The steward shook his head emphatically. “Not this captain. Not Captain Coppard. He’s a stickler for regulations. He’d never believe your story. If he does find out, you’ll be on prison rations for the rest of the trip!”
“What’ll I do, then?” Jim asked, suddenly feeling very dependent on the young man he faced.
The steward’s forehead creased in a frown. “The captain doesn’t know the steward crew too well because there were some last-minute substitutions. I think you’d do best to become a steward and work out your passage that way.”
A steward on a space ship! The idea of it thrilled Jim so much that he almost forgot the seriousness of his situation. He wondered how he’d look in the neat starched white that the steward in front of him wore.
“First, I think we ought to get acquainted,” his new friend said. He extended a workingman’s strong grip, and Jim took it. “My name is Al Hogan. Everybody calls me ‘Babe’ because of my face.” He grinned boyishly.
“I’m Jim Vance,” Jim said.
“You’ll make a good steward, Jim,” Babe declared. “My job depends on being able to spot good men.”
“How’s that?” Jim asked.
“I’m chief steward in charge of personnel aboard the Hercules,” the other replied. “It’s lucky for you that I saw you first. I can hire you without your having to see anyone else.”
“That’s one thing in my favor,” Jim said with relief.