"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," admitted Trask.
"Come up to our rooms and have tea," she said. "Then you get Dad into a game of billiards, play as well as you can and—lose."
"A whale of an idea!" exclaimed Trask.
"And don't say anything more about the island," warned Marjorie. "Dad's stubborn, but he's easy to handle. We'll act as if we didn't care a whoop about this Dinshaw business—until we miss the Thursday boat. Then we'll give him no rest. But remember, I'm for the Thursday boat. That's just to throw him off his guard. He's a dear old Dad, but sometimes he's balky."