 Which is not a reason the narrator did not tell anyone about the bomb when he discovered it?
Mine was no satisfaction, never earned me a penny—and now it had me fighting for my life in ... [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, January 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I had finished reading the Chronicle , folded and put it beside me, turned and looked out the window, expecting to see the San Joaquin Valley but finding only a sea of clouds instead. So I returned my attention to the inside of the plane, to the overstuffed gray-haired woman asleep beside me, to the backs of heads in seats before me, across the aisle to other heads, and down to the blonde. I learned the wisdom of keeping my mouth shut in the fourth grade when Miss Winters, a stern, white-haired disciplinarian, ordered me to eat my sack lunch in the classroom with her instead of outside with some of the other kids. This being earlier than I usually get up, it seems all I did during the night was feel my way past the escapement and balance wheel to see where the notch for the alarm was. The bomb was in a small bag—a woman's bag judging by the soft, flimsy things you'd never find in a man's—and I didn't know it was a bomb right away. I was going to pass it by and go on, but what held me was that something was taped to it.
 He did not want to be asked to diffuse it because he did not know how
 He did not want to have to explain how he knew it was there  He figured it was futile, if there were no specialists to disarm it on board  He thought he might be able to keep it from becoming dangerous if he tried hard enough  He did not want to be asked to diffuse it because he did not know how