"Andy," replied the newcomer. "Andy Laney."
The Old Man's lip curled speculatively. "Well, Andy Laney," he said, "you don't look like much of a cook to me."
But the little mugg just returned the Old Man's gaze coolly. "Which makes it even," he retorted. "You don't look like much of a skipper to me. Do I get the job, or don't I?"
The captain's grin faded, and his jowls turned pink. I stepped forward hastily. I said, "Excuse me, sir, shall I handle this?" Then, because the skipper was still struggling for words: "You," I said to the little fellow, "are a cook?"
"One of the best!" he claimed complacently.
"You're willing to sign for a blind journey?"
"Would I be here," he countered, "if I weren't?"
"And you have your space certificate?"
"I—" began the youngster.
"Smart Aleck!" That was the Old Man, exploding into coherence at last. "Rat-tailed, clever-cracking little smart Aleck! Don't look like much of a skipper, eh? Well, my fine young rooster—"