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“Oh, yes, I’d love to go to the West Indies,” Monica pleaded.

“I’m afraid it will be just Biff this time,” their father said. “Providing, of course,” he added hurriedly, “your mother approves. Well, Martha?”

Martha Brewster shrugged her shoulders and smiled. She was still torn. But she had great confidence in her son’s ability to take care of himself. He had proved this time and time again. And Charles was her favorite brother, reckless though he was.

“All right, Biff darling. I might as well give in now as later. I know you and your father won’t give me a moment’s peace until I do.”

Mrs. Brewster’s statement was met with cheers led by Ted and Monica. Biff crossed the room and put an arm around his mother’s shoulders. She pressed her head against her strong son’s chest.

The conference in the Brewster home in Indianapolis, Indiana, came to an end.

Sunday morning at ten o’clock found the Brewster family at the Indianapolis airport. Flight 129, southbound for Miami, had already been called. The last hasty farewells were said, and ten minutes later the plane speeding Biff southward became a mere speck in the sky to his mother and father and the twins.