"But you ought to be back in the States."
"I'm goin' back to my island, that's what," insisted Dinshaw. "Jarrow said he'd take me."
"Dad, you said I could go anywhere I wanted on this trip," pouted Marjorie.
"Where do you want to go, Miss Trinkets?"
"I think it would be gorgeous fun to find this 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."