THE evening of the Town Meeting was clear and cool, typical of a late spring day in New England. Called for seven o'clock, the affair was to be held in the high school gymnasium, the only edifice in town which could hold a large crowd.

Tom arrived at school well before the hour set for the meeting and went to the balcony which encircled the huge floor space. A portion of the balcony had been set aside for high school students, for Wayfield believed that its students should observe the procedures by which the town decided civic issues.

Red Martin and Ralph Cross arrived a few minutes after Tom and took seats beside him, where they could observe the activities on the floor below.

"All set for the big show?" Red asked.

"I've got butterflies in my stomach," Tom answered with a pained look.

"Me, too. I feel just like I was getting ready to start in a football game," Ralph chimed in.

"Well, I suppose all we can do is keep on hoping," Red said. "I feel just the way you fellows do."

Tom looked around the gym with interest. This was his first experience at attending a Town Meeting and, aside from the stake in the issue that was to be voted on, he was genuinely interested in the process itself. It represented, he knew, a pure form of democratic action, for by it the voters of Wayfield could directly decide what they wanted their Town Council to do in settling matters of concern to the community·

In the front of the hall there was a stage on which were arranged a table and several chairs. Behind this grouping hung a large American flag· On the floor itself were hundreds of chairs and along the sides were bleachers to accommodate great numbers of additional citizens· Just below the stage, resting on tables, were two large boxes to be used for written ballots, if such were necessary.

The few dusters of early arrivals were rapidly being swelled by streams of people entering from the several doorways. By twos and threes they made their way down the aisles, flowing first into the ranks of chairs and then into the rows of bleacher seats· Occasionally individuals waved to each other, calling out personal greetings or simply exchanging friendly smiles. Others gathered in small knots in the aisles, talking earnestly before moving toward vacant seats·

As the gym filled up, the hum of conversation grew louder. Leaning over the balcony rail, Tom and his two friends heard snatches of talk drifting upward toward the rafters·

"Dawson's right. This town needs housing more than . . ."

"They got Big Ed worried. He wouldn't have run that ad if . . ."

"These youngsters have really stirred up a hornet's nest . . ."

"I say it would be a good thing . . ."

"Too bad old Corwin won't . . ."

"And I told Ed he ought to try and . . ."

Looking at each other as the throng poured in and the din in the hall swelled, the trio exchanged grins. "It looks," Tom commented, "as if folks are interested."

"You can say that again," Ralph agreed. "I've been in the background for the past couple of weeks, but I know that this is the hottest thing that ever hit Wayfield."

"I wonder who's going to get burnt by it," Red said.

By a quarter to seven the auditorium was jammed. Still the crowd poured in, the overflow standing around the edges of the hall as seats on the floor, in the bleachers and in the balcony disappeared. At five minutes to seven the members of the Town Council, a group of five men, filed down the aisle and mounted the stairs to the stage. The Town Clerk moved up to the microphone, testing the apparatus by repeating numbers that blared over loudspeakers placed around the gymnasium.

All eyes now turned toward the stage and the clamor of conversation faded to a low hum. The focus of attention, the members of the council busied themselves with papers, shifted their chairs and engaged in talk with each other. Finally, as the hands of the large clock at the rear of the hall drew near to seven, Chairman Chambers looked around nervously and then pounded his gavel.

Silence settled on the auditorium. Over the loudspeakers a thin voice declared, "The meeting will now come to order."

Just at that moment there was a resurgence of noise from the back of the hall. Heads and eyes turned toward the rear while the chairman vainly pounded for order. The ranks of the standing crowd parted, and through the opening there came into view an old man seated in a wheel chair. Propelled down the aisle by the tall, impassive Louis, Nathaniel Corwin was making his appearance.

"I wonder what that means," Red whispered excitedly, his voice almost lost in the uproar.

"This is the first meeting that Mr. Corwin has ever attended, as far as I know," Ralph put in. "Maybe it's a good sign," Tom said.

The chairman finally imposed quiet again, but not until Mr. Corwin had found a place for his wheel chair in front of the stage. Then, clearing his throat again, Chairman Chambers called for the first matter on the agenda to be brought before the audience.

Several items were put up for consideration. It was obvious that the townspeople were not greatly concerned over them, however, for there was relatively little discussion and voice votes resolved each matter. Finally, after one such vote, Chambers nervously pounded his gavel again and announced that the last item was that involving the question of whether or not the town should sell the airport to Mr. Edward Dawson. Once more a hum arose from the audience, and the chairman pounded for order.

Reading a prepared statement, Chairman Chambers announced that Mr. Dawson had proposed to the Town Council that the airport be sold to him in order that it might be developed into a housing project. The Council considered that Mr. Dawson had offered a fair price for the field, favored the sale of the property to him and was now requesting permission from the people of Wayfield to proceed with the negotiation.

At this point, Mr. Chambers departed from his script. Looking about, he stated that there was such unusual interest in this matter that he was going to ask Mr. Dawson to make a personal statement on the issue. A murmur arose as the realtor made his way down the aisle and mounted to the stage.

Smiling genially, the businessman approached the microphone and began stating his case. He had, he said, been observing the operation of the Wayfield airport for many years and had noted that very few airplanes ever used it. As far as he could determine, the field was nothing but an unnecessary expense to the good people of the town. On the other hand, he had long considered undertaking the development of a housing project, which he felt the town needed and which he was prepared to begin at once. He had approached the Town Council, he stated, as a publicspirited citizen, offering both to take over the field and thus rid the town of a needless expense and at the same time provide Wayfield with the new homes that it needed.

When he mentioned the word "public-spirited" a low snicker ran through the audience, and the real estate man flushed to the roots of his hair. Not losing his composure, however, he continued, saying that his offer had been favorably received by the Town Council as constituting a worthwhile proposal. He then outlined the scope of the development which he had in mind, pointing out that he hoped his efforts would also attract new business to the town. He realized, he stated with a frown, that there was an element in town that was opposed to the sale of the airport because it would prevent that element from organizing some sort of a children's air club. Much as he liked children, he said with a toothy grin, he felt it would be unwise in this case to place their interests above the good of the community as a whole. In conclusion, he said, he was content to leave the matter in the hands of the voters of Wayfield, for he was sure that they would see that the economic good to be derived from the building of new houses far outweighed any such trivial reasons as had been advanced to support the town's retention of the airfield. With an expression of thanks to the Council and the audience, he left the stage to the accompaniment of applause.

At this point, Sam Tolliver rose from his seat to seek recognition from the chairman. Chambers made a feeble effort to ignore the high school teacher, but cries from the audience forced him to accede to the request.

With a grim look on his face, but speaking slowly and with obvious sincerity, Tolliver stated that he opposed the sale of the airport. He certainly conceded that Wayfield needed additional housing, but, he declared, an impartial survey had clearly shown that there was another and better area where such housing might be constructed. He had been an officer in the Air Force in World War II, he went on to say, and he had learned the value of preparedness. The CAP was an element in preparing the youth of America for service with the armed forces. The training that the youngsters of Wayfield would receive in a squadron such as planned would stand them in good stead if they were called to duty with the military forces. They would learn many other things that would help them in later years, too, for the organization was dedicated to making good citizens out of all of its members.

"But I'm not a member of the CAP, Mr. Chairman," Tolliver stated, "nor can I state adequately all of the advantages that would come from having a squadron here in town. So, with your indulgence, I would like to have Major James Boswell, of the Sandeford Squadron, speak to this audience. He can tell them of the great value of the organization to his own community. And, also with your permission, I would like to have Major Kelleher of the U. S. Air Force, who came here tonight to tell you of what the Air Force thinks of the organization, speak briefly to us."

Chairman Chambers was shaking his head as Tolliver made the requests, but a howl went up from the audience. Pounding his gavel and looking extremely uncomfortable, the chairman sourly announced that the two speakers would be permitted a few minutes each, irregular though the procedure was.

Boswell, warm and friendly, immediately gained the sympathy of the audience. Concisely but effectively he described how the Sandeford Squadron operated. He told of the community projects in which they engaged, of the instruction given in the Sandeford high schools, of the contribution they had made to the Civil Defense program and of the wholesome effect the training had on the boys and girls of Sandeford. He concluded with a warm tribute to Tolliver and, as he put it, "those public spirited citizens who lend this worthwhile effort their unselfish support."

Boswell sat down to thunderous applause, and a trim figure in the light blue uniform of the Air Force replaced him at the microphone. Major Kelleher, like his predecessor, lost no time in tackling the subject. After thanking the chair and the people of Wayfield for the privilege of addressing them and disclaiming any ulterior interest except that of making plain the interest of the U. S. Air Force, he told his audience that the training that cadets received was valuable in itself and paid later dividends to the Air Force. The taxpayer's money, too, was saved by the advance preparation for service given to cadets. All in all, then, he said, the training was considered a useful preliminary to military duty. In addition, the organization itself contributed to the national defense. Working as an adjunct of the Air Force, the CAP supplemented the efforts of the services, performing many missions which would otherwise not be undertaken. This once again, reduced the need for additional funds for the Air Force. Then, reading from a paper which he pulled from a pocket, he narrated several accomplishments of the CAP during the past year, in which they had responded to emergencies and had saved lives as well as money. In conclusion, he pointed out that he was sure that Wayfield, like other towns that had squadrons, would never regret lending its support to the organization that was proposed.

In the warm applause that followed, Mr. Dawson again was recognized by the chairman. No longer genial, he said that he could not contest the statements that had been made by the two visitors. He felt it necessary to point out, though, that Sam Tolliver's reference to the possibility of using another area for the real estate project could not be justified. He had attempted, he said, to buy the Corwin property but the price was so high that he could not honestly ask people to pay the extra amount that would be required if he were to meet Corwin's price. It all came down, he stated flatly, either to selling the airport and having housing that was needed or of not selling it and losing the chance for the town to acquire new homes. With that, he abruptly sat down.

In the hubbub that arose, with Chairman Chambers vainly pounding for order, Nathaniel Corwin began waving his cane in the air to attract attention. All eyes turned in the old man's direction, the clamor subsided, and his voice was heard to cry out, "Bring that dadgummed microphone down here! Bring it down, I say! Bring that bloomin' thing down here!"

With Chambers hammering his gavel and the crowd still noisy, the Town Clerk gingerly carried the microphone down the steps and placed it in front of the chair-ridden old man.

"Quiet!" he bellowed into the microphone.

The din ceased almost as if the crowd had been stricken speechless.

Glaring about the auditorium, his eyebrows beetling fiercely, Corwin hugged the mike close to himself while the jittery clerk moved nervously around the wheel chair.

"Reed Chambers, you listen to me," the old man shouted, his voice shaking the walls of the auditorium. "You, too, Ed Dawson, hear what I've got to say. You all know that my property is the best place for this dadgummed housing project. Just like it said in the newspaper, the airport ain't no place to build houses on. Folks'll be a lot happier if they're closer to town, have a few trees around, get better drainage and don't have to live in silly rows of shacks like Ed Dawson wants to build. Now I offered my property to Ed Dawson at a fair price, and if I know him, he won't lose a penny by paying me what I ask. I admit," he said with a sly grin on his lined face, "that I did boost the price mebbe just a wee bit . . ."

The roar that came from the crowd drowned out the rest of the sentence and Corwin waved his stick in the air again.

"But," he continued, glaring around, "Dawson wants to squeeze every nickel till its hurts, so he wouldn't buy it from me. Instead of that, he wants to buy the airport, and if I know this dadgummed council, no man jack of 'em is going to stand up to him. Now, unless the people of this town get some sense in their heads, he'll get away with this deal. It wouldn't be the first time that he threw his weight around to get folks to do what he wants, instead of what their good sense tells 'em to do.

"Another thing," he continued, waving his cane to quiet the hum that rose from his last charge, "folks keep yapping about how youngsters ought to do this or do that, but durned few ever try to help 'em do anything. Now I don't know much about this CAP thing that's been in the newspaper and that the fellas in the blue suits talked about, but it sounds pretty good to me. Seems to me this town ought to do all it can to get something like that started. But, like I said, I don't know if folks here have enough sense in their heads to see what they ought to do, so I came here tonight to make my contribution. And knowing Ed Dawson's love for the almighty dollar, I'm going to make a proposition that even he can't turn down. I'm tellin' him and the Council that I'm offerin' my property for sale at fifteen percent less than the price I quoted him. I want to say right now," he continued, as a roar burst out of the crowd, "I want to say right now that I've had my own man working on the figures, and at the price I'm offering my property for, Ed Dawson nor no one else could build a housing project any cheaper than they could by taking over my land. I've got the papers all ready and I've brought 'em down here so we can sign them whenever Dawson wants. Now let's see if anyone can find anything wrong with that."

The loud yell shook the gymnasium for at least five minutes. Gradually, punctuated by the thuds of the chairman's gavel, the roar subsided, and as it died away Big Ed Dawson returned to the stage. Making a weak effort at a smile, he held his hands up to still the noise.

"Of course," he said, "I don't know what figures Mr. Corwin used to arrive at his estimates, but I'm content to accept them and to buy his property at the price he's named. And since that's so, I don't suppose there's any further need for the town to consider selling me the airport. That being the case, I withdraw my previous offer . . ."

Once more there was a burst of shouting, and Chairman Chambers hammered his gavel determinedly. Then, looking greatly relieved, Chambers said, "In view of the generous offer of Mr. Corwin and the wholehearted co-operation of Mr. Dawson, the chair hereby withdraws the issue of the sale of the airfield from the agenda of the meeting. The chair will hear a motion to adjourn. All in favor say 'Aye.' Opposed 'No.' The 'Ayes' have it!"

For the first time, Tom became aware that both Red and Ralph were pounding him on the back. Slipping his arms around their shoulders, he joined with them in what resembled a three-man Indian war dance, the more unusual by reason of it being performed among the balcony seats.

"We're all set! All set!" Red was shouting above the din.

"Boy! Oh boy!" Ralph kept repeating.

Slowly the clamor died down, and the three friends filed out of the gymnasium with the rest of the crowd. On the sidewalk in front of the building, they found Sam Tolliver and Mr. Carroll, both smiling and acknowledging the friendly congratulations that were coming their way.

"Well, Boys, what do you think of all this?" Tom's father asked the trio as they approached.

"I wasn't worried a bit, Mr. Carroll," Red replied, winking at Tom.

"Me neither, Dad," Tom added.

"Oh, sure," Ralph said with a grin. "Nobody was the least bit worried."

"That is, after the meeting was adjourned," Red said mischievously.

"Well, it's all over now. From here on in, all we have to do is settle down and work," Sam Tolliver said, his face lit up happily.

"Thanks to Mr. Corwin. The old gentleman put on a great performance, and you can thank him for everything," Mr. Carroll said seriously.

"That's right, sir," Tolliver said. "He was that final punch that you were looking for yesterday."

"And here he comes, Dad," Tom said quietly.

Like a buccaneer cutting his way through ranks of foemen, Nathaniel Corwin was wielding his cane to open a way through the still milling crowd, the approving cries of the onlookers ringing on deaf ears. With the imperturbable Louis pushing the wheel chair, the old man guided it towards the group.

"Well, young 'un, you've got your field," he said, looking at Tom through his bushy eyebrows.

"Yes, sir. Thanks to you we did," Tom declared earnestly.

"Fiddlesticks! You rocked me back on my heels when you talked up to me the other day," the old man said, a faint twitch at the corners of his mouth.

"I apologize for what I said, sir. I--I guess I was a little excited," Tom stammered abashedly.

"Excited or not, you're a smart young fella. When I thought everything over, I decided you were right. Besides, I didn't want to see Ed Dawson pull a deal," Corwin snorted.

"Tom's right, Mr. Corwin. You saved the day for us and we're all very appreciative," Mr. Carroll declared.

"Enough of that chatter. You all fought for what you wanted, and I like fighters," the old gentleman said. "But let me warn you, sir, and that tall fellow with you, you've made an enemy."

"Dawson, you mean," Tolliver put in.

"Dawson it is. He doesn't like to lose. I know him. And he won't forget that you fellas kept him from havin' his way, so watch out for him."

"We'll do that, Mr. Corwin," Tom's father promised.

"Good. Well, you've got your dadgummed airfield, so make the most of it. Now," he said, the fierce look returning to his face as he directed his manservant, "get this dadgummed chair out of here, Louis. I want to go home."

When Corwin left, still waving his cane and screaming at incautious ones who got in his way, silence fell on the little group. They watched the old man until he was lost in the crowd, and then Sam Tolliver said feelingly, "He's a fine old gentleman. And I'm glad he's on our side."

"That," Mr. Carroll said, "goes for all of us."