Two weeks after his seventeenth birthday, Tom obtained his private pilot license.

To qualify for his certificate, he had to meet the stringent requirements established by the Civil Aeronautics Admin, demonstrating his ability both to the CAA and to his instructor, Nick Crynes.

Twenty-five hours of solo flight and fifteen hours of dual instruction time lay behind him before he presented himself to the government examiner at the Sandeford airport. On cross-country solos alone he had to put a minimum of ten hours, and even this time had to be preceded by three hours of dual instruction in distance: flying. Each time he flew cross-country flights he was required to land at points more than twenty-five miles from his home base in order to comply with the CAA rules; once he had to fly a hundred miles from Wayfield.

In addition to the required hours in the air, Tom had to demonstrate his skill in several other regards. It took little effort to show that he knew how to make a pre-flight inspection, start the airplane engine, taxi about the field and execute a run-up check of the craft. But more thought had to be put into proving his ability to plan a cross-country flight. In this instance, there were involved the choice of a destination, consideration of weather conditions, estimating fuel requirements, selection of check points, determining the estimated time of arrival and several other factors. This, in turn, had to be followed up with the actual execution of a portion of the flight plan so as to include changing his course to land at an alternate airport.

Straight and level flight, as well as banked turns and climbing turns, all had to be carried out to the satisfaction of the CAA representative. Normal and cross-wind take-offs and landings had to be made; simulated emergencies in the air had to be coolly and expertly solved. In total, Tom proved to both Nick and the examiner that he possessed · sufficient aeronautical knowledge, experience and skill to warrant the awarding of a license.

He was justifiably proud to receive the certificate that entitled him to pilot a light plane and to carry passengers, but his pride in no way matched the jubilation that he had enjoyed on the day that he had made his first solo. He experienced, rather, a sense of achievement, a feeling that he had made something of himself in reaching his long-sought goal. Once and for all, he felt, he had freed himself from the ties that had kept him earth-bound. He now looked upon himself as an airman, in the truest sense of the word. Challenges and trials lay ahead, he knew; but he reckoned them as being of a relatively minor nature, now that the really big hurdle had been cleared.

Tom's companions in the squadron, seniors and cadets alike, were frank in their admiration and lavish in their praise for his accomplishment. Ed Dawson was practically alone in withholding congratulations. Still, the real estate man's son was one of a small group-that followed Tom's example and enrolled with Crynes as student pilots. Gratified as he was with the compliments that came his way, Tom was even more pleased over this surge of interest in flying that followed his exploit. Particularly was this true with regard to the added business for Nick that resulted, since it meant a well-deserved pay-off for the trouble and expense to which his friendly employer had gone. As a consequence of the increased demand for instruction,' Nick was compelled to spend more and more time outside of the shop, and Tom found lots of additional work thrown his way.

His chief relaxation was flying, and he took advantage of every free moment to log more time in the air. On one such occasion he flew down to Sandeford to visit the squadron there. It happened to be a day soon after Cadet Ed Sherman had returned from a trip to Europe, where he had gone as a member of the International Cadet Exchange group.

"How'd you like the junket?" Tom asked Sherman as they settled down to drink cokes.

"Boy, it was swell! It sure is a wonderful way to give fellows our age some idea of what goes on in the other parts of the world," Ed observed.

"How many were in the group?"

"About fifty. You see, every Wing sends one representative. We were flown over to Europe in an Air Force Constellation, and then we split up. About half of us went to England, and the rest went to other countries."

"But, Ed, how were you picked for the trip? Who selected you?" Tom asked.

"Well, every year each unit of every Wing nominates one cadet by popular election. The name of the winner, together with dope about his personal history, academic standing, leadership qualities and contributions to the CAP program, is forwarded to the Wing Commander. Then he selects one candidate and one alternate and forwards their names to National Headquarters in Washington. The final selection is made there."

"You have to be pretty hot to win a trip, I guess," Tom commented admiringly.

"If you mean me, you're wrong," Ed remarked. "I was just lucky. But they sure did pick a fine bunch. You know, it says in the manual that to be selected you have to be healthy, have a military bearing, know your courtesies and discipline, have poise, be well-groomed and a few other things. Well, every one that was in the group met all of the specifications and then some. They were all tops."

"Didn't it cost quite a bit?"

Ed shook his head. "Nope. We had nothing to pay except minor expenses. And we still kept on the go from the time we left till we reached home. We traveled to air bases, did lots of sight-seeing, went to different kinds of entertainments and met a whole lot of people. Why, I have a notebook practically filled with the names of English fellows that want to correspond with me."

"It really sounds like something," Tom remarked enviously.

"It was, and I feel lucky that I was able to go. Next year I hope I'll be able to meet some of the fellows that will come over here from other countries, for I'd like to treat them as well as they did me."

"Is that part of the program, too?"

"That's right. While we were over there, the countries that we visited had some of their fellows here. I guess none of them got up this far, but I'm sure they were given the full treatment by the CAP wherever they went in our country."

Tom talked for a little while longer to Ed, listening to his accounts of the places that he had visited. The Sandeford cadet left no doubt in his visitor's mind as to what he thought of the International Cadet Exchange, for he sang its praises without stint. When Tom finally started homeward, he had as his fixed objective a firm intention to try and win a nomination during the program of the coming year.

He was still full of the details of Sherman's anecdotes and descriptions when he arrived back at Wayfield, and that evening he regaled his parents with an account of what he had heard. Mrs. Carroll, especially, seemed interested, and when Tom stopped for breath she said, "That sounds wonderful, Tom. I really didn't have any idea that the CAP did such things."

"I'll bet you don't know that they have international drill competitions, either," Tom said with a smile.

"Mercy, no! Now tell me about that," his mother demanded.

"Well, you see, there are both national and international drill competitions. The national begins right at the flight level, where competitive drills weed out the awkward. Then a team is selected to represent the squadron. After that, the various squadrons compete in successive drills to see which team is to represent the Wing, though usually composite teams are made up for this purpose. They have four regional contests, and the winners go to the national championships. There they pick the one that will represent the United States in the international contest."

"And then they meet the others, I suppose," Mrs. observed.

"That's right. They compete, and the winner gets a trophy."

"Well, as I said, I just think it's fine. Don't you, Thomas?" Mrs. Carroll directed her question at her husband.

"What's that? Oh, yes. Of course," he murmured absentmindedly.

"You haven't been listening to a word that Tom or I have said," Mrs. Carroll charged. "And you've been that way for the past couple of days. Don't you feel well?"

Mr. Carroll yawned. "Off my feed, I guess. Maybe I need a little exercise. I think I'll take a walk before I go to bed."

"Wait a minute, Dad. I'll go with you," Tom declared as his father rose.

They walked in silence for a long while, then Tom asked, "Are you really under the weather, Dad, or are you worried about something?"

"I'm a little concerned about things, Tom," his father confessed.

"Same old business?"

"Yes, it is," Mr. Carroll said slowly, "but I can't quite put my finger on what's wrong."

"Want to talk about it?"

After a moment's hesitation his father said, "For a while, just when you were starting your flying lessons, I thought everything would be all right. The advertising had fallen off, as I told you, but it didn't get any worse. Lately it has even grown a little better."

"But . . . I don't understand," Tom said. "I thought . . . Wait a minute, did you hear something about the contract for the Town Report?"

"That and something else," Mr. Carroll answered. "This friend of mine on the Council told me that he'd heard some talk about awarding the contract to a printer in another town, and even though it's just gossip, it worries me. But the thing that really bothers me is that I heard from this same chap that Dawson is talking about financing another newspaper in Wayfield."

"Another paper!" Tom exclaimed in disbelief. "But the town couldn't support two papers, could it?"

"That's right. It's big enough for only one."

"Dad, anyone'd be foolish to try and compete with the Ledger, wouldn't he?"

"Of course, unless he had considerable financial backing. One or the other paper would have to close down in the long run. And even if the Ledger were to come out on top, the fight for survival would just about ruin me," his father said, his voice full of concern.

"Do you think Dawson really means it, or is he just trying to scare you?" Tom asked.

"It's hard to say. If he's just trying to get me worried, he's certainly succeeding. But I'm not sure what he has up his sleeve."

"Is there any way of finding out?"

"Not for a few weeks, until the time when the contract for the report is awarded. If I get it, then I'll know that the pressure is off and that Dawson has just been playing with me. But if I don't, aside from the seriousness of losing the contract, it may show that he really means business about this other thing," his father observed.

"Gosh, Dad. Isn't there anything I can do?" Tom pleaded.

Slipping an arm over his son's shoulder, Mr. Carroll declared, "Not a thing. This is too big. All I can do is to keep trying to make a go of things and to do my darndest to get that contract. If I think there's some way for you to help, I'll call on you, all right."

They walked home the rest of the way in silence, but Tom's mind was in turmoil. Once again he wondered if he had not given in too easily to his father's insistence that he use his earnings for flying. Without making an issue of it now, he resolved to salvage what he could out of his wages and quietly put it aside for use in an emergency. For, he reasoned, if the father was like the son, then anything could be expected of Mr. Dawson. Meanwhile, he decided to concentrate on trying to learn what he could of the real estate man's intentions. In that way, at least, he might be able to throw some light on what lay ahead.

His first move was to take some of his friends into his confidence. Initially he approached Sam Tolliver and Nick Crynes, telling them briefly of his father's worries and asking them to let him know if they heard anything about either the awarding of the printing contract for the Town Report or any move on Big Ed Dawson's part to finance another newspaper in Wayfield. Both men were dumbfounded by the intimation that Dawson was vindictive enough to seek to destroy the Ledger editor.

"It just doesn't make sense to me that he'd go to all this trouble just to get even with your father," Tolliver observed. "After all, he has made a good deal on the Corwin property and he won't lose anything on it."

"Maybe," Nick suggested, "it's not so much what Tom's dad has done as it is Dawson's fear of not having his own way in the future."

Major Tolliver pursed his lips thoughtfully, then said slowly, "You mean, Nick, he figures that the Ledger beat him once and wouldn't be afraid to tackle him again some time, if he tries to run the town the way he always has?"

"That's right. Revenge plus elimination of an opponent. After all, Tom's father said that the advertising picked up a little, and that may be a sign that folks aren't quite so likely to do what Dawson wants them to do. So Big Ed just decided that he'd better get rid of Mr. Carroll before he loses control of things," Nick stated.

"I think you're right, Nick," Tom declared. "It's more than getting even with Dad; it's just that Dawson sees trouble ahead if he doesn't have a town paper on his side, He knows that Dad won't stand for anything that he thinks isn't right."

"It adds up, certainly," Tolliver admitted. "And if that's what Dawson has in mind, there's certainly trouble ahead for your father, much as I hate to believe it."

Tom's lips tightened. "He'll have a fight on his hands. Dad won't give in easily, and I'm going to do everything I can to help out at home, starting right now."

"We'll see what we can find out, Tom, and we'll all do what we can to help, too," the squadron commander promised.

"Speaking of help, Tom," Nick said after a pause, "you've been a big help to me in this flying business. The advertising value of having you qualify for your pilot license has paid me off more than what your lessons cost. So let's call the whole thing square . . . I mean, I want to refund what you paid .... "

"Nothing doing," Tom firmly declared, touched at Nick's generosity. "That was a business deal. But I'd like to keep on working for you, maybe even after the summer."

Nick protested, but Tom was adamant. He wanted no charity and any such rebate as the instructor had proposed would have been just that. He considered the money that he had invested in taking lessons had been spent wisely, even if at an inappropriate time. What remained now, he insisted, was for him to continue working and earning all that he could. When he mentioned curtailing his flying, Nick refused to agree and exacted from Tom a promise that he would take additional flying time on a credit basis. It was a kindly gesture, and Tom was warmed by it. He was sure that he had a real friend in the ex-sergeant.

When Tom told Red and Ralph of his fears concerning Dawson's intentions, both expressed disbelief. The latter particularly could not believe that the real estate man would have any such motives as Tom indicated. For his part, Red grudgingly agreed that Big Ed was capable of such machinations and he promised to try and learn whatever he could about both the contract and the backing of the rumored new paper. Ralph, too, said he would help, though he discounted in advance the likelihood of Dawson scheming to place Mr. Carroll at a disadvantage. Nevertheless, when he parted from Tom, he had a look of concern on his face.

Tom's next stop was the home of Mr. Corwin. The old man received him with his usual gruffness, but that disappeared as he listened to his visitor. Questioning him sharply, he was especially interested in the views expressed by Nick Crynes.

"Crynes is right," Mr. Corwin finally declared. "Dawson wouldn't go to all this trouble just to get even with your father. He has other things in mind. He has had his way in this town for a good many years, and he doesn't relish the idea of anyone standing up to him."

"I guess you were right, sir, when you told us to be on our guard," Tom commented.

"I know Ed Dawson," the old man stated with a mirthless chuckle. "He wants power and he doesn't want anyone to block him the way your father did in that airport issue. I don't know exactly what he's after, but one thing is sure: he's going to try and keep his influence in Wayfield. Your father is an obstacle in his way, so Dawson will be out to get rid of him."

Mr. Corwin's words, carrying the conviction that they did, struck home in Tom. Aghast at the prospect of his dad losing the Ledger, he felt a sense of deep despondency. Dawson, with all of his resources, would almost certainly ruin the Ledger if he chose to back another newspaper in Wayfield. And if he did that, he would once again be unchallenged in the community.

"What . . . that is, do you think there's anything we can do?" Tom asked desperately.

"One thing," the old man shot back fiercely, "is not to be afraid. You licked the buzzard before and you can do it again. Understand that?"

"Yes, sir," Tom replied, heartened by Mr. Corwin's encouragement.

"Now, we've got to work out exactly what he's up to. Till we know that, it'll be difficult to fight him. I'll see what I can find out about this newspaper deal and the Town Report. I may not be able to do much about that," he mused, "for I don't have much truck with those poppinjays on the council. But I'll see what I can do. And after we know where we stand, we'll figure out some way to let Mister Big Ed Dawson know that he's in for the fight of his life."

"Sir, I certainly do appreciate . . ."

"Get along with you," the old man cut in, his crustiness returning. "You just remember I'll be on your side as long as you keep fighting. I like a fighter. . . ."

In spite of his dismay about the difficulties facing his father, Tom felt a sense of satisfaction over the way his friends had rallied to his support. The Carrolls, he was sure, would not be alone in any conflict with Big Ed Dawson. That in itself was rewarding, though in no sense would it make up for any hardship that might befall his dad as a result of the enmity roused in the real estate man. At all costs, Dawson's efforts to dislodge his father from a position of influence in the town must be blocked. The struggle, if it came, would be a bitter one. The editor of the Ledger would need all the help and support he could get, especially from his son.