“Gosh, professor, that was close. I began to have bright visions of yours truly alongside a harp.”
“No telling what you’ll find yourself alongside when we pull into Mars,” remarked Robert encouragingly.
“I’d rather be by a plate of ‘ham and’ right now than anything else,” answered the scribe. “You gents made me miss my nightly feed.” He felt in his coat pockets and presently fished out a cake of chocolate.
“Why in bedlam didn’t you say so sooner?” admonished Robert, getting up and making his way wobblingly toward a locker. “You might not believe it, but we’ve got a regular restaurant here. I can fill your order right now.”
“Haven’t got a chicken run on board, too?” bantered the reporter.
“Young man, while you and your brethren were busily writing why we would never reach Mars, we were preparing to do it in the right way,” broke in the professor.
“We not only have a substantial supply of fresh eggs put up in silicate of soda for preservation, but cheese, ham, coffee and a number of other good things that you might not have suspected.”
“And you’re going to turn loose a hungry stowaway scribe on all that?” asked Taggert.
“Certainly,” chorused Robert and the professor.
“Do you think we are going to let you starve?” added Robert. “You know we’ve got no undertaker handy.”