"Sparks, I take it back what I said about radiomen. I think you got somethin' there!" "Then you'll do it?" "Immediately," said Hanson, rising, "if not sooner!" * * * * * So that was that. That night my relief came on duty, and I went down to the mess hall to eat whatever I could stomach of Slops' slumgullion. First person I met up with was Mr. Lancelot Biggs himself. "Hello, Sparks," he said. "Hello, yourself," I answered. "What are you doing at this mess? Thought you ate at the skipper's hour?" "I did until now," he grinned. "Harkness was taken ill this afternoon, and the Skipper put me on emergency duty in his place." "Is that so?" I said, looking as surprised as possible. "Well, that's quite a job. Lot of responsibility, you know. That cargo's valuable." I had to grin at the way his lean face sobered. "I realize that, Sparks. I'm devoting a lot of thought to the job, too. You know, I'm a bit of an experimenter, and it seems to me--" One of the mess boys brought on my chow then, and I didn't listen to the rest of his chatter. Which was a sad mistake. If I had listened, I would have been able to warn Captain Hanson that trouble was on the way. I think it was about the third day out that I began to smell those smells. Yes, I know it was the third day, because I'd just contacted Joe Marlowe on Lunar Three, giving him declination and cruising speed of the _Saturn_. I thought it was funny, but guessed it would go away. It didn't. It got worse. Finally, on the fifth day, I decided to do something. There's nothing like meeting trouble halfway. I was just on my way from the radio room to the control turret when I bumped smack into Captain Hanson. It was a head on collision, but the Skipper's "Oof!" took longer than mine, so I got to talk first. "Listen here!" I yelled, "I've had about as much of this rickety old tub as I'm going to stand. If you can't put a stop to those stinks Slops makes in the galley--" Hanson gave me a look that would wilt lettuce. "I don't want no trouble with you, Sparks!" was his comeback. "I been smellin' those smells, too. That's what I was aimin' to ask _you_ about. Have you been foolin' around with some of them chemical experiments of your'n?" "I have not," I informed him loftily. "And besides, while chemicals may stink sometimes, they don't ever give out a smell like the butt of an overripe cabbage. Except perhaps some of the sulphur compounds." Then I stared at him. "I'm not kidding. I think those smells are coming up out of the galley." The skipper groaned softly. "Trouble. Nothin' but trouble. It ain't enough I'm supposed to shuttle this barge between Earth an' Mars. Now I got smells to worry about, too. Well, come on! Let's look!" We went down to the galley. Slops was stirring something in a bowl. I took one look and shuddered. Tapioca--again. And don't tell me you're not supposed to stir tapioca. I know it. Tell Slops. Then the skipper loosed his blast.