“Why not?  It isn’t as if you’d never been up,” urged Peggy.

“You said you liked it, too,” struck in Jess.

“Um—­well, I may have said so,” admitted Miss Prescott, visibly weakening from the stand she had taken, and she went on:  “I would like to see James again.”

“And here is your opportunity ready to hand, as the advertisements say,” declared Bess, her blue eyes shining.

“But how could I go?”

The question was an outward and visible sign of capitulation on Miss Prescott’s part.

“Why, I was thinking we could use that big biplane I was building for Mr. Bell’s use out in Nevada,” spoke up Roy; “it will seat three, and is as steady as a church, thanks to that balancing device Jimsy and I figured out.”

“I’d fly my little Dart,” declared Bess.

“And you and I would take the Golden Butterfly,” cried Peggy, crossing to Jessie and placing her arm round the dark-haired girl’s neck.

“Jimsy can fly the Red Dragon, and that leaves Roy and auntie for the biplane,” she went on, bubbling over with enthusiasm as her plans matured and took form.

“Goodness gracious, an aerial circus!” cried Miss Prescott.  “We would attract crowds, and that wouldn’t be pleasant.”

“I was planning to make it a sort of picnic,” declared Peggy, who appeared to have an answer for every objection that could be interposed to her project.

“What, camp out every night?  Well, you are a wonder,” exclaimed Jimsy, “if there’s one thing I love it’s camping out.”

“How long would it take us to get to Marysville?” asked Bess.

“I’ll get the atlas,” cried Peggy, “but if we have good weather not more than three or four days.”

“I hardly think it would take as long as that,” declared Roy, as five eager heads were bent over the atlas.

“But camping out!” exclaimed Miss Prescott, “think of colds and rheumatism, not to mention snakes and robbers.”

“Tell you what,” cried Jimsy suddenly, “what’s the matter with Miss Prescott going along in an automobile?  We can map out the route, arrange our stops and meet every evening at some small town where we won’t attract too much of a crowd.”

“Jimsy, I always said you were a genius,” cried Peggy.

“Behold the last objection swept away,” struck in Bess.

“Surely you can’t refuse now?” urged Jess.

“Please say yes,” came from them all.

“But—­but who would drive the car?” asked Miss Prescott, in the voice of one who is thinking up a feeble last objection.

“Why, Jake Rickets, of course,” declared Roy, referring to the man who helped the boys in the machine shop in which the aeroplanes for the desert mines were manufactured.

After this Miss Prescott could make but a poor stand against the united urgings of five impetuous, enthusiastic young people.  The air was filled with plans of all sorts.  Jimsy was for going at once, but it was finally decided to meet again and set a definite date for a start.  In the meantime there were parents’ consents to be obtained, plans laid for the route to be followed, and various things purchased for the aerial trip.