Her hair was caught in a piston at the side of the machine, and any gentle movement failed to loosen it. A stronger jerk would tear her hair out by the roots, and Patty wondered if this were not what she ought to do to avert worse disaster.
She bethought herself of a tiny pair of scissors in her little handbag and wondered if she could get them. It was a difficult process, but she managed it at last, only by getting them with one hand and being obliged to drop the bag overboard in the process. It contained money and some small valuables, but all Patty thought of now, was to release her head from that ever increasing pull.
Cautiously she raised her hand, calculating the direction with difficulty.
But she managed to accomplish her aim, and with several short steady clips she severed the strand of hair and liberated her strained head.
Quite unconsciously she clung to the scissors, and though she realised the great danger was over, she felt faint with the reaction.
After what seemed an interminable time, they reached the ground again, having really made a very short flight.
“There, Miss Fairfield,” said Lieutenant Breen, gaily, “you’ve had a fly, and yet you’ve kept your promise! For you certainly did not go of your own volition! Why,—what’s the matter?”
Patty looked at him with such reproach and scorn that the boy,—for he was little more,—was overcome with dismay.
“How could you?” she stormed, “have you any idea how offended I am?”
“No, ma’am, I haven’t!” he said, dumfoundedly; “I—I thought you’d like it.”