IT WAS THEN, HIS PAROXYSMS of mirth stifled by sober recollection, that the Old Man turned and said, “Well, it was fun while it lasted. But it’s all over now, Dugan. Call the men together. This is the last act, and we might as well all face it together.”
But before I could leave the room, Slops clutched my arm with fingers tense and hot as live wires.
“No, Joey! Don’t go! I need your help. And yours, Skipper! Hurry! We haven’t a minute to lose!”
I stared at the Old Man and he at me. “H-huh?” said the two of us. “Help? Help for what?”
“Oh, don’t talk so much!” bleated Andy. “Work! Get this garbage out of here—like this!”
And recklessly he plunged both arms into the channel of the incinerator, recklessly hurled it about the previously immaculate floor of the galley. As he worked, he pan
