At Benicia Arsenal, California, they found the Lieutenant, “good old Jack Adeler,” as Hike yelled at him, nervously and joyously waiting them. The commandant of the Arsenal insisted on their stopping for dinner, and even Major Tomkins was not treated with greater respect than was young Hike Griffin, whom the commandant toasted admiringly. Off they whirled to Monterey, and found Martin Priest. The Associated Press had gathered what news it could about the flight of the _Hustle_, and sent it to newspapers all over the country. The reporters had been told by General Thorne himself that two boys had made the greatest flight in the history of aviation, and that the General was interested in their machine. That was enough for Martin Priest, and he was sitting at the door of his aerodrome in the sun, smiling to himself, when Major Tomkins, Poodle and Hike found him. He was very happy—but he absolutely refused to appear before the Army Board of Aviation. “I’ve lost all my glad-rags and Four-Hundred Manners,” he said, rather roughly, to the Major, “and my machine—and Lieutenant Adeler and Hike, here—well, I’m afraid they’ll have to speak for me.” He said nothing more but there was some one else who had something to say. Major James Griffin, Hike’s father, had become almost chummy with Martin Priest in the last two days, since he learned that Hike had started for Washington. He had been frightened, at first, then a little angry at Hike. But as he learned from Martin Priest how gallantly Hike had been guiding the tetrahedral in flights to San Francisco, and while rescuing the crew of the wrecked yacht, he grew proud and happy. Finally, when the short newspaper reports of the success of the flight began to come in, and to be eagerly discussed with Martin Priest, the Major had chuckled, “Jerry—I was just such a boy—you couldn’t have kept me out of West Point! Good boy, Jerry is.” Now, with Hike here before him, tired but successful, and with Major Tomkins bearing a message from General Thorne, to the effect that “that’s a great boy of yours, Jim Griffin,”—and with Major Tomkins singing the praises of Hike’s manner of driving the _Hustle_—why, all Major Griffin could do was to pound his son affectionately on the back and say, “Go ahead—and don’t break your neck, if it’s convenient. As for you, young Darby, I suppose I’ll get Hail Columbia from your father for letting you go off with this crazy son of mine—but what can I do?” About that time, the _Hustle’s_ crew had climbed aboard, with Lieutenant Adeler at the levers, and they were ready to plunge eastward.