ittle table beside his bed. He stared at it
sleepy eyed and tried to remember why he had put it where he would see
it the very first thing when he opened his eyes. He knew there was some
reason, an important one, but for the life of him he couldn't remember.

He struggled with the problem for a moment or two and then sat up in bed
and glanced about the room. For one brief second the unfamiliar sight
startled him. Then he realized where he was and grinned broadly. Sure
enough! This was his room in the Hotel de Ney in Paris, France. This was
just a little part of the wonderful dream that had really come true!

The "dream" had begun two weeks ago. It had begun with the thundering
roar of the _Dixie_ Clipper's four engines that had lifted Dave and his
father from the waters of Port Washington Bay, Long Island, on the first
leg of the flight across the Atlantic to Lisbon, Portugal. His father
had been sent to Europe on a government mission, and after much coaxing
and pleading had consented to take Dave along. The thrill of a lifetime,
and during every minute of these last two weeks Dave Dawson had been
living in a very special kind of Seventh Heaven.

To fly to a Europe at peace was something, but to fly to a Europe at war
was something extra special. It was a trip a fellow would remember all
the days of his life. It was an adventure that he'd tell his
grandchildren all about some day. The Clipper roaring to a landing at
Bermuda, then on to the Azores, and then farther eastward to Lisbon. The
train journey across Portugal to Spain, then up across Spain and over
the Pyrenees into France. Finally on to Paris and all the beautiful
things that beautiful city had to offer.

Not all of the things, however, had been beautiful. There were lots of
things that were grim looking and made a fellow think a lot. The things
of war. True, the war was a long, long ways from Paris. It was far
eastward between the great Maginot Line of the French and the Siegfried
Line of Adolf Hitler's Nazi legions. There it had remained for eight
months, now, and people were saying that there it would remain. Hitler
would never dare attack the Maginot Line, and eventually the war would
just peter out.

Yes, that was the talk you heard all over Paris, but the grim things
were there for you to see with your own eyes just the same. The
batteries of anti-aircraft guns strategically placed about the city. The
fat sausage balloons that could be sent up to grea