Danny Dunn and the Homework Machine

by Abrashkin Abrashkin

  Dr. Quibberly was saying, “And do you mean that you can really give instructions to your computer by simply speaking to it?”

  “Exactly. You know that the large digital computers—like International Business Machines’ large computer Number 705, for instance—have push buttons for the memory address selector. However, my machine can receive instructions and addresses by the voice pattern coming through the microphone—”

  “And does it reply with a voice?” asked Dr. Grimes.

  “No, no. By means of an electric typewriter. I have also eliminated punch cards, because of my new magnetic tape.”

  “Fantastic.”

  “Yes, it is. Danny can tell you about it. He’s seen it in operation and has been keeping it up to date for me while I’ve been away. Haven’t you, Dan?”

  “Eep!” said Danny. He managed a faint shadow of a smile. “I—I sure have, Professor,” he got out, at last.

  Mrs. Dunn served dessert—fresh, hot peach pie—and Danny could not manage to eat more than two pieces. Then he leaned over and whispered something to Irene.

  The Professor pulled a number of sheets of ruled paper from his jacket pocket. “Now, gentlemen,” he said, as Mrs. Dunn cleared the table and brought out the coffee, “before we go in for the first tests, let us program our material. I have blanks right here on which we can set down the necessary operations and addresses.”

  “Is your programming similar to that used for other computers?”

  “In general, yes.”

  They drew their chairs close together and began to work. An hour went by and then the Professor gathered together the papers.

  “I think,” he said, “we’re ready to begin.”

  He pushed back his chair and rose. “Danny, my boy,” he said, “you may lead the way…”

  He pulled off his glasses and looked round the dining room.

  “Where is the boy?” he asked.

  “He has probably run out to play with his little friend,” said Dr. Quibberly.

  “Hmm. That’s strange. I was sure he’d want to see this,” said Professor Bullfinch. “Well, we will have to commence without him. Please follow me.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Sabotage!

  Danny and Irene were not playing. They had slipped out to the laboratory, where Danny once again tried to find out what was wrong with the computer. He examined the social studies report carefully in the hope of finding a clue, and once more checked over all the parts of the machine. He stood up, at last, wiping his forehead, and said, “I give up.”

  “Perhaps we’d better just tell the Professor,”

  Danny drew a deep breath. “Gosh!” he said. “I don’t know how to.”

  “Just tell him.”

  “Sure. It’s not so easy. You know how grownups are when you try to explain anything.”

  “Even the Professor?”

  “No… but he trusted me, and this is such an important thing, and—” Danny looked helplessly at the console. “I’ve tried everything I can think of. If only I could get some kind of hint. How could it have happened? What went wrong?”

  “Well, you’ll have to make up your mind right now whether to tell him or not,” Irene said. “Because I hear them coming.”

  Almost as she spoke, the three men entered the laboratory.

  “Ah,” said the Professor. “Here you are, Dan. I knew you wouldn’t miss this. All warmed up?”

  “Yes, Professor,” Danny said, wretchedly. Then he straightened up, and said, “I want to—”

  But the Professor was not listening. He and his two companions grouped themselves purposefully at the console, and spread out their papers.

  Dr. Grimes said, “Now for this first test, we have already worked out the course of a rocket traveling at 9273 miles per hour. It only remains to check the procedures and steps on your computer.”

  “And we’ll want a time check, also,” said Dr. Quibberly.

  “Listen, I want to—” Danny began again.

  Dr. Quibberly turned and frowned at him. “Shh!” he said.

  The Professor had already cleared the machine’s memory and had tapped the key marked INSTRUCTIONS. He was reading a set of figures into the microphone, while Dr. Grimes made notations.

  Danny cleared his throat. Once again, Dr. Quibberly gazed at him, his enormous eyebrows waggling angrily. Danny shrugged helplessly and was silent.

  The computer hummed and clucked, and the tiny lights twinkled, marking the location in its memory o£ each step of its instructions. Then the typewriter began to chatter.

  “Aha!” cried the Professor. “How was that? Only ninety-three seconds.”

  “Not bad,” Dr. Quibberly said. “Let’s look at the results.”

  The Professor, with a broad smile, pulled the paper from the typewriter.

  “Here we are,” he said. “Ah…oh-oh-oh-ikk! Mgrf sizippl b-b-b-brr! ”

  “What?” cried Dr. Grimes.

  The smile faded from the Professor’s face. Hastily, he took off his glasses and wiped them. Then he picked up the paper again. “Oogl blerp,” he read.

  “I beg your pardon?” said Dr. Quibberly. “Blerp?”

  “Dear me,” said the Professor. “I don’t understand. Something must have happened to…” His voice died away, and slowly he turned. His usually jovial face took on a serious look.

  “Danny!” he said.

  Danny sighed. “I tried to tell you, Professor,” he said. “Honest, I wanted to. But you were in such a hurry, and I was sort of scared, and anyway I’m sure it wasn’t anything I did, and anyway…”

  “Ha!” Dr. Quibberly exclaimed. “Very interesting. Very interesting indeed. You allow this little boy to play with your computer as if it were a—a game of marbles. You needn’t be surprised if it can only produce noises like blerp.”

  Dr. Grimes was looking very sour. “On the other hand,” he said, “it is possible that the computer wasn’t very good to begin with. I must say, Bullfinch, there have been times when your theories have run away with you, and perhaps this is one of them.”

  “One moment,” said the Professor. He never lost his air of calm. He took out his pipe and began to fill it slowly, and in a mild voice said, “All right, Dan. Suppose you tell me just what did happen.”

  “Well,” Danny said, “to begin with, we used it to help us do our homework.”

  The mouths of the two visitors opened wide, and even the Professor looked shaken at this.

  Danny went on and told the whole story: how he had come to think of using the computer as a homework machine, how Miss Arnold had objected, and how he had quickly run off Irene’s social studies report which had appeared as gibberish. When he had finished, even Dr. Quibberly was looking at him with a certain amount of respect, while Dr. Grimes was almost grinning and the Professor was frankly chuckling with amusement.

  “I see,” Professor Bullfinch said. “It’s quite a tale, my boy. I don’t think we need go into all the details of it right now. There are a couple of points I think I ought to discuss with you later, such as the matter of counting up to a million by thousands—”

  “Yes, sir,” Danny said meekly.

  “Hmm! Well, never mind that now. I believe the matter is fairly simple, gentlemen. It won’t take long to fix.”

  “Very well,” said Dr. Grimes.

  “But be quick about it,” Dr. Quibberly said, glancing at a big, old-fashioned silver pocket watch. “We’ve waited long enough already.”

  The Professor rolled up his sleeves and went to work. The minutes ticked by, with Dr. Quibberly growing more and more impatient and Dr. Grimes looking grimmer and grimmer. Finally, the Professor straightened up. His round face was flushed, and his bald head shining with perspiration.

  “I’m afraid I can’t locate the trouble,” he said. “I felt sure it
was in the output, or the translating mechanism which operates the typewriter—”

  “Perhaps it’s those new switches of yours,” Dr. Grimes suggested. “It may be that they don’t work quite as well as you thought they did. Or perhaps the temperature isn’t right.”

  “I thought of that,” said Professor Bullfinch. “But the gauges show that they’re operating. And the thermostat is set properly. It’s impossible for anything to be wrong there.”

  Danny gazed at the Professor as if he were about to say something, but then his attention was caught by Dr. Quibberly, who had snapped the case of his watch shut with a decisive click. He put the watch into his vest pocket and buttoned up his jacket.

  “I’m sorry,” Dr. Quibberly said, “but I feel that we’ve spent quite enough time on this—this miserable demonstration of ineptitude.”

  “Really, Dr. Quibberly,” said the Professor, “if you can only wait a little longer—”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t wait for foolishness.”

  Irene, standing next to Danny, looked at her friend with astonishment. “What’s the matter? Are you cold?” she asked.

  Danny’s teeth were chattering and his knees shaking.

  “C-c-cold with nervousness,” he muttered. “We can’t get him lo. I m-m-mean, we c-c-can’t let him go!”

  “You sound just like I did when I started to read my report.”

  Danny could not help grinning, but it was a weak and sickly grin.

  The Professor said, “I’m sure I can repair the computer. I can’t imagine what caused the trouble, but I know—”

  Dr. Grimes snorted. “Maybe it’s sabotage, Bullfinch,” he said jeeringly.

  “Good-by, gentlemen,” said Dr. Quibberly. He started for the door.

  A cold sweat broke out on Danny’s forehead. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief, to wipe his face. There was a loud clatter as two objects fell on the floor. The noise stopped Dr. Quibberly.

  Danny looked down. On the floor were two identical boy scout knives.

  He grabbed them up. He was red with embarrassment. Something crumbled between his fingers, and he gaped at the knives for a moment; then he raised his eyes to stare first at the Professor, then Dr. Grimes, then at Irene.

  Then he shouted, “Sabotage! Cold! Of course—that’s it!”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Chilly Computer

  For an instant there was a stunned silence. Then Dr. Quibberly said, “The boy’s hysterical.”

  “Take it easy, Dan,” the Professor said. He went to Danny and took him by the arms. “Control yourself. It really isn’t that important.”

  “Listen—I’m serious,” Danny cried. “I can prove it. I know what’s wrong.”

  “Get him some castor oil,” Dr. Grimes commanded. “Or an aspirin.”

  “Wait a minute,” said the Professor. “Go on, Danny. What is it?”

  “Well, first of all, when you found that scout knife on the floor a while ago and gave it to me, I thought it was mine because it looks just like mine. But here’s mine. This one belongs to Sni—to Eddie Philips.”

  “Eddie Philips?”

  “An international spy, no doubt,” Dr. Grimes said.

  “No. A boy in my class. He’s the one who sneaked up here and watched us using the machine, and then told Miss Arnold.”

  “How do you know it’s his knife?” Irene asked. “I mean, if they both look alike—”

  “Why, you ought to know, too,” Danny said. “Look at it. The handle’s got dried mud all over it.”

  “Oh!” Irene giggled. “Mud! Of course.”

  “He must have forgotten the knife when he came here to wreck the machine. I knew he’d try to get even, and that’s what he did. The machine is cold”

  “Cold? I don’t understand,” said the Professor. “The power is on.”

  “Sure it is. It’s your switches that are cold.”

  “But the thermostat is set for the proper temperature. Look at it—98.6°.”

  “That’s right. But I’ll bet if we take the cover of the thermostat off, we’ll find that the dial is disconnected from the refrigerator control.”

  Danny opened the screw driver blade of the scout knife and unscrewed the cover of the thermostat. Inside, the indicator dial had been connected to the temperature control lever by means of a small bolt. Danny pointed. The bolt had been removed. No matter where the dial was set, the control still remained at its coldest point.

  “The temperature inside the case must be about ten below zero,” Danny said. “You see, Eddie was watching us when I explained about your new switches to Irene and Joe. He heard what I said about never touching the thermostat. He knows something about machinery—he’s really not stupid. So he must have slipped into the lab after we left, and using the screw driver blade of his knife, as I just did, he opened the thermostat and took out the bolt. He set the control as far down as it would go and put the cover back. Then, when I came in to lock up, he ducked out the window but forgot his knife.”

  “How did you ever suspect it?” Irene said.

  “Why, when you asked me if I was cold and said that I sounded just like your report, I began to wonder if that could be it,” Danny replied. He grinned at the Professor. “And when you said that because the thermostat was set at the right temperature it was impossible for anything to be wrong—well, I remembered that time when I started to turn off the power because I thought there was something wrong with the machine. You told me then that a scientist should never take anything for granted. Remember?”

  The Professor bit his lips. Then, rubbing the top of his head, he chuckled ruefully. “Yes, I do remember it,” he said. “My dear boy, you’ve taught me my own lesson. I’ll try to keep it in mind, in the future.”

  “Do you mean to say,” asked Dr. Grimes, “that that’s the only thing wrong with the computer?”

  Danny nodded. Briskly, he replaced the bolt so that the indicator dial was connected once more with the temperature control lever. He set the dial at the proper temperature.

  “You should have a thermometer on the outside of the case, Bullfinch, to show the inside temperature,” said Dr. Grimes. “You see, I told you you were impractical.”

  “Well, it’s difficult to think of everything,” said the Professor. “I believe enough time has passed, gentlemen. Let’s try once more.”

  Dr. Quibberly had returned to the console, and the three men bent over the machine once again. The Professor fed in the data and instructions and then pressed the operating key.

  “Ninety-one seconds, this time,” he said. “There you are.”

  He pulled the paper from the typewriter.

  “Exactly right,” said Dr. Grimes, examining the answer.

  They ran three more complicated tests. And each time Miniac was correct to the last decimal point.

  Dr. Quibberly blew out his lips. “It appears,” he said, “that I must apologize to you—and to this young man as well. I must say, I was wrong when I called him a little child. I would venture to predict that he will some day be a credit to the world of science.”

  “Yes,” said Dr. Grimes, “if he can keep out of trouble long enough to get through school.”

  “Nonsense, Grimes,” said the Professor.

  “How can anyone be a scientist without stirring things up, asking questions, jumping into things headlong with both feet?”

  Irene snickered. “It’s kind of hard, Professor, to jump headlong with both feet.”

  The Professor turned red, as they all laughed.

  “Well,” he said, “you know what I mean. Anyway, remember that for a scientist, nothing is impossible.”

  Danny whispered something to Irene. She nodded. He said, “Professor—speaking of school, can I ask for one favor?”

  “Certainly, my boy. What is
it?”

  “Can we keep on using Minny for our homework?”

  “Hmm.” The Professor turned to Dr. Quibberly. “Do you think, now, that the government will be interested in Miniac?”

  “I certainly do.”

  “Well, I should imagine that we’ll have a few weeks before we have to send it to Washington,” said the Professor. “Suppose we say three weeks more, Danny.”

  “Fine!” said Danny. “That’ll just take us to the end of the term, without having to do any more homework.”

  The Professor rubbed his chin and smiled. “That’s right,” he said. “But at the same time, my boy, remember what you just taught me—don’t take anything for granted!”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Snitcher Gets a Present

  It was the last day of school. The pupils were gathered in groups about the classroom, comparing their marks and report cards. The room was full of excited chatter and laughter; fortunately, no one had failed to pass.

  Eddie Philips was standing in a corner with George Bessel and one or two of his other friends, boasting about how well he had done in the final exams.

  “It was a snap,” he said. “I knew I was going to get an A.”

  “What do you think that A stands for?” giggled Ellen Tresselt, who was standing nearby. “All wet?”

  “Oh, dear, no,” said Robin Glenn. “It stands for A big bag of wind.”

  Eddie scowled. Before he could retort, however, Danny pushed his way past the girls and confronted him.

  “Oh, Eddie,” Danny said, innocently, “I’ve been trying to see you all day.”

  “Yeah? What for?” Eddie asked, suspiciously.

  “I found this knife, and somebody said it looked like yours.”

  Eddie examined the scout knife Dan held out on the palm of his hand.

  “It’s mine,” he said.

  “Are you sure? Can you prove it?”

  “Sure I’m sure. I can tell by that place where the stag handle is nicked. And the ring is bent, too.”

  Danny slowly opened the big blade of the knife. “Gee, I’m glad of that,” he said. “I wouldn’t want there to be any mistake about whose knife this is. You see, there’s something on the blade.”