Captain Douglas's eyes, red-rimmed from lack of sleep, opened wide; then narrowed dazedly. He was remembering something Mate Jackson had said about queer ideas. "Yesiree, Cap'n," Tug spoke confidently since he obviously held the new master's undivided, even spellbound attention. "Everybody knows a stowaway's bad jinks; but not many aside from Tug Skelly knows jest how bad an _Orionian_ stowaway can be! Cap'n Douglas, an Orionian stowaway's no different from a cargo o' loose cordite. He's jest bound to cause mischief on a ship." "Mischief!" Captain Douglas felt that that was a poor way to describe the fix they were already in; but he didn't pursue the point. Another aspect of the bo'sun's speech drew his attention. It was obvious that in Tug Skelly, he, Chris Douglas, was confronted by a withering example of ignorance on the loose. All the new skipper's years of training, his sleeplessness and his distraught nerves, rose gorgelike at this shambling, dough-faced anachronism who posed as a space sailor. "Bo'sun Skelly," Douglas said acidly, "your remarks reveal an incredible disregard for the scientific viewpoint. In fact, I haven't heard such sinful tommyrot since I was six--and even then I knew better. An Orionian stowaway, or any other stowaway, Mister Skelly, can cause no more damage to a vessel than the amount of edible cargo he can consume. The rest is rubbish." Tug looked hurt. "I dunno, Cap'n," he said slowly. "Now you take the _Campanella_--the big liner that jes' blew apart one day off Venus. What did the Safety Board investigation show afterwards? Why, that she was carrying a whole nestful of Orionians underdeck!" And Tug flashed his young master a look of triumphant vindication. Chris Douglas heaved a long breath and slumped back in the swivel. The task of bringing bo'sun's Skelly's education up to date was clearly not one for a single afternoon. Nor, with Braithewaite's message still before him, did the skipper feel any taste for the job. "Bo'sun Skelly," Douglas sighed disgustedly, "did you come here to regale me with your views on Orionian stowaways?" "Eh?" Tug scratched his head and grinned a little at the captain's peculiar way of talking. "Naw, but I almost did forget, sir. Fact is, Cap'n, I come to tell yuh how to make up the day we lost. Yessir." "You did!" Douglas sneered miserably. "How? By getting out and pushing? Or simply by wishing on a star? The _Lucifer_ can't do any more than ten and a half kilos." "She don't hafta," Tug said equably, no whit abashed by the irony. "We can gain a lot o' time by using an old route I know. I forget the real name, but it's called the Pass o' the Twin Witches. It's at the tip o' the Southern Cross, Cap'n. Joshua P. MacLevy, my old skipper, used to tell me about it. It'll save--" * * * * *