The native official turned out to be helpful; except for the control room the other spaces were dark, even to her. She stepped to the door, made known her wants, and returned with one of the glowing orange spheres they used for lighting. It was a poor excuse for a flashlight, but about as effective as a candle.
Everywhere the ship was orderly and clean, save for a faint film of dust. "Say what you like, Oscar," commented Matt, "I'm beginning to get my hopes up. I don't believe there is anything wrong with her. It looks as if the crew had just gone out for a walk. We may be able to put her in commission."
"I'm ready to throw in with Oscar," Tex objected. "I've lost my enthusiasm- I'd rather go over Niagara Falls in a barrel."
"They flew her," Matt pointed out
"Sure they did-and my hat's off to them. But it takes heroes to fly a box as primitive as this and I'm not the hero type."
The mother-of-many lost interest presently and went outside. Tex borrowed the orange sphere and continued to look around while Matt and Oscar gave the control room a careful going over. Tex found a locker containing small, sealed packages marked "Personal effects of Roland Hargraves," "Personal effects of Rupert H. Schreiber," and other names. He put them back carefully.
Oscar shouted for him presently. "I think we had better get going. Her nibs hinted that when she left."
"Come see what I've found. Food!"
Matt and Oscar came to the door of the galley storeroom. "Do you suppose any of it is any good?" asked Matt.
"Why not? It's all canned. Jigger for me and we'll find out." Tex operated with a can opener. "Phewey!" he said presently. "Anybody want to sample some embalmed corned beef hash? Throw it outside, Matt, before it stinks up the place."