"Happy birthday to you ," we all sang, except Gail, of course, who was still screaming, though not as loud. "Well, now," I said jovially, glancing nervously about at the other air traffic, "what else can we all sing?" The singing seemed to be working nicely. They had stopped swatting each other with their lunch boxes and my experienced ear told me Gail was by this time forcing herself to scream. This should be the prelude to giving up and enjoying herself. " Boing down in Texas in eighteen-ninet