land is," says
Vee, "and is going to put it on exhibition. You know, he was out by
himself ever so long to-day."

"He ought to be able to pick out something likely from among all of
these," says I. "Islands is what this country seems to be long on.
And they got a spiffy night for it, ain't they?"

"I think Auntie might have taken us along," says Vee, a bit pouty.

"We're no treasure hunters," I reminds her. "We're just to help out
the pleasure-cruisin' bluff. Who there is to put it over on I don't
quite catch, though. Ain't there any population in this part of the
map?"

Vee thinks she can see a light 'way up the shore on Sanibel and another
off towards the mainland; but the fact remains that here's a whole lot
of perfectly good moonlight goin' to waste.

"If one of the iron steamboats could only wander down here with a Coney
Island mob aboard," says I, "wouldn't they just eat this up? Think of
'em dancin' on the decks and-- Say, what's the matter with our
startin' a little something like that?"

"Let's!" says Vee.

So we had a deck steward lug the music machine up out of the cabin, set
J. Dudley to work puttin' on dance records, and, with Mrs. Mumford and
the Professor and half the crew for a gallery, we gave an exhibition
spiel for an hour or so. I hope they got as much fun out of it as we
did. Anyway, it tapped the long, long ago for Mrs. Mumford. I heard
her turnin' on the sob spigot for the Professor.

"Poor, dear Mr. Mumford!" she sighs. "How he did love dancing with me.
And how wonderfully he could polka!"

"She's off again!" I whispers to Vee.

So we drifts forward as far away from this monologue about the dear
departed as we could get. Not that we didn't appreciate hearin'
intimate details about the late Mr. Mumford. We did--the first two or
three times. After that it was more entertainin' to look at the moon.

For my part, I could have stood a few more hours of that; but about ten
o'clock Mrs. Mumford's voice gives out, or she gets to the end of a
chapter. Anyway, she informs us cheerful that it's time young folks
was gettin' in their beauty sleep; so Vee goes off to her stateroom,
and after I've helped J. Dudley Simms burn up a couple of his special
cork-tipped Russians, I turns in myself.

Didn't seem like I'd been poundin' my ear more'n half an hour, and I
was dreamin' something lovely about doin' one of them pelican dives off
a pink cotton cloud, when I feels someone shakin' m