Very much like a little boy who is seeing his first Christmas tree, Freddy Farmer stared pop-eyed out the Clipper's lounge window and down at the man-made magic that was New York City. For a full five minutes he had been gaping at the sight, not moving a muscle, not making a sound, and practically holding his breath all of the time. At his side and with an arm thrown across the English-born R.A.F. ace's shoulders was Dave Dawson, grinning from ear to ear, and getting the kick of his life out of the spell that a first look at Gotham had cast upon his bosom pal, and hard-hitting flying partner. The English youth blinked, swallowed hard, and gave a little uncertain shake of his head.…
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