Dr. Kenton looked up, startled, from the desk where he had been studying. “Let’s go, Son!” the scientist said, jumping to his feet.
“Where’s Mom?” Ted asked.
“She’s down in the magazine shop,” his father answered, and added, “It’s probably for the better.”
They hurried into the observation room where Ted and Jill had been so happy together only a short time before. The boy pointed overhead at the air vent, where Jill’s limp form hung, lighter than a thistle in her weightlessness.
Even Dr. Kenton’s tall, stalwart form could not reach high enough to bring her down. “We’ve got to have something to stand on,” he said.
Ted thought of the long window seat. He rushed over and knelt down to examine it. “The window seat is in sections, Dad, and has some clamps holding it down,” he said. “We ought to be able to get it loose.”
Dr. Kenton’s strong fingers released the catches that held the seat in place. Then he lifted it out and carried it across to the spot beneath the air vent. He stood on the seat and grasped Jill’s slim body, bringing it down.
The girl was stretched out waist high in the air, in which position her father could best see her injury. Ted held her so that a sudden movement would not send her floating off. The scientist found a cut on Jill’s temple where she had struck the air vent. She began stirring. In a few seconds she had recovered consciousness. She was pale and smiled feebly.
“What happened to me?” she asked in a weak voice.
Only then did Dr. Kenton seem concerned about the cause of the accident. He looked inquiringly at Ted. “Well, Ted,” he said, “what did happen?”