"What do I care?" I lashed out. "Go away, can't you? Blow!"
"Now, now, son!" he pleaded. "That's no way to act! You can't bring her back! And if you keep eatin' your heart out—"
"Get out!" I shouted, heaving myself from the bunk. "Get out—get out!"
"Don't be a fool, Jim! You've got to get rid of that grievin' look! The skyport Johnnies are funny that way! You walk out of this ship with your eyes burnin' holes in your face, and they'll think you got somethin' to hide!
"Look at yourself in a mirror! Whiskers sproutin' out of your chin, face sooty as a tube fittin' and no fight left in you! You got to get back the look of a fightin' fury, son! A lad who can stand up to a port clearance inspector and say 'Me an' my buddy, here, we're headin' for that gate, and if you want to stay healthy—'"
"What?"
"Jehoshaphat!" Pete groaned. "He don't even hear me!"
I stood up. "Okay, Pete!" I told him. "I heard you! Most of it, anyway. And I'll get myself spruced up. How close are we to the Heaviside?"
He heaved a high sigh of relief. "We'll hit it in half an hour, Jim!"
He grinned. "He's got to have a harness, Jim. I'll rig up a harness for him!"