"All right by me, Tom," Astro said, nodding his head.
"You're having space dreams, Corbett!" drawled Roger. "No matter what we do for old 'Blast-off' we'll wind up behind the eight ball."
"But if we really try," urged Tom, "if we all do our jobs, there can't be anything for him to fuss about."
"We'll make it tough for him to give us any demerits," Astro chimed in.
"Right," said Tom.
"It won't work," grumbled Roger. "You saw the way he chewed us up, and for what? I ask you—for what?"
"He was just trying to live up to his reputation, Roger," replied Tom. "But common sense will tell you that if you're on the ball you won't get demerits."
"What's the matter, hot-shot?" growled Astro. "Afraid of a little work?"
"Listen, you Venusian clunk," sneered Roger, "I'll work the pants off you any day in the week, and that includes Titan days, too!"
"O.K." Tom smiled. "Save half of that energy for the Polaris, Roger."