Rawson shot one word at the cabin boy. "Durk?"
"Yes, sir. It was him said it."
"You know you're a stool pigeon?"
The boy's freckled face looked flustered. "I—I didn't mean, sir—that is." He gulped. "I thought it was my duty, sir."
Rawson smiled and there was fatherly tenderness in his voice. "Good, Mr. Seymour. I like your loyalty. You'll make a Star Point man yet."
Rawson picked up the paper from his desk. "I have just signed a recommendation that you be admitted to the class of the year 2356."
Young Seymour's freckled face spread wide in a grin—so wide that it drowned out his face. "Gee, sir. Thanks. Gee! Star Point!"
"I've been keeping an eye on you," Rawson continued. "I saw you studying in your spare time."
Rawson leaned back and reflected. "I was like that ten years ago. I worked hard! And this is my first command. I'm proud of it."
His voice cracked out suddenly like a whip. "And by God, no man, nothing, will make me dishonor my gold star or take it away from me!" His eyes stabbed at Seymour. "Now, what about Durk and the mutiny?"