island. I've never
done anything romantic in my life, and I've always wanted to elope,
or something. I'll run away with a drummer in a band--or something
like that, if I have to go home without finding an island--a
tropical island, with a wreck, too--and sailors buried on it--and
gold! I'm for it, strong."

"Not so strong as I am for a touch of cool weather," laughed Locke.
"That reminds me, it's time for another soda----"

"Dad!"

But Locke disappeared into the hall, laughing, saying something
about Timbuctoo and other places he would not care to visit.

"And he's finding fault about having to live in tourist hotels and
listen to bored guides! And here's a chance to get off the main
stamping ground, as he calls it, and help a poor old man."

"We don't like to get far from the comforts of civilization, after
all," said Trask. "But I don't know of anything I'd rather do than
take you and your father cruising."

"I wish there wasn't any old Thursday boat," wailed Marjorie. "We
might argue him into going if we had more time."

"You've got to miss that Thursday boat," declared Trask. "We ought
to be able to kidnap him or something."

"What's the name?" asked Dinshaw, rising from the table and putting
on his hat.

"Locke," said Marjorie. "Mr. Locke. You come up again to-morrow and
see us."

"I'll have to paint another picter," said Dinshaw.

"Here," said Trask. "You take this one with you, and bring it back
to-morrow, when I'll pay you twenty _pesos_ for it. That'll give
you an excuse for coming back. And don't say a word to anybody."

"Locke," murmured Dinshaw. "Mr. Locke."

"You ought to eat some more," said Marjorie.

"Can't stop," said Dinshaw, gathering up the other picture, which
he had not unwrapped. "Can't wait for the tide. I'll go see Jarrow.
He said he'd take me."

"Now look here," said Trask. "Don't you say a word to anybody.
Understand? Don't tell anybody!"

"I'm a clam, sir, a clam," said Dinshaw, solemnly, and blinking his
eyes at the sun which assailed him from the bare Luneta, he hurried
down the steps and hastened away.

"Poor old duffer," said Trask.

"We've got to help him find his island," said Marjorie. "I'll tell
you what to do. Dad wants to get up to Hong Kong because there's a
man at the King Edward he can beat at billiards."

"What's that got to do with it?" asked Trask, vaguely.

"You're a regular man!" she retorted. "Can't you see? Can you play
billiards?"

"A little,