two hockey-game tickets out of his tunic pocket and looked at them.

"For two cents I'd leave him flat and get somebody else to go with me!" he muttered. "I should have drawn the bum a map so he could use it to get over here from Times Square. He—"

He let the rest trail off as he saw Freddy Farmer hurrying toward him from the direction of the IRT shuttle train to Times Square. He fixed the English-born air ace with a disgusted eye and watched him approach. Freddy came up to him all smiles and slightly flushed.

"Waiting for somebody, old thing?" he greeted Dave.

"No!" Dawson snapped. "And my mother taught me never to speak to strangers. So scram, before I call a cop."

"Speaking of your New York cops," Freddy Farmer chuckled, "I wouldn't be here now, if it hadn't been for a bobby in the Bronx."

"Bronx?" Dawson exploded. "What the heck were you doing up there? This morning you said you were going to hear Benny Goodman's band over at the Paramount Theatre."

"And so I did," Freddy replied with a nod. "And it was absolutely topping. But—"

"Topping, he says!" Dawson snorted. "You should show your passport when you use words like that. You mean keen, or in the groove, or on the beam, or strictly the nuts. But what about the Bronx? Did Goodman lead a parade?"

"If you'll be so kind as to shut that big mouth of yours, I'll explain!" Freddy snapped. "After the show I had something to eat, and—"

"As if I couldn't guess that!" Dawson grunted. "And so?"

"And so when I came out of the restaurant it was snowing," the English youth said. "And—"

"Snowing, in January?" Dawson mock-gasped and widened his eyes. "Well, what do you know about that? So you just stood there and watched it snowing in January, of all times, while I cooled my heels here waiting for you!"

"Do you want to listen, or would you rather give that tongue of yours exercise?" Freddy Farmer bit off.

"Okay, okay, but make it good!" Dawson sighed. "I've got two tickets for the Ranger-Chicago Hawks hockey game tonight. Make your story good, or somebody else goes with me!"

"What?" Freddy cried. "You've got—Good grief! Now we've got four!"

"Four what?" Dawson demanded. "Or am I supposed to guess?"

"Four tickets to the hockey game," Freddy Farmer said, and produced two from his own pocket. "I couldn't remember who was to get the tickets. So after I came out of the restaurant, I walked up to Madison Square Garden and got two tickets just to be sure. And—What's the matter, Dave? You suddenly sick, or something?"

The last was because Dawson had made a face, groaned, and clapped one hand to his forehead. With the other he reached out and grabbed Freddy's hand that held the hockey-game tickets, and jerked it up until the tickets were about an inch from the end of the English youth's nose.

"Boy, are you something!" he groaned. "Take a look, Bright Eyes! Take a good look! You went to the wrong window. Those tickets are for the Ranger-Boston Bruin game next Wednesday!"

"Oh, good grief, no!" Freddy cried. "I didn't know there was any special window. I just went to one and asked the chap for two good tickets to the next game. And he gave me these. I'll take them back and—"

"No, you won't, sweetheart!" Dawson interrupted, and shook his head. "You'll just be out that dough, and maybe it will teach you to use your head next time. We'll give the tickets to the first two soldiers we meet. But let's get back to the Bronx. Did the ticket fellow send you up there?"

"No, it was one of your blasted tube trains!" Freddy Farmer growled. "I asked the chap what tube I should take to get to Grand Central. He didn't understand me until I remembered that you call the tube the subway. So—"

"You mean you English guys call the subway the tube," Dawson cut in again. "How many times have I got to tell you that when in Rome shoot Roman candles! So you went to the subway, and—? Now what?"

Freddy Farmer didn't reply. He stood staring at something behind Dawson. Dave turned impulsively, but all he saw was a lot of people hurrying toward their respective destinations. He turned back and looked at Freddy.

"Okay, come up for air!" he growled. "What's eating you, anyway?"

"That chap over there by the ticket window," the English-born air ace finally said. "The chap in gray. I've seen him half-a-dozen times today."

"So what?" Dawson grunted. "It's a free country and a small world. What of it?"

"Nothing, except that the first time was in the lobby of the hotel as you and I were leaving," Freddy said. "And the next time he was three seats away from me in the Paramount. And the next time was in the restaurant; then at Madison Square Garden; and up in the Bronx, too."

"No kidding?" Dawson echoed, half expecting his pal to pull some kind of a gag.

"No kidding at all," Freddy replied promptly. "I'm certain that the chap has been following me around."

"Could be," Dawson murmured, and casually turned around so that he could get a look at the man in gray. "Frankly, though, you do look like a guy with itchy fingers, and we've got a lot of expensive things in this town. He's probably a plain-clothes detective from Police Headquarters."

"Then I'm definitely in a mess now!" Freddy Farmer snapped right back at him. "I'm sure it's a crime in any country to be caught talking to the likes of you! See him, Dave?"

"Yeah," Dawson grunted, turning back. "A nice-looking guy. And he didn't get that overcoat with cigarette coupons. We'll check up in a couple of minutes and see if he continues to trail you. Right now, though, I can hardly wait. What about the Bronx, anyway?"

"I took the wrong tube train, that's all," Freddy said. "And I went right to the end of the line, which was in the Bronx, but not a single station said Grand Central. I got off and asked a bobby how to get there. He was a very fine chap, and straightened me out. But, good grief, I've certainly seen a lot of New York today!"

"Well, don't ever take a subway to Brooklyn!" Dawson advised. "You wouldn't be back for a week. What shall we do now? Where'll we go, I mean. Want to take a subway ride?"

"Deliver me!" Freddy Farmer groaned. "Definitely, no! Personally, I'm hungry. Let's go find a nice restaurant and fuel up, what?"

"Okay," Dawson sighed. "I suppose you've got to have a nine-course snack to keep you from fainting until supper. Okay. But let's go to the dining room in the Biltmore Hotel next door. If your friend in gray follows you there, we'll know he's up to something. Ten to one, though, you've been having a pipe dream."

"Perhaps," Freddy Farmer admitted as he dropped into step with Dawson. "But that's definitely the same chap I've been seeing all day long. I wonder why the blighter is following me around? No, no, my little man! Just keep your opinion to yourself. I—I say, wait a minute, Dave!"

Freddy Farmer left Dawson's side and went over to two Yank soldiers who were obviously going no place, but just taking in the sights. They saluted him as he came up and stopped in front of them.

"I say, you two on leave, what?" he asked with a grin.

"Yes, sir," they replied together, and gave him a funny look.

"Will you be in town come next Wednesday?" Freddy asked again.

"Yes, sir," they replied in the same breath.

"Good!" Freddy beamed, and held out the hockey tickets. "Use these, if you like. And half a minute! Here, buy yourselves some little thing, what? And good luck."

Freddy Farmer added two one-dollar