The RETURN of Lancelot BIGGS
By NELSON S. BOND
Gilchrist had no fear of the sun's heat.
Then Biggs gave him a new kind of hotfoot.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Amazing Stories May 1942.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I guess it was about 7:58 Solar Constant Time—yes, it was exactly that, because I'd just received a clearance O.Q. for 8:00 from the Sun City portmaster—when the portal of my radio turret opened and in waddled Cap Hanson, skipper of our void-mangling freighter, the Saturn.
The Old Man's optics were dancing like a nudist in a hailstorm, and he wore a grin on his lips that stretched from ear to there.
"Guess what, Sparks?" he chortled. "I got a s'prise for you! Guess who just came aboard?"
I said gloomily, "If it's anybody like that sourpuss encyclopedia-on-legs who came aboard at Luna, you can have my resignation right now, if not sooner. I've been hectored and bulldozed and criticised so much lately that I'm beginning to feel like one large apology with corpuscles."