ces of similar prelaunching
happenings on the projectile ship. Very little of it was true, of
course. The stories were half-truths and legends that had been handed
down through generations of spacemen, but they seemed to have special
significance now.

Connel fumed and ranted, threatened and cajoled, begged and pleaded, but
it was no use. There was not a man in the Academy who would set foot
inside the "jinxed" ship. Finally, in a last desperate attempt, he
ignored Hemmingwell's order and appealed to Commander Walters.

"No, Lou. I cannot order men to take that ship up," Commander Walters
replied, "and you know it!"

"Why not?" argued Connel. "You're the commander, aren't you?"

"I most certainly am," asserted Walters, "and if I want to get other
things done in the Solar Guard, I can't order men to take a jinxed ship
off the ground." He looked at Connel narrowly. "Do you remember the old
freighter, the _Spaceglow_?" he asked.

Connel frowned but didn't reply.

"You were mate on that ship before you enlisted in the Solar Guard,"
persisted Walters. "And I read the log of your first trip when you
wrote, and I quote, 'There seems to be some mysterious and unanswerable
condition aboard this vessel that makes her behave as if she had human
intelligence....'"

"That has nothing to do with _this_ situation!" roared Connel.

"They're alike! You couldn't get a crew on that wagon in any port of
call from Venus to Jupiter!"

"But we found out what was wrong with her eventually!"

"Yes, but the legend still exists that the _Spaceglow_ had intelligence
of its own!" asserted Walters.

"All right," snorted Connel. "So we have to fight superstition! But,
blast it, Commander, we're faced with a saboteur. There's nothing
supernatural or mysterious about a man with a bomb!"

Connel turned abruptly and walked out of the commander's office, more
furious than Walters had ever seen him.

Back at the hangar, Connel faced the professor. It was a tough thing to
tell the elderly man, and Connel, for all his hard exterior, could
easily appreciate the professor's feelings. After many years of struggle
to convince die-hard bankers of the soundness of his Space Projectile
plan, followed by sabotage and costly work stoppages, it was
heart-rending to have a "jinx" finally stop him.

"I'm sorry," said Connel, "but that's the way things are, Professor."

"I understand, Major," replied Hemmingwell wearily. He turned away,
shoulders slump