Lancelot Biggs stood very, very still.
"Well," roared the Old Man, "get going!"
Lancelot Biggs smiled; a faint, thin smile.
"For," he said, "a price, Captain."
"A price!" Hanson's voice lifted the roof an inch. "Lieutenant, you're not tryin' to dicker with me?"
"Not trying," corrected Biggs, "I'm dickering. For a price, I'll attach my new plate unit to the radio. Further, I will absolutely guarantee its operation."
"You—you insolent young pup!" raved the skipper. "Todd, Wilson—put him in irons! No, stand still you damn fools! Let him alone! What's your price, Biggs? You can't have her!"
"Her?" said Biggs innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about, Captain. My price is—my rocket!"
Cap Hanson looked at the faces of the waiting graduates around him. He knew when he was stalemated. He said, "Well—" and reached into his pocket.
Biggs pinned the tiny golden emblem where it belonged and I never saw a man look more proud. Then he said quietly, "Very well, gentlemen. Now, Sparks, if you'll lend me a hand here...."