at him.
Shane nodded.
"That joint account we had in the Martian Bank here, you know, the one we've been saving toward retirement and the freight space business, I drew it all out."
I stood up, so mad I was shaking. That was a year's pay for both of us. That meant a chance to set up a space freighting concern when our musters were over. We'd been four years saving that dough. And here this hairy-eared idiot had gambled every last cent of it on the race!
"Dont' worry, Cork," Shane said soothingly. "We're a cinch. Have you ever known your old buddy to do anything foolish?"
"Have I ever known," I grated, "that you've done anything sane or sensible!"
Sergeant Shane got out before I could calm down enough to regain control of my muscles. I was hotter than an asteroid firebelt. I was blazing. All our dough, on a lifecraft race!
I suddenly felt very sick at my stomach.
THE next day was the day before the race. And I had a hangover. Shane's wild splurge with our capital had been too much for me, and I'd gone aland to mingle with the Martian citizenry in the lowest dives I could find. Alone and morose, I'd gotten myself thoroughly pickled. Two sailors brought me back to the ship and smuggled my alcoholic form into the safety of my bunk.
Consequently my spirits were more than drooping as I stood against the rail of our big space battle wagon, F.S.S. Western Hemisphere, and sopped up the sun.
I hadn't seen Shane since the previous afternoon when he'd made the bombshell announcement about betting our swag. And inquiries around the ship seemed to indicate no one else had seen him.
For as far as anyone knew, he'd gone aland last night also, with MacKeltish as his companion.
I went down to Shane's bunk. He wasn't there. I was anxious to see him, for I'd decided to give him a chance to transfer my half of our huge bet to someone else. I was getting out of it before it was too late.
Thinking that he might be giving MacKeltish a pep talk, I worked my way around to that part of the ship and finally found that hero's hammock. MacKeltish wasn't around either.
I finally gave it up, and went back to the dingy cubby hole where my betting ledger needed attention. I wasn't seated at the desk ten minutes when the duralloy door opened. I looked up over my shoulder.
Our dear admiral, Old Ironpants, stood there in the doorway!
Almost knocking the desk over. I leaped to my feet and snapped into the space salute. His space weathered hatchet face was wreathed in a resemblance to a smile.
"At ease, Corporal," he said.
I relaxed, a little.
"I'm placing a wager, Corporal, against Commander Kerrick of the Saturn. I wish you'd enter it in, ah, your log. Five thousand, Venusian, and I'm giving Commander Kerrick four-to-one odds."
"Five thousand," I repeated. And then I couldn't help the squealing rise in my voice. "At four to one?"
Old Ironpants nodded.
"I discussed our crew's chances with Sergeant Shane yesterday afternoon. He seemed remarkably pleased, especially with the ability of Gunner MacKeltish. He was positive that our ship's prize crew would emerge victorious. He
