Dusty addressed his glass and held it high. "Here's to the G. D. Space Patrol."
"What are you supposed to be doing?"
Dusty laughed. "I don't know. I'll find out when we get back. Gramer will have some flanged-up explanation right and ready for me."
"You'd better hope that the G. D. Space Patrol doesn't catch you all at sea with me."
"Phooey," he said. He pursed his lips and Barbara gave him a gentle peck that made Scyth's blood bubble slightly.
"Phooey nothing," she said. "You'd be—er—cashiered. Imagine a member of The Space Patrol consorting with a woman."
"What's good enough for pappy is good enough for me."
Barbara chuckled knowingly. "Where are we heading, if it's of any importance?"
"There's an island dead ahead. We might camp on the beach for the night. It's fine clean sand and—"
"You mean that hummock over there?"