along it they saw that this one was occupied.

A pair of tiny feminine figures left the frothy surf and ran

panic-stricken to where towels and discarded bikinis lay above the

high-water mark.  White buttocks contrasted sharply with a coffee-brown

tan, and they laughed delightedly.

Nice change for you to see them running away, David, Barney grinned as

they left the tiny figures far behind and bore onwards into the south.

From Cape Agulhas they turned inland, climbing steeply over the mountain

ranges, then David eased back on the throttles and they sank down beyond

the crests towards the city, nestling under its mountain.

As they walked side by side towards the hangar, Barney looked up at

David who now topped him by six inches.

Don't let him stampede you, boy, he warned.  You've made your decision.

See you stick to it.  David took his British racing green M.G.  over De

Wool Drive, and from the lower slopes of the mountain looked down to

where the Morgan building stood four-square amongst the other tall

monuments to power and wealth.

David enjoyed its appearance, clean and functional like an aircraft's

wing, but he knew that the soaring freedom of its lines was deceptive.

It was a prison and fortress.

He swung off the freeway at an interchange and rode down to the

foreshore, glancing up at the towering bulk of the Morgan building again

before entering the ramp that led to the underground garages beneath it.

When he entered the executive apartments on the top floor, he passed

along the row of desks where the secretaries, hand-picked for their

looks as well as their skill with a typewriter, sat in a long row. Their

lovely faces opened into smiles like a garden of exotic blooms as David

greeted each of them.  Within the Morgan building he was treated with

the respect due the heir apparent.

Martha Goodrich, in her own office that guarded the inner sanctum,

looked up from her typewriter, severe and businesslike.

Good morning, Mister David.  Your uncle is waiting and I do think you

could have worn a suit You're looking good, Martha.  You've lost weight

and I like your hair like that.  It worked, as it always did.

Her expression softened.

Don't you try buttering me up, she warned him primly.  I'm not one of

your floozies.  Paul Morgan was at the picture window looking down over

the city spread below him like a map, but he turned quickly to greet

David.

Hello, Uncle Paul.  I'm sorry I didn't have time to change.  I thought

it best to come directly That's fine, David.  Paul Moron flicked his

eyes over David's floral shirt open to the navel, the wide tooled

leather belt, white slacks and open sandals.  On him they looked good,

Paul admitted reluctantly.  The boy wore even the most outlandish modern

clothes with a furious grace.

It's good to see you.  Paul smoothed the lapels of his own dark

conservatively-cut suit and looked up at his nephew.  Come in.  Sit

down, there, the chair by the fireplace.  As always, he found that David

standing emphasized his own lack of stature.  Paul was short and heavily

built in the shoulders, thick muscular neck and square thrusting head.

Like his daughter, his hair was coarse and wiry and his features

squashed and puglike.

All the Morgans were built that way.  It was the proper course of

things, and Davids exotic appearance was out side the natural order.  It

was from his mother's side, of course.  All that dark hair and flashing

eyes, and the temperament that went with it.

Well, David.  First off, I want to congratulate you on your final

results.  I was most gratified, Paul Morgan told him gravely, and he

could have added - I was also mightily relieved.  David Morgan's

scholastic career had been a tempestuous affair.  Pinnacles of

achievement followed immediately by depths of disgrace from which only

the Morgan name and wealth had rescued him.

There had been the business with the games master's young wife.  Paul

never did find out the truth of the matter, but had thought it

sufficient to smooth it over by donating a new organ to the school

chapel and arranging a teaching scholarship for the games master to a

foreign university.  Immediately thereafter David had won the coveted

Wessels prize for mathematics, and all was forgiven, until he decided to

test his house-master's new sports car, without that gentleman's

knowledge, and took it into a tight bend at ninety miles an hour.  The

car was unequal to the test, and David picked himself up out of the

wreckage and limped away with a nasty scratch on his calf.  It had taken

all Paul Morgan's weight to have the house-master agree not to cancel

David's appointment as head of house.  His prejudices had finally been

overcome by the replacement of his wrecked car with a more expensive

model, and the Morgan group had made a grant to rebuild the ablution

block of East House.

The boy was wild, Paul knew it well, but he knew also that he could tame

him.  Once he had done that he would have forged a razor-edged tool.  He

possessed all the attributes that Paul Morgan wanted in his successor.

The verve and confidence, the bright quick mind and adventurous spirit,

but above all he possessed the aggressive attitude, the urge to compete

that Paul defined as the killer instinct.

Thank you, Uncle Paul, David accepted his uncle's congratulations

warily.  They were silent, each assessing the other.  They had never

been easy in the other's company, they were too different in many ways,

and yet in others too much alike.  Always it seemed that their interests

were in conflict.

Paul Morgan moved across to the picture windows, so that the daylight

back-lit him it was an old trick of his to put the other person at a

disadvantage.

Not that we expected less of you, of course, he laughed, and David

smiled to acknowledge the fact that his uncle had come close to levity.

And now we must consider your future.  David was silent.

The choice open to you is wide, said Paul Morgan, and then went on

swiftly to narrow it.  Though I do feel business science and law at an

American University is what it should be.  With this obvious goal in

mind I have used my influence to have you enrolled in my old college,

Uncle Paul, I want to fly, said David softly, and Paul Morgan paused.

His expression changed fractionally.

We are making a career decision, my boy, not expressing preferences for

different types of recreation."No, sir.  I mean I want to fly, as a way

of life."Your life is here, within the Morgan group.  It is not

something in which you have freedom of action I don't agree with you,

sir.

Paul Morgan left the window and crossed to the fire place.  He selected

a cigar from the humidor on the mantel, and while he prepared it he

spoke softly, without looking at David.

Your father was a romantic, David.  He got it out of his system by

charging around the desert in a tank.  It seems you have inherited this

romanticism from him.  He made it sound like some disgusting disease. He

came back to where David sat.  Tell me what you propose.  'I have

enlisted in the air force, sir.  'You've done it?  You've signed?  'Yes,

sir.  'How long?  'Five years.  Short service commission.  Five years -

Paul Morgan whispered, well, David, I don't know what to say.  You know

that you are the last of the Morgans.  I have no son.  It will be sad to

see this vast enterprise without one of us at the helm.  I wonder what