Astro began to lower the casing in the same manner in which he had lifted it. He eased it back down to the floor on his knees and dropped it the last few inches. He sat on the floor beside it and hung his head between his knees.
"Are you all right, Astro?" asked Tom.
"Never mind me," panted Astro between deep gasps for breath, "just see if hot-shot is O.K."
Tom quickly ran his hands up and down Roger's arms and legs, his chest, collarbone and at last, with gently probing fingers, his head.
"No broken bones," he said, still looking at Roger, "but I don't know about internal injuries."
"He wasn't pinned under that thing," said Astro at last. "It was resting on a beam. No weight was on him."
"Uh—huh—ahhh—uhhhh," moaned Roger.
"Roger," said Tom gently, "Roger, are you all right?"
"Uh—huh?—Ohhhh! My head!"
"Take it easy, hot-shot," said Astro, "that head of yours is O.K. Nothing—but nothing could hurt it!"