteen,
nineteen, five." Grant paused. "That's a funny thing" he said. "Every
number is distinctly separated from the next one. It certainly seems as
if it must mean something."

"All right, I'll tell Petersen that you are going to solve the mystery,
Socrates, my boy," laughed Pop. "Shall I?"

Before Grant could answer there was a shout. A few sharp orders were
given and immediately everything on board the _Josephine_ was
bustle and hurry. The crew came rushing out on deck, and scattered
hither and thither all over the brig in obedience to the orders that
were being given so rapidly. An a