At that moment a bell sounded. We turned to a hunk of square glass set in a side wall. It lighted, and a crusty-looking face scowled down on us, eyed me appraisingly.
"Ah, so you've recovered, young man? Fine! Your friends are waiting here in the control turret. Sparks, come along up here. Mr. Biggs has called a general conference."
The light dimmed. Sparks grinned at me languidly.
"That's the Old Man. Cap Hanson. Well, let's go, Buster. The fireworks are about to begin."
"The name," I told him, "is Blakeson. And how come the fireworks? Me no savvy."
"You heard him say L. Biggs was in the control turret, no? That's the tip-off, Bust—"
"Blakeson!" I said firmly.
"Blakeson," he corrected. "Okay. Buster. Come on!"
CHAPTER III