But this little twerp didn't run. Matter of fact, he deliberately moved to the man nearest him, Todd, that was, and began to nuzzle himself against Todd's shoe! Just as if the Lieutenant were an old and loved acquaintance! Mr. Biggs chuckled again.
"See that? Do you know what makes him act that way, Skipper? I'll tell you. It's the prol—"
"Mister Biggs!" The Old Man's face was fiery red with rage. "This is no time for nonsense. Within hours, or perhaps minutes, we may all be dead! Now, for the last time, get out of here!"
Biggs, sort of stunned, said, "Y-yes, sir!" He retrieved his curiously-acting little pet from where it rubbed its soft muzzle against Todd's shoelaces, put it in his pocket, and backed out the doorway. As he went he tossed me a beseeching wigwag. I nodded; then when no one was paying me any neverminds, joined him in the runway outside.
"What's the matter, Sparks?" he demanded.
I gave it to him, both barrels. He had a right to know. Every man has a right to know when it's bye-bye time. "But don't tell the crew," I warned. "The Old Man'll do that if he thinks best."
Biggs' eyes were huge and round. "Runt Hake! Gee, no wonder the Skipper was cross." He plunged into one of his characteristic silences. Then, suddenly, "Hey!"
"Hey, what?"
"They say Hake is a show-off. Likes to crack the whip on captured ships, ordering up big meals and so on before he scuttles it—"
"Well?" I said. "You think you're going to poison him, maybe? Don't be a dope. He'll make you swallow a pussfull of everything you serve him."