Explore "The Ghost of Lancelot Biggs" by Nelson S. Bond on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
_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.