Derelicts of Uranus

Here is Adventure and Danger. Mud-fishers, and a girl,—and a quasi-human looking for trouble.
Lonny Higgens, once of the earthly planet, stretched out in the conning-tower of his mud-submarine, an aquatic monstrosity of globular reinforced steel that was at home either above or below the surface of the squirming mud seas of Uranus, and sighed lazily.
Blast it! he moaned sleepily and almost regretfully. There's something about this planet that makes you have spring fever the year round, and it gets worse and worse! Lonny Higgens, you're a lazy, nogood fool!—and you'll never get around to the things you used to dream about.
The circular hatch was open over his head, showing a patch of black swirling mists through which dark midges maneuvered in tiny swarms. Just as he was dozing comfortably, forgetful of the humming insects on the outside and the occasional flopping sounds made by things that squirmed in the muddy ocean, something dropped from the mist, falling plunk on his forehead. He jerked sidewise, just as another pellet of balled mud struck him on the end of his nose. He glimpsed a tiny visage, half insect and quasi-human, peering over the hatch rim for an instant.
Baron Munchy! exclaimed Lonny irritably, recognizing this curious specimen of Uranusian life. Cut that out, or I'll wring your little neck. I haven't got time for any of your monkey-shines.
A winged thing soared down from the mists, landing on the chair beside his couch, and Baron Munchy , like a dragon-fly come to mysterious humanlike life, folded his transparent wings back like a cloak and paced back and forth.
Me mad! Me plent' mad, rasped Baron Munchy, who produced his tones by a vibration of his wings.
Ah, beat it, snorted Lonny, turning his head away. The small being had brought with him the dank, stagnant aroma of the outer swamps, and that reminded him of untended netlines hanging in the mud. He was bored with Baron Munchy and his endless lying and conniving. When he had first come to Uranus, two years before, the little rascal had showed up on the landing deck, more dead than alive from a terrific beating at the hands of several of his fellows. Baron Munchy was a born fighter. He survived under the ministrations of the lonely terrestrial and had become attached to the mud-submarine. But he dearly loved to stir up trouble, and nothing pleased the little demon more than to shout insults at mud-monkeys until they fought among themselves. Go way. I'm tired of listening to your silly chatter.