"Come," said the man, "let's climb aboard," and he helped the girl over the side of the ship.
"Can't he get in here?" she asked.
"I think he can," said the man.
"You are reassuring," she returned.
"I don't feel so." He drew his pistol.
"For heaven's sake," she cried, "don't shoot at him with that thing. You might hit him."
"I don't intend to shoot at him but I might succeed in frightening him away if he attempts to reach us here. Haven't you ever seen a trainer work with lions? He carries a silly little pop-gun loaded with blank cartridges. With that and a kitchen chair he subdues the most ferocious of beasts."
"But you haven't a kitchen chair," she reminded him.
"No," he said, "Government is always muddling things. I have always maintained that airplanes should be equipped with kitchen chairs."
Bertha Kircher laughed as evenly and with as little hysteria as though she were moved by the small talk of an afternoon tea.