“No. I’m all right. Only a weak spell. Thank you, anyway.”
Vicki asked respectfully, “Did a doctor give his permission for you to fly, sir?”
“The doctor most certainly did not—” Mrs. Bryant started, but the man interrupted. “Fool doctors would keep me in a rocking chair. I have to do what I think is right.”
Vicki mentioned briefly the regulation for Federal and all airlines: a person with a serious heart condition was not supposed to fly unless he had a doctor’s written permission to do so, on the grounds that the trip was necessary, and unless he had someone to accompany him who could nurse him. The airlines relied on cardiacs not to board a plane without such certification.
“If we had known in advance, Mr. Bryant,” Vicki said, “we would have been obliged to keep you off the plane.”
“Well, you took excellent care of me, young lady. It worked out, didn’t it?”
Mrs. Bryant shook her head. “You are so self-willed, Marshall. So stubborn.”
Vicki turned to her. “The oxygen I gave your husband is only first aid, you know. Do you feel a doctor should see him immediately?”
“Well, I’ve seen him have worse spells than this one—not in the air, either.” The elderly lady hesitated. “He does seem much better now—”
Vicki said that it was really up to the captain of the plane to decide whether to make an emergency landing. She excused herself, went forward past curious passengers, unlocked the cabin door, and stepped up into the cockpit.