Back and forth he flew for the better part of an hour, bombarding the clouds with ice pellets to make snow. He had timed his flight with care so that no other plane would be aloft when he reached the sky above the rival Burden Bay resort--no others took off once the snow storm began. Incoming planes were routed to Wheedonville by the Sea. Wiley Cordes listened to the reports on his radio as he flew back to the secluded airport outside of Wheedonville. From the tenor of the announcers it was clearly evident that no one suspected the snowstorm had been deliberately induced by the hand of man. After taxiing his ex-bomber into the hangar, he got out of flying togs and drove to the Wheedonville City Club, where the members of the Chamber of Commerce were waiting. If the mood of their previous meeting had been glum, today joy was unconfined. Old whiskey was brought out, and a special banquet served by close-mouthed club attendants. The radio was left on, and each report of the inexplicable snowstorm which had brought a halt to the Burden Bay autumn season was the occasion for a toast. "The man who really deserves our thanks," said the President, lifting his glass to Wiley Cordes. A chorus of "Hear, hear" greeted his salute. Wiley, entering into the spirit of the occasion, waxed enthusiastic when he was given the floor after cigars were passed. "It is my belief," he went on, "that by repeatedly inducing snow to fall over our neighbor city I can ultimately reduce its mean temperature by the very emanation of cold from the snow covered ground to a point where it will remain colder than normal throughout the fall, winter and spring. "Furthermore," he added, his well-preserved face alight with optimism, "I see no reason why we should limit ourselves to snowstorms. The same dry ice treatment, given to the right cloud formation above Burden Bay when opportunity offers, should produce a certain percentage of rainy weekends and holidays. I can truthfully say that our worries are over." "Keep it up, and you'll find a welcome surprise in your pay envelope, Wiley," said the President, beaming. The arrival of the afternoon papers from Burden Bay was the signal to cease all speech making for a good gloat. The journalists of Wheedonville by the Sea's ancient rival, beneath a commendable effort to gloss over the disaster, were really crying catastrophe. Coming without warning, the baby blizzard--for it had amounted almost to that--had literally caught them with their plants down. Damage, it was hinted in stories hastily killed for later editions, would almost certainly run high into millions. Hotel reservations for the usually equable autumn months were already being canceled. As if to prove it never snowed but it poured, the Oil Refinery chose that day to announce the failure of a sixth gusher and resultant passing of a dividend.