"Don't mention it! Don't even think of it! Your old ma--I mean your
father might read your thoughts." I forced a grin named Santa Claus,
because I didn't believe in it myself. "Cheer up, Diane. Lancelot will
find a way out of this trouble."
"He will?" she said hopefully. "You think he will, Sparks?"
"He always does," I told her. I squared myself with Kid Conscience by
muttering under my breath, "Always--except this time."
* * * * *
So finally here we were, a baker's dozen of us, in the radio turret
on the fateful day. Twelve of us were scowling, and me--I was number
thirteen--I was sweating like an ice-box in the Sahara. Because it was
the day, and darn near the hour, of the Big Game back on Earth--and my
radio _still_ was as talkative as a deaf-mute in a vacuum.
Todd was there, and Chief Garrity, and Wilson, the third officer, and
Billings and--oh, shucks!--every one of us who had studied at either of
the two academies. And Cap Hanson was there. He was very much there. He
was howling ghastly threats in my ears, the mildest of which was that
if I didn't have the radio repaired within the next minute, or maybe
less, he'd personally tattoo the word "Scoundrel" on my forehead with a
riveting machine.
I squawked, "Good golly, I'm doing the best I can! Don't you think
I want to hear this game as much as you do? Maybe more. Because the
Wranglers are going to beat the bejeepers out of you Rocketeers today,
anyhow."
Cap raged, "What's that?" but it took some of the blast out of his
tubes, because he knew it was true. The Spaceways Academy team was
strongly favored over the eleven from the N.R.I., having so far run
through an undefeated season while the Rocketeers had lost to Army and
Notre Dame and been tied by Yale. "What's that? Why, last year--"
"That," Lieutenant Dick Todd taunted him, grinning, "was last year,
Skipper. You beat us then, yes. But this year the shoe's on the other
foot."
"Well, anyhow," howled the Old Man, "my shoe's goin' to be
you-know-where, Sparks, if you don't get that damn radio talkin'."
I stood up and stripped off my rubber gloves. I said, "I've done
everything I know how. I've had the thing apart twice and put it
together again. It won't work--and for one simple reason. The
seleno-aluminum plate is shot."