"Do you have to take photographs?" the tall girl said. "It makes me terribly nervous. Suppose they don't want to be photographed?"
"I thought of that. But it's the chance of a lifetime. I'm not passing it up."
"Oh, lover!" came from the foredeck. "Oh, darling, sweet, I never imagined—don't stop now."
"Oh, Gawd!" the tall girl said. "Do we have to put up with that?"
"It's a crazy world," the tweedy man said. "That's why I'm such a skeptic. A flying saucer? Maybe. But I'm not convinced by any means. It could be a Naval Observatory plane, some new fancy kind that's disk-shaped and very large. Or maybe the Russians have come up with a low-flying satellite. Anything is possible. I'll admit that if I was convinced I would get excited."
"I'm frightened," the short brunette said. "I'm so scared I can't think straight."
"I guess we all are," the tweedy man admitted. "I take back what I said. I guess we all are. But if we just sit tight it will be gone in two or three minutes."
"I've got thirty-two exposures on this roll," the man with the camera said. "I'll get it from every angle. There won't be any argument about it this time. They'll be banner headlines and every paper in the country will give the pictures a front-page spread. I'll be in Life. Both the pictures and the guy who took them. The best kind of publicity for a writer. He made it on the flying-saucer circuit."
"I agree with Ellen," the tweedy man said. "I don't think you should be taking pictures. And it's not really a joking matter."
"I'm not joking. Believe me, I'm not. I'm just being a little light-headed. Can you blame me for that? You get keyed up and you think of the craziest things. Like in the poem. Two lines. 'His life was scarlet but his books were read.' To a writer that's important. Just to be read. Starting tomorrow, I'll have fifty million readers."