No lion’s going to catch us way out here; lions are afraid of water.” Dad has the fishing poles we rented and he’s ahead of me. We’re walking out on a rickety old pier with boards missing so we can look right down into the water. Two days have passed since the lion escaped and killed that man in the motorcycle act. It’s been in all the newspapers, even the Philadelphia papers, the Inquirer, the Bulletin, and the Ledger. The lady at our place where we’re living says the radio told everybody to stay at home if they could, except for emergencies, until the lion was either caught or killed. But after two days in our room, while I’m having an awful time keeping from crying or sometimes from just coming right out and telling Mom and Dad how I let the lion escape, Dad says he isn’t going to waste his vacation mooning around and anybody who wants to go fishing with him can come. I want to do anything, just to think about something else, so I say I’ll come. Mom and Laurel decide to stay inside but say they’ll go out with us in the afternoon to the beach, especially if the lion gets caught.
