“They’re dead,” he said, grabbing the hermit’s arm, but he hardly seemed to be registering the hermit’s sudden appearance.

The hermit squatted down, put his fingers to each child’s neck, and said, “No, they’re not. They’ve been gassed, but they’re still alive. Their father must have pushed the gas button accidentally. You’ll be down beside them in a second if we’re not fast.”

“Whah?” said Old Tom, swaying.

The hermit wasted no more words. He got a gas mask on himself and put one on Old Tom. Then he showed Old Tom how to get the children oxygen from a tank and get masks on them as well. After that he went to the cockpit.

“Why didn’t I check to see if they were alive? Why didn’t I try to resuscitate them? Old fool!” said Old Tom.

“You were gassed and didn’t know it. You couldn’t think straight but never mind that now—come help with this man,” said the hermit.

“Is he alive? Mr. Madden?” asked Old Tom.

“Yes, alive and probably in better shape than the children. He’s bigger, you see. Here, finish with the children and get some oxygen into him and a gas mask on him as well. I’m going to get the plane turned around. Right now we’re heading west across the ocean. When we get back over Vancouver Island you all are going to depart the plane and I’m going back out to sea where I won’t be detected, to circle the island if it will stay up that long until first light, when I can see to land it on the water.”

Everyone was waking up. The oxygen had revived them, and the gas masks kept them from breathing in any more sleeping gas. They were moved into seats where they slumped dizzily, barely able to take in what was happening.

“Am I having my teeth done?” asked Winifred confusedly, because it reminded her of the time she had been given gas at the dentist’s.

“We’re all having our teeth done. Whee!” said Fixing Bob, who had woken up and, unlike everyone else, seemed to have been made lively by the gas. He got out of his seat and tried to sit on the hermit’s lap. The hermit shoved him roughly aside.

“You pushed the wrong button,” said the hermit. “You don’t know anything about this plane, do you? Not what any of the buttons do. Not how to fly it. Certainly not about how it may self-destruct.”

“I flew the plane! I flew the Argot, the greatest flying fortress in the world! I’m not Fixing Bob anymore. I’m Flying Bob! From now on you, everyone, must call me Flying Bob!”

“You’re an idiot,” said the hermit. “You pressed the gas button and almost got yourself and your children killed.”