_The shade of that gangling genius of the spaceways--Lancelot Biggs--comes back to haunt his old ship mates._ Folks say I'm hard-boiled; well, maybe so. My mama told me a long time ago--when I was a brat in three-cornered britches--that if you keep your upper lip rigid and a steely glint in the old optics and _le craque sage_ dripping from your tongue, not many people will be hopping around, pushing chips off your shoulder and daring you to take off your glasses.…
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