Like a sneak-thief, too, emerges a shock-headed
navigator in his shirt-sleeves. Captain Purnall wrenches open the
colloid to talk with him man to man. There are times when Science
does not satisfy.
"What under the stars are you doing here, you sky-scraping
chimney-sweep?" he shouts as we two drift side by side. "Do you
know this is a Mail-lane? You call yourself a sailor, sir? You
ain't fit to peddle toy balloons to an Esquimaux. Your name and
number! Report and get down, and be--!"
"I've been blown up once," the shock-headed man cries, hoarsely,
as a dog barking. "I don't care two flips of a contact for
anything you can do, Postey."
"Don't you, sir? But I'll make you care. I'll have you towed
stern first to Disko and broke up. You can't recover insurance if
you're broke for obstruction. Do you understand that?"
Then the stranger bellows: "Look at my propellers! There's been a
wulli-wa down below that has knocked us into umbrella-frames!
We've been blown up about forty thousand feet! We're all one
conjuror's watch inside! My mate's arm's broke; my engineer's
head's cut open; my Ray went out when the engines smashed; and
.
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