"Yes, sir!" the youngster said hastily--after all, a retired commander in the Special Patrol Service does rate a certain amount of respect, even from these perky youngsters--"I know that, sir. It was the efforts of men like yourself who gave us the proud traditions we have to-day." "Well, that's hardly true," I corrected him. "I'm not quite so old as that. We had a fine set of traditions when I entered the Service, son. But we did our share to carry them on, I'll grant you that." "'Nothing Less than Complete Success,'" quoted the lad almost reverently, giving the ancient motto of our service. "That is a fine tradition for a body of men to aspire to, sir." "True. True." The ring in the boy's voice brought memories flocking. It was a proud motto; as old as I am, the words bring a thrill even now, a thrill comparable only with that which comes from seeing old Earth swell up out of the darkness of space after days of outer emptiness. Old Earth, with her wispy white clouds and her broad seas-- Oh, I know I'm provincial, but that is another thing that must be forgiven an old man. "I imagine, sir," said the young officer, "that you could tell many a strange story of the Service, and the sacrifices men have made to keep that motto the proud boast it is to-day." "Yes," I told him. "I could do that. I have done so. That is my occupation, now that I have been retired from active service. I--" "You are a historian?" he broke in eagerly. * * * * * I forgave him the interruption. I can still remember my own rather impetuous youth. "Do I look like a historian?" I think I smiled as I asked him the question, and held out my hands to him. Big brown hands they are, hardened with work, stained and drawn from old acid burns, and the bite of blue electric fire. In my day we worked with crude tools indeed; tools that left their mark upon the workman. "No. But--" I waved the explanation aside. "Historians deal with facts, with accomplishments, with dates and places and the names of great men. I write--what little I do write--of men and high adventures, so that in this time of softness and easy living some few who may read my scribblings may live with me those days when the worlds of the universe were strange to each other, and there were many new things to be found and marveled at." "And I'll venture, sir, that you find much enjoyment in the work," commented the youngster with a degree of perception with which I had not credited him. "True. As I write, forgotten faces peer at me through the mists of the years, and strong, friendly voices call to me from out of the past...." "It must be wonderful to live the old adventures through again," said the young officer hastily. Youth is always afraid of sentiment in old people. Why this should be, I do not know. But it is so.