“Why, then, that’s something to start from, Tom,” said his friend. “If we can find that, then maybe we can find whither they went from there.”
“If I was certain it was a treasure box,” cried out Tom Chist, “I would rake over every foot of sand betwixt here and Henlopen to find it.”
“‘Twould be like hunting for a pin in a haystack,” said the Rev. Hilary Jones.
As Tom walked away home, it seemed as though a ton’s weight of gloom had been rolled away from his soul. The next day he and Parson Jones were to go treasure-hunting together; it seemed to Tom as though he could hardly wait for the time to come.
The next afternoon Parson Jones and Tom Chist started off together upon the expedition that made Tom’s fortune forever. Tom carried a spade over his shoulder and the reverend gentleman walked along beside him with his cane.
As they jogged along up the beach they talked together about the only thing they could talk about—the treasure box. “And how big did you say ’twas?” quoth the good gentleman.
“About so long,” said Tom Chist, measuring off upon the spade, “and about so wide, and this deep.”
“And what if it should be full of money, Tom?” said the reverend gentleman, swinging his cane around and around in wide circles in the excitement of the thought, as he strode along briskly. “Suppose it should be full of money, what then?”
“By Moses!” said Tom Chist, hurrying to keep up with his friend, “I’d buy a ship for myself, I would, and I’d trade to Injyy and to Chiny to my own boot, I would. Suppose the chist was all full of money, sir, and suppose we should find it; would there be enough in it, d’ye suppose, to buy a ship?”