ing up
in the mountains. The Igorrotes find some gold up in the rivers and
I've heard the rocks were mighty heavy. May be iron pyrites, or it
may be the real thing."

"I can have him up here," suggested Wilkins. "Just drop a word over
the 'phone to Prayerful Jones. Nobody need know what it's about.
I'll hint he may sell a picture."

"Shoot!" said Trask. "I've got a month to kill, and some money to
gamble on my own hook. I may take a flyer on it, if I can get
anything definite out of this Dinshaw."

"You'll have half the waterfront on your heels if you let it out
that you're taking Dinshaw to his island. Plenty would go if he'd
tell 'em where it is, but they want to skin him."

"Then we'll keep it mum! Hello! Who's coming?"

He heard the rattle of hoofs and looked across the Luneta to see a
victoria whirl out of Bagumbayan Drive. It was occupied by a man in
a pongee suit and a young woman in white with a blue parasol which
rose above the rig like a porcelain minaret.

"The Lockes!" cried Wilkins.

"Hush!" said Trask. "Don't say a word about me. I'll surprise 'em!"
He picked up a copy of the _Cablenews_ from the table and hid
himself behind its ample pages.

"We'll stick right here until the next boat," he heard Locke saying
as the victoria stopped. "I'd like to see somebody pry me loose
from this porch."

Trask looked over the top of his paper to see Marjorie Locke, in
duck skirt and linen coat, climb down from the victoria. Her hair
was as yellow as her wide-brimmed "sailor" and her eyes as blue as
her parasol. She was laughing gaily as she mounted the stoop.

"You missed the boat!" exclaimed Wilkins, as he came out.

"Missed it forty miles!" said Locke, taking off his floppy Bangkok
hat and using a handkerchief on his face as though it were a
blotter. His nose was peeled from sunburn, but his round and
rubicund face fairly oozed good humour.

"Your luggage--I sent it, sir," said Wilkins.

"Hang the luggage! I'll have a soda bath right away. I've got the
prickly heat so bad I feel like a human pincushion!"

"Yes, sir," said Wilkins.

"Be game, Dad! You always told me you liked the tropics."

"So I do--at home in the winter time. I believe you knew we'd miss
that boat, Marge. I'm wise! You want to see where Magellan landed
and where Legaspi gasped."

"I can't say you're a born tourist," said his daughter.

"Yes, I am. Just now I'd start for the North Pole. Wow! Those
Spanish fellows sure liked a