- ing a little wrestling match on one of the wings of
their plane. Let us hope the hero throws the villain into the clouds! He does, too! But villains are deucedly clever. The knapsack turns into a parachute, which spreads out into a white circular form, more circular than any of the clouds. We wonder if there will be any one to meet him when he lands—but, don't miss it! This is the "punch"! The triplane is flying just above the hydro-airplane. Somebody lets down a rope ladder, which bends back like the tail of a kite. The hero grabs it, grins at the camera, climbs up, and with perfect calmness asks for a cigarette, though he doesn't light it, because that would be against the pilot's rules.
Well, the transfer from one airplane to another wasn't so much of a "punch," after all.
Now let us count the thrills of such a picture as they might come to us from the screen. First, in order of time, would be our delight at the stately curves of the gleaming sails of the yacht, but this delight would be dulled somewhat by the physical difficulty experienced by the eyes in following the swaying, thrusting movement of the yacht as it heels from the breeze, and at the same time following the rising shape of the hydro-airplane; and it would be further dulled by the mental effort of trying to see the dramatic relation between yacht and plane. But, whether dulled or not, this thrill would be all in vain, for it surely does not put more force into the "punch" which we set out to produce, namely, the transfer of a man from one airplane to another.
The yacht, therefore, being unnecessary to our story, violates the principle of unity; it violates the
