My objective is to help bring about, by my humble efforts, a gradual evolution, believing it possible to work toward a sane and balanced economic life without creating social unrest or strife. * * * * * My most sincere gratitude to Mrs. Dorothy Alger of Reno, Nevada, in the scrupulous, good workmanlike manner she typed and retyped my manuscript. CHAPTER I _Our Coming World_ On my daily afternoon strolls on West Riverside Drive Parkway, between 85th and 87th Streets in New York, I noticed a young man about thirty years old sitting alone, always on the same bench, for long periods looking up into the sky or fumbling in his brief case and reading his diary and papers. Most of the time he seemed to me to be in a disconsolate mood. I sat down beside him, but his manner did not encourage conversation. Every day afterward I sat down on the bench near him and finally, with a great deal of tact, I began to talk to him. He gradually seemed to gain confidence in me. After a couple of weeks of daily meetings I felt by his actions that he was looking forward to my presence each day. One day, seeming to feel somewhat communicative he apologized for his former rudeness and said, "My name is Fred Balmore. I'm reticent but it isn't because I don't like to talk to strangers. On the contrary, I would only be too glad to tell anyone my story who would help and believe me. My parents, my lifelong friends, the National Geographic Society, everyone hearing or reading my story seem to think I am insane. But somehow, I feel you'll understand. "My parents had me examined by alienists and I was confined for a short time in an insane asylum in an effort to cure my--," the young man hesitated for a moment, "what they called my delusions. I am sure if I tell you my story, you'll have a hard time believing me too. "I have inherited a large amount of money. The executors of my grandfather's estate stopped my allowance because they think I'm not mentally responsible. I am anxious to purchase an aeroplane, but my pilot's license has been revoked. I went to a government airfield and, without permission, jumped into one of the bombers standing idle; before I had a chance to take it off the ground, I was caught, forcibly removed, and sent to an insane asylum." I asked him why he had been so rash and he answered, "When you hear my story, you will understand my purpose. "By the way, my superior in the air corps also has the idea I am insane. He believes we cracked up somewhere and that I in some manner was saved, and so reported it to the War Department, who officially notified families of my crew members of their death." His intelligent conversation and calm demeanor convinced me of his sanity. He was obviously anxious to explain and justify his actions to me. As a writer I was naturally interested. I encouraged him to tell his strange story which follows.