In a previous life, I used to fly around the Pacific in B727s with a Captain who, to protect the guilty, I'll call Percy Goodfellow.
On one trip whilst carrying out the walkaround while on the ground at Christmas Island (the nuclear one on the equator south of Hawaii), I found an eight inch nail in one of the main tyres.
Looking around, I saw Percy standing in the shade of the shed that doubled as a terminal, smoking his pipe. I walked over to him and quietly explained what I'd found.
"Well did you take it out?" Percy asked.
"Yes I did," I said, "but the tyre started leaking so I put it back."
"Did that stop the leak?" After I nodded yes, he asked, "So what's the problem?"
"Well, I'm concerned that during takeoff, the wheel rotating may cause enough centrifugal force to fling the nail. And if it flings up into the wheel well, we could damage our hydraulics and such..." I went on to explain to Percy that I had no idea how long it would take to repair the tyre, or even if I could repair it out there in the middle of no where.
After considering what I'd told him while staring off into the distance, Percy turned to me and said, "Never mind, Old Chap, We'll go with it the way it is. I'll just take off slowly..."