“I am Townsend J. Harper, Jr. You have heard of my father. Every one has since he commenced consolidating interurban traction companies. And I’m not married, Virginia, and never have been; but I shall be if this miserable old mud scow ever reaches Singapore.” “Oh, Bulan,” cried the girl, “how in the world did you ever happen to come to that terrible island of ours?” “I came for you, dear,” he replied. “It is a long story. After dinner I will tell you all of it that I can recall. For the present it must suffice you to know that I followed you from the railway station at Ithaca half around the world for a love that had been born from a single glance at your sweet face as you passed me to enter your Pullman. “On my father’s yacht I reached your island after trailing you to Singapore. It was a long and tedious hunt and we followed many blind leads, but at last we came off an island upon which natives had told us such a party as yours was living. Five of us put off in a boat to explore—that is the last that I can recall. Sing says he found me alone in a row boat, a ‘dummy.’” Virginia sighed, and crept closer to him. “You may be the son of the great Townsend J. Harper, you have been the soulless Number Thirteen; but to me you will always be Bulan, for it was Bulan whom I learned to love.”