Enderby said petulantly, "But you're sick! That's what Captain Cooper said."
"Cooper, eh?" I groaned. "I always said it wasn't smart to make torture illegal." Then I remembered why I was confined to durance vile. "You seen Biggs?" I asked.
"No. He hasn't been down to lunch. He had to take over for you when you were taken ill." Doug looked anxious. "There—there's something wrong in your turret, Sparks. The intercommunications system is out, and the radio won't work."
I glanced at my watch. Two hours had passed since Cooper's coup. Hardly time for Lanse to unscramble the mess of pottery.
"Well, cheer up," I said. "Everything will be O.Q. in a little while. Uggh!" I pushed my toast and tea toward him. "Look, pal, how's the cow situation in the galley? You got a nice, three inch steak? Rare? With onions?"
"Sirloins," said Doug, "for dinner."
"In that case," I sighed, "I'll give this hen-fruit a miss. See you at dinner-time."
Doug nodded sagely and sidled toward the doorway.
"Steaks," he said, "for the crew. But you get milk toast. You're a sick ma—Hey!"
Well, I almost nailed him with that second poached egg, anyway.