WAYFIELD HIGH SCHOOL was the pride and joy both of the citizens who had built it and of the students who occupied it. Set back from an elm-lined street, the structure was bordered by broad lawns that meshed in color nicely with the ivied brick walls. It sprawled over almost an entire city block, v-shaped and with a pillared entrance at the juncture of the two wings. Modern, spacious and bright, it had everything needed to make it a model institution. Its large classrooms, attractive study halls, well-equipped laboratories, library, lunchroom, gymnasium and auditorium made it not only a near-perfect educational plant but also a center of community activities.

On Wednesday of each week a general assembly was held during the last period of school, at which matters of general interest to the student body were discussed. Thus it was that three days after the flight that Tom and Ralph had made, Sam Tolliver strode to the front of the auditorium platform and announced that he was going to talk about the Civil Air Patrol. Though he stated at the outset that only those who were interested in the organization need remain and that cadet membership was limited to persons between the ages of fifteen and eighteen, hardly a student left the assembly. Noting this fact with a smile, the lanky athletic instructor launched immediately into his subject.

As he referred to the exploit of the previous Sunday, a generous account of which had appeared in the Ledger, the hall echoed with applause and all eyes sought Tom and Ralph. Behind that accomplishment, Tolliver stated as the noise died down, lay an efficient organization with elements in every state and territory. In general terms, he went on to tell of the structure of the CAP and of the people who made it up.

"The CAP has recruited almost 75,000 cadets and senior members who fly patrols, operate a 7,000 station radio network, help in air search and rescue missions and lend a hand in public disasters and emergencies.

"The principal qualifications for belonging to the Civil Air Patrol are the eager spirit of the volunteer firemen and the patriotism of a Paul Revere. Like volunteer firemen, the CAP members drop everything they may be doing to rush to their patrol posts at the call of the commanders. Their jobs may be in the sky, piloting or observing in a plane, or on the ground, driving a truck.

"The organization," he continued, "is an official auxiliary of the United States Air Force, a status made possible by an act of Congress. The members of the CAP are authorized to wear the Air Force uniform, with minor changes. An Air Force directive has assigned to the CAP these major military and civilian tasks: first, to build up a Cadet Corps of about 200,000 boys and girls; second, to maintain air and ground units to aid in anti-submarine patrol around the United States and its possessions and to participate in air rescue work; third, to develop an auxiliary radio communications network in the United States and its possessions; fourth, to assist in civilian disasters by helping to supply persons who might be isolated by storms, floods and other catastrophes, to remove people from disaster areas by air and otherwise aid in relief work."

The CAP, Tolliver told his audience, was started a few days before the outbreak of World War II. At that time a small group of civilian pilots and aviation enthusiasts who wanted to serve their country volunteered for any emergency duty that might arise. They soon had plenty of fast action.

Using small private aircraft, the civilian flyers attached bombs to the under-carriages of their planes and hunted German submarines along the Atlantic seaboard. They were credited with engaging in action with over 173 undersea boats, with achieving bomb and depth charge hits on fifty-seven submersibles and with sinking six by direct action. Many other enemy submarines were sunk by military aircraft summoned to the scene by the small CAP observation planes. In carrying out these patriotic volunteer missions, fifty men and 150 planes were lost by the CAP.

After the war, Tolliver said to the students, the leaders of the Air Force recognized the value of the Civil Air Patrol and helped to get action started which resulted in making the CAP an official auxiliary of the flying service. With its status firm, the organization progressed rapidly to the point where it is today.

"Most of the cadets are, of course, high school students," Tolliver said. "In many communities throughout the country the instruction given to the cadets is a part of the curriculum of the local high schools. The program of instruction is 2oo hours long, so that here in Wayfield, if we were to give that course, it would require about five hours a week to be included in the regular high school instruction. If there is enough interest shown, though," Tolliver said, "I think I can persuade the authorities to grant us permission to give the instruction right here in the school."

From that point Tolliver went on to say that the status of the Wayfield Airport was uncertain but that any attempt to preserve the field for use would be dependent upon the degree of interest shown by the students in the formation of a cadet squadron. He cautioned all of his listeners not to make up their minds too hastily and he called to their attention the need for them to obtain their parents' consent to join the organization. In fact, he told them, they would always need written permission from their parents before flying in any CAP aircraft. This, he emphasized, was something to think over carefully. Another meeting would be held, he promised, at which all students who wished to join the squadron would be able to indicate their desires in the matter. And, as a final note, he stated that he did not believe that the CAP activities would interfere with school athletics or with any other student affairs.

When the athletic instructor concluded his remarks there was a round of applause and a hum of conversation. Feet were shuffled and seats turned up as the assemblage made its way into the aisles, through the swinging doors and out to the school corridors. Just outside one of the portals, Tom caught up with Ralph Cross, whom he had spotted leaving the auditorium just ahead of him.

"Well, what'd you think of it?" Tom asked.

"It sounded good to me, and from what I saw and heard, there'll be quite a few volunteers," Ralph answered.

Tom nodded. "Everyone seemed interested, all right, but I still think there's a selling job that has to be done if we're going to get many to actually join up."

"Looks like we're off to a good start," Red Martin said as he came up to them.

"Seems to me a lot of people are counting their chickens a little early," another voice put in.

Tom looked around to find Ed Dawson had joined the group and he heard Ralph ask, "What do you mean, Ed?"

"Well," Dawson said, with a meaningful look in Tom's direction, "from what I heard, everyone seems to think there won't be any trouble about the airfield."

"You think there will be?" Red asked.

"That's right," Dawson answered sharply.

"Meaning your father is going to buy it?" Tom queried.

"You catch on quickly, Carroll," Dawson said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Tom flushed with anger. "Maybe," he retorted, "someone else is counting his chickens a little early. Maybe the town won't vote to sell the airport."

Dawson snickered and, with a contemptuous glance at Tom, said, "Grow up, Carroll. My dad's a businessman and he's made a business deal to buy the field. It's as simple as that. No crazy idea about forming some kid's club is going to prevent the town from selling the field; so you'd better try something else, like taking lessons on the piccolo or something."

His fists clenched and his face crimson with anger, Tom started toward Dawson. Out of a corner of his eye, just as he felt Red's restraining tug on his sleeve, he caught the expression on Ralph's face. It was as if the other boy were weighing him in the balance, sizing him up on the basis of the move he had instinctively made, he thought in a flash. He stopped short, rocking on his toes for a brief moment. With a level stare at Dawson, he said softly, "Okay. Let's wait and see what happens. Maybe I'll take music lessons and maybe I'll teach you how to play a fiddle--a second fiddle."

Turning about, he walked away.

Strolling home, Tom found his thoughts and emotions mixed. At the school assembly he had sensed a widespread interest in the message that Tolliver had delivered to the Wayfield High student body. There would be, in all likelihood, at least an initial enthusiasm for forming the squadron. The presence of Ralph Cross and the leadership of Tolliver would generate and maintain a favorable attitude toward the CAP. As the squadron developed and the word of its activities spread, there would probably be no lack of applicants for membership. But, once again, Tom told himself that he had an implacable opponent in young Ed Dawson. He was sure that that worthy would do all in his power to thwart the plans which he and others were so optimistically making. And if the elder Dawson were intent on buying the airport, as his son had so plainly indicated, there was every chance that, despite the fine leadership, all the enthusiasm and the lively appeal of the projected activities of the squadron, the organization simply would not be launched. Big Ed Dawson, Tom felt, might well be able to brush aside any and all opposition to his schemes.

Tom's concern for the future of the budding squadron carried over the next few days. Despite Red's efforts to cheer him up and Ralph's renewed expression of belief in the CAP, he felt dispirited. Normally a good student, he found himself unable to apply himself to his lessons; more than once he evoked raised eyebrows on the part of his teachers. Aimlessly frittering away his time about the house, he was called to task several times by his parents. Food failed to interest him at mealtimes, to the point that his mother expressed her worry. Finally, after moping about for most of Saturday morning, he started for his father's office.

There was between Mr. Carroll and his son a relationship in which both took great pride and satisfaction. Tom knew that he could carry any of his problems to his father and that he would receive a straight answer. For his part, Mr. Carroll was sure that whenever his son was in difficulty, he would turn first to his father for help and understanding. Frankness and honesty were the bywords of any dealings that took place between both; respect for each other's opinions was the foundation on which was built the true partnership between them.

Tom found his father correcting copy when he entered the Ledger office. Greeting his parent laconically, he sprawled on a bench and began reading some of the out-of-town newspapers that cluttered a near-by table. From time to time his father looked up, only to resume his task without speaking. Finally, removing his reading glasses, Mr. Carroll leaned back in his chair and said quietly, "Better get it out, Son. We may not have too much time to talk this morning, because I have a visitor coming in sometime before lunch."

"Same old thing, Dad."

"CAP?"

"Yes, sir. I felt pretty good after seeing how Ralph Cross and some of the fellows at school feel about getting a squadron formed. But the other day, after Mr. Tolliver spoke at the assembly, Big Ed Dawson's son as much as said that the whole thing is in the bag and that his father is just simply going to buy the airport. And you know what that means."

"Yes, I know," Mr. Carroll said thoughtfully.

"We just won't have an outfit, that's all," Tom asserted bitterly.

"Tom, have you thought about the other side of this?"

"Well . . ."

"You see," his father said, "this town needs housing. Badly. Mr. Dawson is one of very few people who can swing a deal like this real estate project of his. He thinks the airport site is the best and he's the one who has to decide. Now, good housing will make the town attractive to industry and workers. It'll bring more people to Wayfield, and that means more income for businessmen and better living for everyone here. It's part of growing, Tom."

"But, Dad, the CAP will mean a lot to the town, too. There're lots of fellows like myself who want to get in aviation, and this is one way to get started. Besides, even for those that don't particularly want to get into the flying game, an outfit like the CAP can do plenty of good. It gives fellows and girls something to belong to, a way to help in case of any kind of trouble. And, while they're having fun, they're learning about something that may be the most important single factor in the future of our country.''

"Of course you're right, Tom. I'm not saying that the CAP isn't important or good for the community. I'm just trying to place the whole idea in proper perspective," Mr. Carroll explained.

"Another thing, an airport is an asset to a community. It ought not to be destroyed, 'cause then you're taking away something that's hard to get back. Besides, sir, maybe the airport isn't the best place for this project. Maybe Mr. Dawson is buying it because he can get it cheaper than some other land. Maybe he's hurting the town by putting his houses out there."

"That's a possibility, Tom. But no one has proved that or shown that Mr. Dawson has anything but the highest motives in wanting the field. At least I don't know that anyone has, do you?"

"No, sir," Tom answered thoughtfully. "But you've given me an idea, Dad. If we can show that Dawson is after the airport just because it's cheaper, or that there is some place else that would be better than the airport, maybe we can lick him on that basis."

Mr. Carroll chuckled. "You seem to be spoiling for a fight, Son."

"It's just that I want to see this squadron started and I hate to see anyone pull a deal like this one," Tom said miserably.

"Look, Tom," his father said seriously, "this thing will be decided by a process called democracy. There'll be a Town Meeting at which arguments for and against the sale of the airport will be presented. After listening to the pros and cons, the people will decide what is the best course of action. If they think that the best interests of all--including the youth--will be served by selling the field, then they'll vote that way. If they decide that it's better to keep the airport, that it should be maintained for the general good of all, then they'll vote against the sale of it to Mr. Dawson. That's the way a democracy works, Son."

"Ed Dawson says his father has it in the bag, no matter what the townspeople say," Tom said, frowning.

"Tom, if enough people turn out for the Town Meeting and a majority of them are convinced that the field shouldn't be sold to Dawson, then Dawson won't get it. That's all there is to it."

With a thoughtful look on his face, Tom said, "Then it's a question of convincing a lot of people that it's in the best interests of Wayfield not to sell the airport, isn't it, Dad?"

"That's about the size of it."

"Okay. Then what's the next step?" Tom asked.

"Well, as a newspaper editor, I'd like to be convinced that there's another place, as good as the airport, where Mr. Dawson could locate his housing project. Then I'd like to know whether or not he's offering a fair price for the field."

"Suppose," Tom cried, excitedly, "we could have an aerial photo made of the town and could show that there's a place that's as good or better than the airport location?

"Again, as an editor, I'd be interested in running such a picture in the Ledger," Mr. Carroll said.

"I'm going to talk to Mr. Tolliver about that, Dad. Maybe we can get Major Boswell to help us, too."

"Fine! That sounds like a good start."

"What's the next step, Dad?"

"You're really pinning me down, aren't you?" Mr. Carroll said, grimacing. "Well, to answer your question, I think the next thing ought to be a campaign to sell the CAP to the people of Wayfield."

"Something like house-to-house visits?" Tom asked.

"That's one way to do it. And while you're doing that, you could also be trying to show everyone why you think Mr. Dawson is wrong and you're right; that is, if he still insists on trying to buy the field."

"Think we'll have any chance of convincing the editor of the Ledger?" Tom asked with a grin.

"Hmmm . . . that's me, isn't it?" said his father, returning the grin. "You'll need a good case. And that means that you'll have to plan the whole thing carefully, you know."

"I'm going to see Mr. Tolliver right now," Tom said, jumping up and starting for the door. "Thanks, Dad. You sure have helped . . ."

Before Tom could finish, the door to his father's office was flung open and a tall, heavy-set man entered.

"Sorry I'm late, Carroll," the visitor said, smoke from his cigar wreathing his ruddy face. "Had a little business at the bank."

"Not at all, Mr. Dawson. My son and I have been chatting about a few things and he's just about ready to leave," Mr. Carroll said.

"Oh, this is your boy, is it? Glad he's here. Want him to stay. Sit down, boy," Dawson said peremptorily.

Crushing his cigar in an ashtray, the real estate man pulled another from his pocket and offered it to Tom's father. Upon the editor's refusal, Dawson bit an end off the cigar and stuck it in his mouth. Chewing the tobacco and rolling it nervously about his mouth, he glanced first at Tom and then at his father without speaking.

"Now," he said finally, "I want to talk about this airport business. This town needs housing and I'm prepared to build it. I've had my eye on the field for a long time and I've talked to the Town Council. Made them an offer and they like it. They're smart. Airport's useless. Only one making any money on it is that fellow, Crynes: I'm going to buy him out."

"That's very interesting, Mr. Dawson," Tom's father said, after exchanging a glance with his son.

"Heard some talk about you kids forming some sort of a club," Dawson continued, looking at Tom. "Just wanted to set you straight on the whole thing before you go to too much trouble."

"It isn't a club, sir," Tom said, without waiting for his father to speak. "It's a Civil Air Patrol Squadron."

"Well, now . . ." Dawson started, deprecatingly.

"The CAP is a national organization. It's an auxiliary of the U. S. Air Force and it has over 7o,ooo members. And it's not just young people, either, sir. The regular members are men and women interested in aviation. Only the cadets are junior . . ."

"I know, I know," the businessman broke in, holding up his hands in protest and with a good-natured wink in Mr. Carroll's direction. "It sounds fine, Boy. But you can't have it if you don't have an airfield, can you?"

"No, sir," Tom answered in a low voice.

"That's all I'm trying to tell you. I'm going to buy the airport, and you won't be able to have your club, or whatever you call it."

"Doesn't the town have to approve the sale of the airport?" Mr. Carroll asked quietly.

"Don't worry about that," Dawson said, bristling slightly. "The town will approve the sale."

"Suppose the town doesn't?" Tom asked.

"Now look here, Boy," Dawson barked, his face reddening, "I told you I'm going to buy the field. I came down here to tell your father that and to stop you kids from wasting your time or from causing any trouble."

"We're not trying to cause any trouble, sir, but we still want to try and organize a squadron," Tom said doggedly.

"I don't want to get angry, Boy," Dawson said, working the cigar from one end of his mouth to the other. "Maybe you'd better leave and let me talk to your father about this."

"I think," Mr. Carroll put in softly, "that anything you want to say on this matter can be said in front of my son."

"Okay," the real estate man shot back. "I want that airport. The Town Council wants to sell it to me. It's for the good of the community. I'll not have any bunch of kids, or even grown men like Tolliver and Crynes, get in the way of this deal. I want you to know that and set people straight on it by putting something in the paper."

"I expect to put something in the paper on the subject," Tom's father replied.

"What do you mean by that?" Dawson asked.

"Your offer to buy the field is news, of course," the editor answered. "So is the organization of a CAP squadron. Now, if I think it's in the best interests of the town to sell the airport, then the paper will support the sale."

"I just told you that it's for the good of the town," Dawson said. "Isn't that enough?"

Mr. Carroll shook his head. "Not for me, Mr. Dawson. If I don't think so, or if I think it will do Wayfield more good to have a CAP squadron, then I'll oppose the sale."

"That wouldn't be very wise, Carroll," Dawson said with a mirthless laugh.

"I have to make my mind up on the facts as I see them. I'll support what I think is right, and nothing more."

"I think you'd better talk to a few people around here and get things straight," Dawson said, rising from his chair and glaring at Tom's father. "They'll tell you how things are done in Wayfield. But if you're foolish enough to try and buck me on this, you'll make things tough for yourself. Have I made myself clear?"

"Very clear, Dawson," Mr. Carroll said, getting to his feet.

"Good. I think you'll see things my way," the real estate man said, a confident look on his face. Turning to Tom, he added, "Don't feel too bad about this, Boy. We can't always have what we want. Come around and see me this summer and maybe I'll give you a job on the building project."

With a stricken look on his face, Tom turned to his father after Dawson strode through the door and said, "Guess we're licked, Dad. It looks like he's got a lot of power in this town."

Mr. Carroll slipped an arm around his son's shoulders. "We're a long ways from being licked, Tom. The fight's just starting, and I think I'm going to enjoy it. Dawson doesn't know what it means to fight the Carrolls. Now let's forget about all this business for a while and go home and have some lunch."