"Any late news, Sparks?" he demanded anxiously.
I shook my head.
"Only bad news. The Board's sending over their appraisers immediately."
He said wearily, "Well, we did our best. If it hadn't been for that crazy Biggs, we'd still have our cargo. But as it is—"
"I wonder if International Stratoplanes need any radio operators?" I said gloomily.
We were grounded now. As we walked down the corridor the motors went off, and I could hear the hiss of the airlock opening. We reached the port just as the committee entered. Doc Challenger was there, and Col. Brophy, and old Prendergast Biggs himself. I knew, then, that things were in a bad state, or all the big bugs would not have come out.
Challenger stepped forward, beaming.
"Happy landing, Captain!" he chortled. "I need not tell you how glad we are you came in safely. We've been experiencing bad times in New York, sir, bad times! But everything's all right now."
Hanson said, "Yes, sir. But I've got something to tell you, sir—"
"Later, Captain, later! First we must take up this cargo question. Approximately $50,000 worth of mekel and clab—is that right? We have our appraisers here. If your estimate is right, the Corporation will weather this—er—mild storm."