"Well! So you made it? Darby, there's limits to everything, and you exceeded 'em last night—"
"Look, Skipper," I said, "I can explain everything. It was this way—"
"Best man!" he snorted. "If you was the best man at that weddin', I'm a grampus' tonsils. You was a disgrace to yourself, the Pegasus, an' mankind in general—Ah! The top of the mornin' to you, son."
Enter the bridegroom, Johnny Larkin, preceded by a sheepish grin. He said, "Good morning, folks. Lovely day, isn't it?" Then, to the Old Man, curiously, "I thought they were Earthdocking us for three weeks, Skipper? Why the conference?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. I got a call from G. H. Q. first thing this mornin'. All leaves to be cancelled, they said. We're to have a visitor in a few—There! That must be him now."
It was. Colonel Ira Brophy, one of the igbay otshays of the IPS, the corporation that pays us our monthly insufficient. He bustled in all grins, grunts and glamor, pump-handled the skipper and beamed on us like an overgrown sunbeam.
"A fine looking body of men, Captain Bowman! Yup, yup! And believe me, sir, the IPS is justly proud of this ship and its officers. Yup!"
At my side, Johnny Larkin muttered something that sounded like "—donae ferentes—" But Captain Bowman fell for it, hook, line and sinker. He said, "Thank you, Colonel. And we, in turn, are proud to be privileged to do our little part for the Corporation. Any thing, any time—that's the way we feel about it—"
Brophy pounced gleefully.
"Wonderful, Captain! Marvelous! Yup, yup, yup! I told my associates that would be your attitude. 'The men of the Pegasus,' I told them, 'will be delighted to undertake this mission. Even though it may mean the curtailment of a certain amount of personal liberty and pleasure—'"