ON THE following Sunday, there came new developments.

Though he arrived at the airport late in the morning, Tom found that Sam Tolliver and Nick Crynes were already there. Together with others, they had observed the flight of the National Guard planes over the Wayfield area on the previous day. Now, like Tom, they were anxiously awaiting the photographs that Major Boswell had promised to deliver before noon.

"Do you think the major will really bring the pictures?" Tom asked.

"Sure thing," Tolliver replied. "He phoned me last night and said that everything had gone well, according to the reports he had received from Guard headquarters."

"Those Guard pilots are good and they have swell equipment, too," Nick put in.

"I guess you're right," Tom said doubtfully, "but it seems awfully fast to me. Why, I can't imagine how . . ."

"Just a minute," Tolliver interrupted, as he made his way to the front of the hangar.

Through the stillness of the spring morning the low hum of an airplane motor came to the ears of the waiting trio. A few seconds later the low-hanging clouds that cottoned the southern skies were sliced by a speeding plane that nosed toward the airport. Circling once, it dropped earthward, lightly touched its wheels to the ground and jounced along the runway almost to a stop. Then, wheeling sharply, the craft taxied to the hangar, its motor finally cut to a whistling stop.

"Hi!" Major Boswell yelled as he and a lieutenant from the Sandeford Squadron clambered out of the two-place Piper. "Is this committee here to greet me or just to take over this package I brought to you?"

"Both, Jim," Sam Tolliver answered with a grin. "You're always welcome, but especially today, if you've brought what we're waiting for."

"Well, I think you'll like what I've got for you," Boswell said, after introducing the other officer to the three Wayfieldians.

The CAP official unrolled the package he had brought, holding each photograph up for viewing. Tolliver and his companions saw that the National Guard had done its work well. A series of pictures, shot from practically all angles, revealed the entire Wayfield area in sharp detail. The township itself, as well as an extensive area surrounding it, had been beautifully photographed. Streets, buildings, roads, trails, foliage and variations in terrain were clearly shown in the glossy prints that the Guard had produced.

"These are beauties!" Tolliver exclaimed as the last photograph was examined.

"They're exactly what we wanted. Anyone ought to be able to make a good analysis with these babies," Nick said admiringly.

"Glad you like 'em," Boswell declared. "From what you said over the phone, I figured they were important to you, Sam, so I asked the Guard boys to do their best."

"We're certainly grateful to you and to them," Tolliver said feelingly. "This may mean a great deal to us."

"Forget it! We're all plugging for the same thing, and I know that the Guard will be tickled pink if they can help you folks get started," the major said. "Now we've got to get started back to Sandeford, for we're having a little workout today, and Bill, here, and I don't want to miss out on it."

With more warm expressions of thanks trailing them, the two CAP flyers climbed back into their plane and soon were airborne again. As the ship circled the Wayfield airport once more, dipping its wings in a salute to the watchers below, the latter re-entered the hangar.

"It sure makes you feel good to have friends like that," Tom observed, following the two seniors into the office.

"You're right about that, Tom," Tolliver said seriously. "And you'll find that sharing work and drill and adventures, the way I hope we'll all be able to do in the squadron, gives you a lot in common with others."

"Guess I've been hankering for a little of that stuff ever since I left the service," Nick said. "It's one reason why I'm so durned anxious to see this outfit of ours get started."

"Well, if Dad Duncan will come down now and examine these photos, maybe we can make a little headway," Tolliver said.

Hardly had the words been uttered when there was a screeching of brakes outside the hangar door. A short while later an elderly man, with white hair crowning a pink face that bespoke friendliness, entered the office. Greeting Sam and Nick, he gravely shook hands with Tom. "Now," he said, carefully setting ribboned spectacles on his nose, "where are those photos that you fellows want me to look at?"

"Dad, we've got some honeys for you," Nick answered.

"Nick's right, Dunc," Tolliver chimed in as he slid the pictures in front of Mr. Duncan.

"Hmmm . . . they are good," Duncan said softly, peering through a magnifying glass that he produced from a coat pocket.

Wordlessly, the town engineer studied each print. As Tom's father, Bill Trabue and Red quietly entered the office, Duncan continued his work, barely acknowledging the presence of each newcomer with a nod and a grunted greeting. Finally, after more than a half hour of meticulous examination, he looked up at the silent group that was surrounding him.

"Well," he said, twirling his glasses by the black ribbon to which they were fastened, "they're good pictures, all right. There's nothing new in 'em though."

"What do you mean, Mr. Duncan?" Tom's father asked.

"Just this, sir. At the order of the Town Council last year I made a survey of the town with a view to determining the best area for new housing. I have several charts and a complete report of the survey. I think I proved beyond a doubt that there is a fine location for any housing project that the town might want to undertake."

"But where is it, Dad?" Nick asked impatiently.

"Hold your horses, Son," Duncan answered. "I was just about to say that the Corwin property is the best possible place available. Look here, and I'll show you why."

With everyone bending over the photographs, Duncan pointed out an area just beyond the town limits. The ground, he showed, was high and therefore would provide good drainage. The property was wooded, and any dwellings built there could be easily landscaped. Next he showed that it would be easy to run roads from town into the area, since it was quite close to the center of Wayfield. Water supply and sewerage, he stated, would be relatively inexpensive by reason of the proximity to the township system. All in all, he stated, the Corwin property had many advantages over the airport site.

"Hot dog!" Tom exclaimed, "That ought to do it."

"It looks that way," Mr. Carroll admitted.

Dad Duncan shook his head. Looking at Dick Hirsch, who had joined the group during the engineer's discussion, he said, "Tell 'em why it won't work, Dick."

"Well, Boss," Hirsch drawled, "Dawson and Old Man Corwin have been at each other's throats for years. They fight like tigers every time they have the chance. Corwin knew that Dawson wanted to build the housing project, so he jacked up the price of his property. And, of course, Dawson wouldn't pay what the old man was asking."

"But if the property is so much better, wouldn't the initial extra cost of the area be offset by the reduced expense of drainage, sewerage, roads and so on?" the editor asked.

"Sure," Duncan said. "And Dawson could pass the extra cost right on to the people who buy houses in his development. As a matter of fact, I figured out that the final costs would be just about the same, even at Corwin's price for the ground. But Dawson simply won't give in to the old man."

Mr. Carroll nodded. "What happened when the report was made public?"

"It wasn't made public," Duncan said. "The Council killed it."

"Then maybe we ought to force the Council to publish it," Tom's father stated.

"If you want me to lose my job," Duncan said dryly, "go ahead."

"You mean we can't use this information?" Tom asked with a stricken look.

"Well . . . that's about what it amounts to," Duncan answered.

"Dune, couldn't we have another survey made?" Tolliver asked.

"You could, for a fact, but I think it would take quite a bit of time and expense," the engineer replied.

"Let's get this straight," Mr. Carroll said. "The Corwin property is better than the airport site. The initial cost will be higher, but the final cost to the homeowner will be about the same. Not only that, but if people buy houses in the airport area, they'll be inconvenienced later on because of the added distance from town. Your report shows all that, but we can't print it. Is that right?"

"That about sums it up," Hirsch stated sourly.

"Any ideas, Dunc?" Tolliver asked.

"Well, now . . . I do sort of have an inkling of one," the engineer said softly. "You see, there's a fellow up Easton way, an engineer just like myself. He's sort of obligated to me, and I think I might be able to get him to do me a little favor. Now, if you'll let me borrow these photographs, I'll take them to my office. I was going to do some work there this afternoon, anyway. Then, if he'll come down to the office and he sees these pictures, he'll most likely be interested in 'em. And if he should just happen to see my report near by, he might read it and make a few notes. If he sort of writes up something along the course that I did last year and draws a few lines on these pictures, then you might be interested in running his report and the photos in the Ledger, Mr. Carroll."

"Dad, you rapscallion, you've had that in your noggin all along!" Nick exclaimed.

"Well . . . I did sort of think of it as soon as I saw the pictures," Duncan said, a beatific smile on his pink face.

"Then you'd better think of your friend's telephone number, too, and get to that phone over there," Nick declared.

"I was sort of thinking of that, too, Nick," the engineer said as he moved towards the telephone.

"Getting that job done is only half the battle," Sam

Tolliver said in a low voice as Duncan began his call to Easton.

"You mean Old Man Corwin?" Trabue queried.

"That's right, Bill. Someone'll have to convince the old boy that he ought to give in a little to Dawson. Otherwise, Big Ed will think of all sorts of reasons why the deal shouldn't be carried out," Tolliver said.

"But I think we have a good case, no matter what Dawson says," Mr. Carroll asserted.

"Dawson must have considered this possibility," the high school teacher declared earnestly. "He'll produce all sorts of figures to prove that he can't meet Corwin's price. Like Dad says, the ultimate cost of houses would be about the same in either place, so the only way we can be sure to prove our point is to show that the cost will be less if the Corwin property is used. And that means that the old man will have to name a lower price."

"I think Sam's right, Boss," Hirsch put in.

"Me, too," Nick added.

"Then," the editor said, "we'll have to try and see Mr. Corwin."

"Wow? Red exclaimed.

"Is he that bad?" Mr. Carroll asked with an amused expression.

"Just about," Tolliver answered, shaking his head. "He's quite a character."

"I'll be starting back to my office now," Duncan announced as he rejoined the group. "You can get me there this afternoon if you need me."

"Everything okay?" Nick asked.

"Sort of," the engineer answered, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes. "This friend of mine suddenly found out that he has a little business to do here in Way field this afternoon."

Shaking hands all around and with a chorus of thanks trailing him, Dad Duncan started to leave. Pausing in the doorway and still twirling his be-ribboned glasses, he said, "Who knows. Maybe li'l David Duncan will pull the rug fight out from under Big Ed Goliath."

"Now," Sam Tolliver said when the chuckles had died down, "I guess I ought to do a little phoning and see if Old Man Corwin will open his doors to us."

"Let's go outside and wait. This may be painful," Nick suggested.

Fully ten minutes after the group had left the hangar, Tolliver rejoined them. He was wiping perspiration from his brow and shaking his head dolefully as a chorus of questions came his way.

"It's okay. He'll see us," he said, holding his hands up in protest. "But it wasn't easy to talk to the old boy."

"When are we due there?" Mr. Carroll asked.

"We were due about one minute after he finished skinning me, but I think he'll see us if we get started right away, so let's go before he changes his mind," Tolliver answered.

A short while later the group was ushered into the sitting room of a large house that lay on the outskirts of Wayfield. In front of them, seated in a wheel chair and with his legs covered by a blanket, sat a grizzled old man. Glowering, his bushy eyebrows almost masking fiery eyes that drilled each visitor in turn, Nathaniel Corwin sat in the shadow of a huge, leaden-faced manservant who stood behind him.

"Well, what's all this?" he barked. "Out with it now! What is it you want from me?"

"Uh . . . Mr. Corwin . . ." Tolliver started.

"Out with it, Boy! Don't just stand there!" Corwin demanded, pounding a cane on the floor for emphasis.

Taking a deep breath, the high school instructor launched his talk under a full head of steam. In rapid-fire style, he told his frowning listener about the CAP, of the plans to start a squadron in Wayfield, of the need for the airport and of Big Ed Dawson's project involving the flying field.

"Dawson? the old man snorted. "What's Dawson got to do with it? What's all this gobbledegook got to do with me?"

Treading cautiously around the real estate man's name, Tolliver described the dilemma facing the embryo CAP squadron by reason of the impending sale of the airport. The only solution, he pointed out, lay in Dawson's purchase of another piece of property. And the best property, he added with the look of a man walking to his own execution, was that owned by . . .

"Me!" Corwin shouted. "Of course it's the best site for the housing project. Any fool knows that. Soon as I heard what that robber was up to, I offered to sell him my property. Wouldn't buy it. Said I was asking too much. Said I was a holdup man. You think I'm asking too much?"

"Well . . . uh . . . yes, sir," Tolliver said with a gulp.

"What do you know about it?" Corwin yelled. "Any fool knows I'm asking a fair price. Dawson squeezes the nickels till they melt in his fat fingers. He's too tight to pay my price. He's a fool. You're all fools!"

"Mr. Corwin . . ." Tom's father began.

"Who're you? What're you doing here?" the old man bellowed.

"My name's Carroll. I'm the editor of the Ledger . . ." "Why don't you print something about this in the paper, heh? Why don't you tell the people about Dawson turning down my offer? Answer me that? he demanded triumphantly.

"That's just what I intend to do, sir," Mr. Carroll answered. "But unless you lower your price a little, any case that I present won't . . ."

"Lower my price! Lower my price? Corwin screamed. "I wouldn't lower my price to that baboon if he danced a fandango in the town square."

"Well, I guess we're licked. I guess Dawson will have his way," Tolliver said disconsolately.

"What's that? What's that about Dawson having his way?" the old man asked.

"He'll get the airport, and we won't be able to organize the CAP," Nick explained.

"Unless you come down in your price, sir, that is," Bill

Trabue slid in, practically ducking out of sight as he said it.

"Won't do it!" Corwin growled.

"Mr. Corwin, sir," Tom said pleadingly.

"Who're you? What do you want?"

"Tom Carroll, sir. You see, Mr. Corwin, fellows about my age are thinking about the future. We'll all probably be going into the armed forces, and after our tours of service are over some of us would like to get into aviation. Now," he continued, swallowing his trepidation as he saw that the old man was listening, "there's no better way to prepare ourselves either for duty with the Army, Navy, or Marine Air services or for the Air Force, than to join up with the CAP while we're still in high school. And those of us that want to continue in aviation will get off to a good start that way, too. Besides that, everyone talks about what's: wrong with youth, but they don't do anything about it very often. But the CAP really means something to young people. And it means a lot to a community. It helps the young: people in towns like this at the same time that it's providing the country with an organization that is ready for any emergency. So," he ended bitterly, "it'll be too bad if we, can't get the squadron started in Wayfield just because some people are more worried about money than they are: about anything else."

The fire that had been in the old man's eyes seemed to fade as he stared at Tom in the silence that followed. Finally, his voice lifeless, he turned to his servant and mumbled, "Show 'em out, Louis. I'm tired."

Outside the Corwin mansion, following their abrupt dismissal by its master, the crew paused aimlessly. A pall of discouragement, marked by the downcast expressions in each face, enveloped the scene. Even Dick Hirsch, who often chose moments of gloom for his flippancies, could find no words to lighten the situation. Sam Tolliver and Tom's father conversed to one side in low voices. Nick whistled tunelessly, Bill Trabue frowning at his side. Red concentrated on scuffling a pebble, seemingly with his thoughts concentrated on the small stone.

Within Tom there was a searing, writhing sense of remorse. By blurting out his feelings as he had, he was sure he had somehow touched Corwin's feelings in a sensitive spot. The crumbling of the old man's rough facade had followed Tom's broad hint that financial gain meant more to Dawson and his rival than did the general good of the community. That charge, he felt, had cut deeply. Perhaps, if they had been granted further discussion, the old gentleman might have yielded. Perhaps he had lust wanted to pose as a gruff bargainer, all the while intending to listen to reason. Whatever Corwin might have done, there was no .doubting now that little in the way of help could be expected from him. The hurt look on his face as he had turned away from the group had made that clear.

For all this--for the loss of the chance to force Dawson to buy the Corwin property--one person could take credit, Tom told himself. His name was Tom Carroll!