Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
a cook. What it got was a piping-voiced acute indigestion—tasted some of his own cooking, no doubt—when we "Mister Dugan," he said, "go out and find us a cook!" nobody-knew-where. And, of course, cooks are dime-a-dozen when you a chef's services to the good old I.P.S., but my only response was a we've got to have a cook, Dugan! We can't go on without one!" might be able to boil a few pies, or orders?" The Old Man nodded soberly. "Yes. You might as well know, Lieutenant. Everyone will be told as soon find a cook, or—" his right hand he brandished a huge, gleaming carving-knife. He frowned fellow, "are a cook?" "Smart Aleck!" That was the Old Man, exploding into coherence at last. "Rat-tailed, clever-cracking little smart Aleck! Don't look like much cook—" you're right, Dugan. All right, Slops, you're hired. The galley's "Take this—this culinary tactician out of my sight before I forget I'm an officer and a gentleman. And tell him that when I want advice I'll followed me from the turret, down the ramp, and into the pan-lined cubicle which was his proper headquarters. When I was turning to leave trying to help." "You must learn not to speak out of turn, youngster," I told him sternly. "The Old Man's one of the smartest space navigators who ever lifted gravs. He doesn't need the advice or suggestions of a cook." "But I was raised in the Belt," said the little chap plaintively. "I know the Bog like a book. And I was right our safest course is by you take care of the cooking and let the rest of us worry about the up the crew and told them our destination, and if you think they were scared or nervous or anything like that, why, you just don't know spacemen. From oil-soaked old Jock McMurtrie, the Chief Engineer, all the way down the line to Willy, our cabin-boy, the Leo's complement was as thrilled as a sub-deb at an Academy hop. John Wainwright, our First Officer, licked his chops like a fox in a hen-house and said, "The blockade! Oboyoboy! Maybe we'll tangle with one of the Alliance ships, hey?" the grim set of his jaw and the purposeful way he spat on his callused had not exaggerated when he called himself one of the best cooks in He rang the bell that summoned Slops from the galley, and the little fellow came bustling in apprehensively. "Was everything all right, sir?" he asked. "Not only all right, Slops," wheezed Captain O'Hara, "but perfect! Accept my congratulations on a superb meal, my boy. Did you find everything O.Q. in the galley?" order. That is—" He hesitated—"there is one little thing, sir." "So? Well, speak up, son, what is it? I'll get it fixed for you right away." The Old Man smiled archly. "Must have everything shipshape for a tip-top chef, what?" I said, "Hold everything, Slops! You can't do that! It's against regulations. Code 44, Section xvi, says, 'Fixed armament shall be Our little chef's face fell. "Now, that's too bad," he said "We-e-ell, now, Mr. Dugan, let's not be too technical. After all, that rule was put in the book only to prevent persons which shouldn't ought to do so from having control of ordnance. But that isn't what Slops wants the cannon for, is it, son? So I don't see any harm in rigging glint in our little chef's eyes "Yes, Captain, all the fixings. I'll start cooking the meal as soon as thorough cleaning. The way he was oiling and scrubbing at that antique reminded me of an apprentice gunner coddling his first charge. "But I'm only going to use it," he said plaintively, "to dispose of "Yes, sir," said Slops meekly. "I'll be careful how I use it, sir." I had finished my inspection, and I sniggered as his words reminded me of a joke I'd heard at a spacemans' smoker. by accident, into the men's shower room and met up with a brawny young "If you don't mind, Mr. Dugan," interrupted the cook loudly, "I'm So there was one for the log-book! Not only did our emergency chef lack Leo , even though she was then considered a reasonably fast little patroller, muddled Captain Slops was responsible for both. For one thing, as I've hinted before, he was a bit of a panty-waist. It wasn't so much the squeaky voice or the effeminate gestures he cut loose with from time to time. One of the roughest, toughest scoundrels "Runt" Hake—who wore diamond ear-rings and gold fingernail polish! But it was Slops' general attitude that isolated him from the command and crew. In addition to being a most awful prude, he was a kill-joy. When just for a lark we begged him to boil us a pot of spaghetti, so we about off-color jokes and such stuff, he had no compunctions whatsoever against sticking his nose in where it didn't belong. He was an inveterate prowler. He snooped everywhere and anywhere from ballast-bins to bunk-rooms. He quizzed the Chief about engine-room he was a teller, as well. More than once during the next nine days he forced on the skipper the same gratuitous advice which before had enraged the Old Man. By sheer perseverance he earned the title I had tagged him with: "Captain Slops." I was willing to give him another title, too—Captain Chaos. God knows he created enough of it! "It's a mistake to broach the blockade at Vesta," he argued over and usually are. But I'm in command of the Leo , and you ain't. Now, run Cap O'Hara, and Slops was playing another variation on the old familiar theme. "I glanced at the chart this morning, sir," he began as he minced in with a platterful of golden flapjacks and an ewer of Vermont maple "Keep your pants on, Slops!" "Eh?" The chef looked startled. "Beg pardon, sir?" "I said keep your pants on. Sure, I know. And I've took precautions. There's a double watch on duty, and men at every gun. If we do meet up with an Alliance craft, it'll be just too bad for them! "Well, for one thing," wrangled our pint-sized cook, "because rich the ekalastron deposits?" "Why—why, because—" said Slops. "Because—" "Don't give me lady-logic, you dope!" roared the Old Man, an enraged lion now, his breakfast completely forgotten. "Give me a sensible answer! If you'd told me the Belt by way of Iris and the Bog, and hurry up, because—" What reason he planned to give I do not know, for he never finished been gripped, and was now securely locked, in the clutch of a tractor their duties and how to perform them. An instant after the Leo had impetuous. I turned on the little idiot vituperatively. it. Indeed, I swallowed it as comprehension dawned. There came to me the beginnings of respect for little Andy Laney's wisdom. He had been right about the danger of the Vesta route, as we had learned to our cost enemy...." I think he would have turned, then, and given orders to continue the

<question>:
How did the cook get the tool he wanted in the kitchen?

<options>:
A He installed it himself
B He just asked for it
C He manipulated the captain using his appetite
D He followed regulations

<answer>:

C