‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œOf course it’™s weird, Jack, and out of this world, but I assure you it’™s true. You know Peter quite well ‘“ well enough to know that he’™s a out of his mind when it comes to taking risks. His latest craze is flying what he calls his Bumble-bee, that hang-glider with a motor. And Peter would never opt for ordinary flying ‘“’˜That’™s for sissies,’™ he says. Oh no! That’™s not for Peter. When he flies he goes ground-hugging and when Peter does ground-hugging his feet have to raise a bit of dust otherwise he feels he’™s too high! I’™m telling you he’™s mad,’ and Kenneth shook his head gazing into his beer mug as if he would find some consolation in it.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œDon’™t take it to heart so much, Ken. Maybe Peter will have to learn a lesson the hard way and not hurt himself too badly. It must be awful for him to sit penned up in his lawyer’™s office all day; he simply must let off some of his pent up energy and if this is his way of doing it, well, let him have it.’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Ken turned his head, giving me an enquiring look. I could practically hear the wheels of his brain turning as he thought about what I said.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  We were sitting at a popular bar in Kansas city, I looking over it at a dazzling array of bottled liquor behind the bar. These were arranged in three tiers before a mirror; I think there must have been there a sample of every alcoholic drink ever bottled. Reflected also in the mirror was Ken’™s worried expression between a bottle of Johney Walker and Remy Martin. I thought, perhaps he needed something a little stronger than a beer and said: ‘œHave a bourbon , Ken. Maybe that’™ll put a bit of spirit into you. Your problem is you’™ve got too much imagination. With you, things begin happening even without them happening.’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œOh yeah, and what about that time when I did go with P. when he first got that crazy flying contraption? I felt my hair standing on end as he grazed the hills. It was hair-raising to watch. ‘˜Never again, P.,’™ I said to him then. ‘˜If you want to get yourself killed, do it on your own. Leave me out of it, you hear?!’™
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œSo here I am Jack, worrying myself to pieces while P. flings himself around with a ridiculous flyer that’™s more a stupid, dangerous toy than anything else. It hasn’™t even got proper controls. You have to pull strings to go up or down and if a gust of wind hits you, you’™re done! I don’™t know what is better, sitting here with you, getting nervous or watching P. in his madness. I expect to hear the wail of an ambulance any minute’¦’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œShut up, Ken. You’™re getting hysterical, that’™s what. Instead of shattering your nerves, come, we’™ll take a run out of town to where he flies. You’™ll probably see him having a whale of a time.’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  With a hand on Ken’™s shoulder for encouragement we left the bar to take a quick drive to where Peter was fond of flying over virgin Missouri countryside.’ 
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  In twenty minutes we were in the place driving over dirt tracks in search of a crazy flier skimming the ground for excitement.’  I expected the loud buzz of the engine to lead us to Peter but when I stopped the car and we got out to listen, there was nothing heard except the drone of an unusually strong North-west wind.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Without mentioning anything to Ken that breeze got me quite worried and again we began driving up and down with windows open to catch any sound.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  It was Ken who spotted something bright red showing just above the ground. It was about a mile off and Ken kept repeating: ‘œI told you, Jack. I just knew something like this would happen. It was bound to!’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  There was a rise up a hillock to where the patch of red could be seen in scrub too heavy to drive over. I stopped the car and we both ran up the hill not knowing what to expect.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  It was Pete’™s flying contraption alright ‘“ a few large letters painted on the red canopy made that clear; four large letters in white U M B L were quite enough for us to know that we had found the mechanical part. But where was Pete? The thing was laying on its side tangled in the bushes its red chute covering it.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œPete,’ we both began shouting, ‘œPete! Peter! Where are you?’ But only the soft wind was heard in reply.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œJack! Maybe he’™s unconscious somewhere- in a bush! But as much as were searched and called we found nothing. Then we began looking for Pete’™s car. For an hour we drove in the hot afternoon around and about but again, nothing.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Lets hit it back to town, Ken. We’™ll try first the new hospital.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  With the horn of my Chevey blaring, I ignored half the red lights and in less than fifteen minutes, I was parking outside the giant new building. Both ken and I raced up the few steps to the main entrance. Together we faced an attractive nurse at the inquiries desk. Panting we asked in unison: ‘œWas Peter Collingston brought here?’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œJust a moment, please, gentlemen, I’™ve just come on duty. Let me see’¦’ her voice trailed off leaving Ken in a state of seige.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  She ran her eyes down a list of names on the monitor and it seemed an age until she said: ‘œYes, just half and hour ago. Try Emergency.’ She pointed down a long passage.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  We were on our way before she had finished but a doorman’  stopped us before we could enter, his raised eyebrows asking a question.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œCollingston. Peter Collingston,’ Ken said breathlessly.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  The expression on Kenneth’™s face must have been enough for the man to push some buttons on a wall box and the double doors swung wide. Again we dashed down to what we took to be the desk of a head nurse. Again the name ‘“ again twice repeated.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  The nurse stood and we followed her to a door. There she turned to us and said: ‘Wait, please,’ and she stepped inside alone.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  To say that Ken was nervous by this time must be the understatement of the year. He twisted his fingers, bit his lip and walked around in very tight circles. The nurse came out and again said curtly: ‘œOnly five minutes!’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Ken literally burst into the room with me a step behind. The sight that greeted us was as strange as it was unexpected. There was some mistake. It was not Peter! – or was it? I peered closely. Definitely not Pete, definitely! The face wasn’™t his – rounder I thought. The man had a bandage around his head covering his right eye.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  ‘œNot Pete,’ I said and taking Ken’™s arm began to move away.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Then the man’™s mouth opened just a little but I distinctly heard: ‘œKen! Jack!’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  That was enough for us and Ken, stuttering, managed: ‘œPeter? What ‘¦ the .. hell?’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  That, too was enough and Pete managed to mumble through swollen lips: ‘œBumble-bee ‘¦ real one! Close to my eye. Seems I’™m allergic.’
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Shocked, but with relief beginning to set in we both gaped in silence.
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Was that an actual smile we’  were seeing on Pete’™s face?