by Jay Williams
Irene went over and patted the big head. “I think he’s sweet,” she said defiantly. “Cute ol’ dog. Did the nasty boy call ’um names?”
“Ugh!” Joe said, rolling up his eyes. “Women!”
Danny got up. “You’ll have to tear yourself away from that lap dog, Irene.” he said. “It’s almost suppertime, and we’ve got a long walk back.”
He looked around once more, at the busily chattering teletype, at the instrument dials, the charts and maps and photos of cloud formations. “It must be fun to be a weatherma—er—a meteorologist,” he sighed. “Can we come again, Mr. Elswing?”
“Any time you like,” said the tall man. “Always glad to have visitors. And if you’re really interested, we can always use volunteer observers.”
“You mean, to help you here?” Danny asked eagerly.
“To measure rainfall and snow, at your own home, and give us regular reports, which act as a check on our own measurements. Think it over.”
“I will,” said Danny.
He and his friends shook hands once more with the meteorologist. Then they left the weather station and walked through the gates of the airfield, and down to Washington Avenue, the wide street that led past Midston University and back to the center of town.
Suddenly Joe said, “Don’t you hear a noise like padding feet?”
They stopped. Behind them there was a sound like that of a locomotive chuffing, and the slap of heavy paws on the pavement.
“A footpad,” said Joe.
“It’s Vanderbilt. He’s trailing us like a wolf,” Dan said.
“You mean like a whole pack of wolves,” Joe said sourly.
“Joe, you stop that,” said Irene. “How would you like it if I talked about you that way?” She put her arms around the Saint Bernard’s neck. “He just followed us because I said a kind word to him.”
“Well, you’d better say a kind good-bye to him,” Danny put in. “Mr. Elswing’s probably looking for him now.”
“Go home, Vanderbilt,” Irene said, pointing back toward the airfield. “I’ll come and visit you again, soon.”
The dog did not move. He just stood and looked lovingly at Irene, panting heavily with his tongue hanging out.
“Maybe we could ride him back,” Danny suggested. “He’s big enough. It’d be easier than walking all that way.”
“Shame on you, Danny Dunn,” said Irene. “He’s more tired than you. Can’t you hear him pant? You ought to carry him.”
“Oh, no!” Joe burst out. “I quit! Why can’t you like canaries, or goldfish, Irene? Why does it have to be dogs?”
“He’ll go where Irene goes,” Danny said. “Come on. You hold his collar, and we’ll take him home.”
They marched back to the weather station, and knocked at the door. It opened. Danny, with a smile, began to speak. Then his smile froze.
Mr. Elswing was scowling horribly. With his mouth turned down, his large round face seemed to sag into his neck, and under his beetled brows his small blue eyes were dull and cold.
“What are you doing with that dog?” he snarled, before Danny could say a word. “Let go of him. And get out of here. No visitors!” He grabbed Vanderbilt by the collar. The dog tucked his tail between his legs and hung his head, and a low, sad whine issued from him. Mr. Elswing dragged him into the weather station and slammed the door.
“G-g-gosh!” Joe stammered. “What happened to him?”
The three, stunned and silent, turned away and walked back to Washington Avenue. Then Joe said, “I know what it was—split personality —when a man is two people at once.”
“Huh?” Danny grunted.
“Sure. I saw it on another TV horror show,” said Joe. “There was this good guy, and when the moon was full he turned into a monster—”
“Don’t be silly,” Danny said. “The moon isn’t even out now.”
“Is that all you watch on TV, Joe?” Irene asked, pursing up her lips. “Horror movies?”
“Nope.” Joe shook his head. “I only watch those before going to bed.”
“Hmf,” Irene sniffed. “Your parents shouldn’t allow you to watch such things.”
“They don’t,” Joe grinned.
“Still,” said Danny, “something is certainly wrong with Mr. Elswing. Maybe it is split personality.”
“We’d better not go back there, ever,” Irene said firmly. “How do we know what he’ll be like next time? He might try to stab us with a weather vane, or something.”
They walked on for a moment or two in silence. Then Danny said thoughtfully, “There’s no need to go back.”
Irene took him by the arm, and turned him to face her.
“You’ve got something up your sleeve, Dan,” she said.
“Up his sleeve? He’s not even wearing a shirt,” said Joe.
“Come on, out with it,” said Irene.
“Okay. Very simple,” Danny said at last. “We don’t need to go back to his weather station. We can build our own!”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Homemade Weather Station
Professor Bullfinch’s inventions brought in enough money in royalties so that he could maintain his own laboratory in which to carry on research in many different branches of science. This laboratory was built onto the back of his house, and consisted of a large room in which experiments were conducted, and two smaller alcoves, one containing filing cabinets and reference books, the other crowded with shelves full of supplies.
In this latter alcove, the three friends gathered next morning. They were bent over a number of intricate, small parts which Danny had spread out in front of him on a table.
Joe said with a worried look, “But Danny, are you positive you know how to put it together again? Because my father doesn’t know we borrowed his barometer.”
Danny picked up a small piece and studied it. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m pretty sure.”
“Oh, no!” Joe howled, holding his head. “Pretty sure!”
The noise brought Professor Bullfinch into the alcove. “What on earth is the matter?” he asked. “Is someone hurt?”
“Not yet,” groaned Joe. “But I will be.”
“You know how Joe squawks, Professor,” Danny said cheerfully. “We borrowed his father’s barometer so I could take it apart to see how it works. We want to build one of our own. Now he’s worried that I may not be able to put it together again.”
The Professor pushed his glasses up on his forehead. He was a tubby, merry-looking man with rosy cheeks and a bald head across which a few strands of hair were plastered. He said, “Danny, do you know how to put together a barometer?”
Danny rubbed his chin. “We-e-ell,” he said, “I’ve never actually done it before....”
“Oooh!” Joe collapsed tragically in a chair. “Now he tells me.”
“Dear me,” said the Professor. “Danny, I’m afraid you acted without thinking, again. I’ve had occasion to tell you before not to be so headstrong.”
Danny said nothing, and the Professor went on more gently, “A barometer is relatively simple. But I’m afraid you’ve broken the air-tight seal on the case, and that isn’t easy to fix. Also, the hairspring must be coiled tightly, and you haven’t the tools with which to do that.”
Danny hung his head, and his cheeks began to burn. “You’re right, Professor Bullfinch,” he said. “I—I guess I just thought it was the best way to find out how the thing worked.”
“I’m not saying anything against your scientific curiosity,” said the Professor. “But you must think before you act. Why did you want to make a barometer?”
“We were going to set up our own weather station,” said Irene. “We looked in the encyclopedia and found that we’d need some basic instruments like a barometer, a rain gauge, a wind vane, an anemometer....”
“Most o
f those things are easy to make for yourself out of odds and ends,” said the Professor. He went to a bookshelf at one end of the room, and got down a slim volume. “Here’s a book I got from the author, who is a friend of mine. It’s called Everyday Weather and How It Works, by Mr. Herman Schneider.”
He flipped it open to a picture. “Here’s a simple way to make an anemometer, which is a machine for telling the speed of the wind. You use four paper cups, and fasten them to arms made of cardboard. When the wind blows, it turns the cups. By counting the number of turns in thirty seconds and dividing that number by five, you will get the wind speed in miles per hour. Or you can take it to the weather station and compare it with the one they have there.” Danny glanced quickly at Irene, but neither of them said anything.
The Professor was turning over the pages of the book. “Here’s a way of making a weather vane out of a coat hanger and some heavy cardboard cut in the shape of an arrow. Or you can make one out of light wood, and mount it on a post with a nail so that it will turn with the wind. As long as you know where north is, you can figure out the direction from which the wind is blowing.”
“What about a rain gauge?” Danny asked.
“Merely a glass jar with a funnel in it to catch the rain. Then you measure how much rain has fallen. You can use my steel ruler, marked in sixty-fourths of an inch.”
He paused. “But the barometer is another matter. I’ll call Mr. Pearson and explain what happened. But what are you going to do about it, Danny?”
“I’ve got some money saved up,” Danny said earnestly. “I’ll buy another one for Joe’s father just like the one I took to pieces. How can you make one without all these springs and things, Professor?”
“Well,” said Professor Bullfinch, “Mr. Schneider has a plan for a very good one in his book. But I used to make them when I was a boy by taking some thin rubber from a balloon and stretching it over the top of a tin can. Stretch it very tight, and tape it down securely. In the center of it, glue a broom straw so that the end of the straw sticks out over the edge of the can. That’s your pointer. Glue a piece of cardboard, marked off with lines close together, to one side of the can, so that the straw can move up and down the edge of it. That will be your scale.
“Now, when the air pressure increases, it will push down the rubber sheet, and the end of the straw will be pushed up on the scale. By checking the scale every day, you can tell whether the air pressure is high or low. Low pressure is, of course, associated with stormy weather, and high with fair weather.”
“Let’s make one now, Professor,” Danny said enthusiastically. “Will you help us?”
Professor Bullfinch took out his watch. “I can help you for a little while,” he said, “but I’ve got to keep an eye on the time. I must catch the one-thirty plane.”
He shut his watchcase with a click and stood for a moment rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Then he said, “You can set up your weather station in this alcove. But while I’m away, please be careful of the things in my laboratory.”
“Where are you going, Professor?” Danny asked.
“To Washington. My friend, Dr. A. J. Grimes, has invited me to discuss my new engine with the chairman of the Academy of Scientific Research.”
“Your new engine?” Danny’s eyes opened wide. “Is that the model you’ve been working on? Can we look at it?”
“Certainly.” Professor Bullfinch led the way into the laboratory. On a long, stone-topped bench stood a gray metal cube, about two feet square. On each side were handles, on the back a knife switch, and on the front two long tubes, each shaped something like the nozzle of a garden hose. The Professor patted the top of this device.
“This is my ionic transmitter,” he said proudly. “It provides a way of sending electrical energy without wires, by means of two beams of charged particles. Inside this case is a wet cell battery. When I start the machine, the electrical energy of these batteries can be transmitted to the proper receiver and turned into light and heat—it can be made to light an electric bulb, for instance.”
“That’s keen!” Danny exclaimed. “Will you show us?”
“Not if you want me to help you with the weather station,” the Professor replied. “I haven’t time for both. The engine can wait until I get back from Washington, my boy.”
He turned toward the alcove. Then, suddenly, he stopped and swung round. “Danny,” he said.
“Yes, Professor?”
“I know how curious you are, and how often you jump into things without thinking carefully of all the consequences.”
“Me?” Danny said innocently. Then he blushed. “I guess you’re right,” he said humbly.
“I want you to do something,” said the Professor.
“Yes, sir?”
“This time, I want you to exercise good judgment and discipline while I’m away. Think twice before you plunge into any—well—any rash ideas.”
Danny sighed. “All right, Professor Bullfinch,” he said. “I promise.”
“Very well.” The Professor, with a cheery smile, rubbed his hands together. “Now, let’s get to work. We just have time to make the barometer.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“Somebody’s Crazy!”
All that afternoon, after the Professor left for Washington, the three friends worked on the instruments for their weather station. Irene and Joe went home limp and exhausted, but eager for the morning, when they would begin forecasting.
Danny stayed up late that night, reading all the books he could find, in his own and the Professor’s library, on the subject of weather. With a flashlight under the tent of his blanket, he read about cold fronts and warm fronts, humidity, condensation, and precipitation, until his head was spinning. When at last he fell asleep, he dreamed that he was struggling through a hurricane with an enormous barometer chained to his ankles.
Joe and Irene came over shortly after breakfast, and they soon had all their instruments set up and ready. The Professor had loaned them several thermometers, one of which they hung on the inside wall for quick checking of the temperature; the other two were arranged in a box just outside the window, with the bulb of one immersed in water. On the box, Danny had fastened a table of wet-and-dry-bulb readings taken from the Sea Scout Manual of the Boy Scouts. Using this, they could determine the relative humidity—that is, the percentage of water vapor in the air—by comparing the readings on the two thermometers.
They had their homemade barometer on a shelf against one wall, and the other wall was covered with a large map of the United States, on which pins with paper flags on them marked the weather fronts—the front lines where cold and warm masses of air battled. Irene’s portable radio stood beneath it, so that they could listen to the daily weather reports. On poles outside, a little way from the window, were the weather vane and the anemometer with its four cups slowly turning in the early morning breeze. Below was the rain gauge, on a wooden bench.
Rubbing his eyes and yawning, Danny took the readings from the thermometers and the barometer. Joe went outside and checked the wind speed and direction, and Irene marked all the information on their map.
“Well, Dan,” Joe said, as he came back into the room. “What’s the forecast?”
Danny had been leaning out of the window, looking at the sky. With a frown, he said, “Clear, sunny, hot, and dry.”
Joe clutched his head. “That’s what it’s been for the past three weeks!” he cried. “Did we have to go through all this work just to find out that there’s no change?”
“Now you know how the weatherman feels,” said Mrs. Dunn, Danny’s mother. She had come into the laboratory, and now stood just outside the alcove with a tray on which were three glasses of chocolate milk and a plate full of cookies. Her eyes twinkled. “I predict wet whistles and falling appetites,” she added, putting the tray on one of the stone-topped lab benches.
“That�
��s the kind of prediction I like,” said Joe. As the three sat down around the bench and went to work on the cookies, Mrs. Dunn, running her fingers through hair as red as Danny’s, said, “By the way, Mr. Forecaster, you borrowed my broom yesterday afternoon. May I have it back?”
“Oh, sure, Mom,” Danny said. “I’m sorry. We needed a broom straw for our barometer.”
“Well, I need a broom straw now, to test a cake I have in the oven,” said his mother. “To say nothing of a little sweeping I have to do.”
“What kind of a cake will it be, Mrs. Dunn?” Joe asked innocently.
“Chocolate fudge.”
Joe’s face lighted up. “In that case,” he said, “I think maybe Mom would let me stay for dinner.
Mrs. Dunn laughed. “All right, you’ve talked me into it,” she said. “You stay, too, Irene. I’ll phone Joe’s mother and run next door to ask yours. And by the way, Danny, please bring back the plate and glasses. I hope you won’t need them for rain gauges, or anything.”
“No, Mom. We won’t.”
When Mrs. Dunn left with her broom, the three friends finished the cookies and milk. Danny turned his glass upside down over his mouth to catch the last drops. He put the glass on the bench, and a pensive look came over his face.
At the other end of the bench stood the Professor’s new machine.
Irene picked up the three glasses and put them on the tray. As she took Danny’s glass, she saw the look in his eyes and followed the direction of his gaze. “Don’t do it,” she said warningly.
Danny raised his eyebrows. “Do what?”
“You’ve got one of those sudden ideas of yours. Didn’t the Professor tell you to think twice before you plunged into anything?”
Danny nodded. “One... two...,” he said. Then his expression changed. “You’re right. I’m going to stay out of trouble this time. I hereby resolve not to touch the Professor’s machine while he’s away. There!”
Danny tapped his fingertips together, and sighed. “All the same,” he said, “I wonder how it works. Joe... why don’t you turn it on, and let’s see what happens?”