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“And Uncle Charlie says it will only be for a couple of weeks,” Biff put in. “My spring vacation starts next week. I wouldn’t be missing much school—only a day or two at the most.”

Biff looked from his mother’s face to his father’s. He wanted so much to go. In his mind’s eye, he was already seeing the sparkling waters of the Caribbean Sea, dotted with palm-studded islands, long white beaches, and coral reefs.

The Windward Islands, the Leeward Islands, Martinique, Aruba, Barbados, Guadeloupe, St. Kitts—all these colorful, romantic, exciting names raced through the boy’s head.

“How’s your Spanish these days, son?” Tom Brewster asked.

“It’s okay, Dad. I’m scoring well in it at school, and of course I picked up a lot more Spanish when we were in Mexico.”

Biff was beginning to feel easier. His father’s question was an indication that one-half of his parents was considering favorably Uncle Charlie’s cabled request.

“How ’bout it, Mom?” Biff pressed the opening his father had given him. “You know Uncle Charlie and I always get along swell. We’re a good team.”