The other, a red-head, wearing a similar pair of jeans, thrust her hands deep into the pockets of her shiny black kid- leather jacket and said irritably: "I do wish you'd stop playing with that pistol." She spoke in Swedish.

"Why?" said the blonde.

"It gets on my nerves."

"I'm sorry. But it amuses me."

It was the end of a long day, and each was rather irritated with the other.

"Suppose a policeman comes along?" said the redhead.

"All right. So?"

"Do you think he'd like you taking pot-shots at the river?"

"Why not? We have a permit."

"We have a permit to carry a pistol for self-defence, not for taking a pot-shot at anything that catches our fancy."

The blonde sighed and put the pistol in her pocket. "All right. But you're in an awfully had mood."

"So are you."

The blonde smiled suddenly, a warm humorous expression lighting up her face. "Yes. I suppose I am. I'm sorry."

The other responded at once to her smile. "I'm sorry, too. It's been a long day."

The blonde put her chin on her hands. "I know what would make me feel better."

"What?"

"A man."

The red-head laughed. "You're really awful, you know. How anyone can be such a nymphomaniac beats me."

The blonde raised her eyebrows. "Look who's talking!"

"I'm not a nymphomaniac."

"Perhaps not. But you have other perversions."

"Yes, perhaps I have. But they're under control."

"More or less."

"More than yours, anyway."

"I'm not ashamed of being a nymph. I wish some man would come along now." She took the pistol out of her pocket. "I'd make him do just what I want. He'd take off his trousers and-"