The umpire bawled, “Stuh-rike!” I jumped to my feet, roaring fury shared by bleachers full of fellow-townsmen.

“Go get glasses, you bum!” I hollered. “That ball was a mile outside!”

I picked up my cushion and spun it onto the diamond. A hand fell on my shoulder, and a park cop glared at me malevolently. “Okay, you! Come wit' me!”

I said, “Get your hands off me!” and struggled to shake myself free. Someone—a friend in the crowd—cried from a distance, “Jake? Are you all right, Jake?”

“Let go!” I snarled. “This is a free country! Let go, before I—”

The hand clutching my shoulder tightened. The voice drew nearer and clearer. “Jake? Are you all right, Jake?”

Ebbets Field faded; its sun-drenched bleachers became the lightless, dank interior of the Grampus. The hand and voice belonged to Walt Roberts. “Jake—”

“Okay,” I said. “I'm okay, Walt.” I craned my neck gingerly. “Thanks, pal. You just saved me from ten bucks or ten days.”

“Eh?”

“Skip it,” I said. “Where are we?”

“On the bottom. That depth charge did something to us—I don't know exactly what. Fortunately it's not so deep here.”

“That's swell,” I said. “That's perfectly ducky!” I was scared spitless, but wasn't going to let him know it. “If we were fish, we wouldn't have far to go. Are we taking water?”

“No. Apparently not.”

“Then what's wrong with the batteries? How come no lights?”

"I wouldn't know," said Roberts.

“Well, let's go see,” I suggested.

We felt our way through the ship, and met others doing the same thing. There was tenseness, but no panic. And don't get the idea that discipline had been relaxed, just because we were allowed to do what we wanted. It was just that the Old Man has brains, as well as braid. He knew how everyone felt, and so long as no one got in the engineer's way, he allowed us to satisfy our curiosity.

There were emergency lamps in the engine room, and a sweating corps straining over the motors. The chief engineer was not so worried as frankly bewildered.

“Oddest thing I ever saw, sir,” I heard him tell the Old Man. “It's not just concussion damage, or a short. It's as if the whole electrical unit had been picked up and—and twisted out of shape, somehow.”

“That's the way it felt,” grunted the skipper. “The ship seemed to writhe and wriggle like an eel.”

“Yes, sir. The bus bars are a solid lump. And the wiring—” The chief shook his head.

“But you can fix it?”

“I think so, sir. Yes, I'm sure we can.”

“Very good. Carry on!” The Old Man turned quietly to the rest of us.