Once again, Mr. Matthews made that breathtaking dash along the face of the cliff and only yards away from it. Once again, Danny snapped on the laser. This time, he made a short, angled stroke at one end of the line. Then a third time, and he had burned in the third stroke. The marks stood out bold and clear along the wall: an arrow pointing to the left.
The two men, unable to guess why the plane had flashed past so closely and nearly startled out of their wits, had dropped flat for safety. But the Professor had seen the faint glow of the laser’s beam, and he had heard the popping and spitting of it as it hit the stone above him. Danny could see him jump to his feet and look upward. He grabbed Mr. Pippit’s arm and pointed. They seemed to be arguing. Then the Professor caught up the stick with his handkerchief tied to it, and waved it.
“He understands,” Danny said, with relief.
With the Professor in the lead, the two men ran to the left end of the ledge. As the plane circled, Danny saw the Professor dart forward and vanish into the smoke. Mr. Pippit followed. A moment later, they reappeared higher up on the cliff. They paused for an instant to wave once more at the plane, and then they began the climb upward to safety.
CHAPTER 14
“If I Only Had a Laser”
The greatest exhibition of courage, that day, was probably shown by Mrs. Dunn.
First, she had come home from her shopping late—she had stopped on Washington Avenue to chat with neighbors and stare anxiously at the veil of smoke that hung over half the sky—and had found Irene waiting for her with the news that the Professor and Mr. Pippit appeared to be marooned somewhere in the area of the forest fire, and that her son, Danny, was at that moment flying over it with her cousin, Mr. Matthews.
Mrs. Dunn was a woman of admirable calm and fortitude. She said to Irene, “In that case, I’d better set the table, because when they all get home they’re going to be hungry.”
Irene said, “But—but aren’t you worried? They’re in danger.”
Mrs. Dunn smiled gently. “Of course I’m worried, dear,” she replied. “But mothers have to get used to being worried. And there’s nothing I can do about it. I prefer to keep busy, rather than run around screaming hysterically. It has been my experience that when men have been in danger they generally want refreshment. I may as well prepare for that.”
“I’ll stay here and help you,” Irene said. “I’d rather keep busy, too.”
She ran home to ask permission, and soon returned with her mother, who brought with her half a baked ham.
“I thought this might help out,” said Mrs. Miller. “Oh, dear, you must be so upset about Danny—and the poor Professor—I know I am—I can’t just go home and wait there, so I’ll wait here with you and help you set the table. If you don’t mind, that is.”
“Not at all,” said Mrs. Dunn, cheerily. “You and Irene put out plates and silverware—you know where it is, dear, don’t you?—and I’ll start the coffee. And we can all worry together. But what about your husband?”
“Oh, he’s listening to the radio. He’ll be over with a report on the news if there’s anything to tell.”
It was past nine o’clock when Danny and the Professor came home at last. With them they brought Mr. Pippit, and Mr. and Mrs. Matthews. Irene ran home and got her father, and then they all sat down around the table together and attacked the cold meats and cheese and bread and butter and homemade biscuits and honey and jam and scrambled eggs and angel cake and pickles, all washed down by quarts of hot cocoa and coffee. They all talked too loudly and laughed too heartily, as people will who have been under a great deal of strain. Nobody minded elbows on the table or scattered crumbs. They all tried to talk at the same time, to explain to each other what had happened from the beginning. There was much interrupting of each other and cries of, “Well, while you were doing that, we were—” and so forth. Irene had phoned Joe to tell him the news, and midway through the meal he burst in and had to be brought up to date. And then, although he had had his dinner he had to be fed to revive him because, as he said, he felt quite faint from all the excitement.
“One of the best things,” said the Professor, when the noise had subsided a little and Mrs. Dunn and Mrs. Miller began to clear some of the dishes away, “was the fact that the backfire Danny set on Rose Hill helped the firemen get the whole blaze under control. The chief was very complimentary, although I’m afraid he still doesn’t understand exactly how it was done. But that big burned-out section kept the fire from spreading over the hills. A party of firemen had been sent to climb Sugarloaf and we met them and led them back to the southern foothills, where we’d been trapped. The fire hadn’t really taken hold there, and they were able to put it out. Meanwhile, the men who had been further north, in what they called Sector Four, had gotten that part under control and were able to come down and manage the rest of the fire. By the time we left, the chief said the danger was over.”
“Their cars weren’t badly harmed, either,” said Mr. Matthews. “Except that I’m afraid Mr. Pippit’s upholstery will smell of smoke for a while. But that’s a small price to pay, I guess.”
“There’s another good result,” Mr. Pippit said, taking out his cigar case and offering it to the other men. “Had a long talk with Bullfinch out there while we were climbing around. Got me to see I’d been a fool. Don’t mind admitting it. Always admit when I’m wrong, and try to do something about it.”
He held a match to his cigar and blew out a plume of fragrant smoke. “Had to agree that theoretical stuff had to come first. Had to agree I was pigheaded. Talked it all over. Grateful to Danny, too, for saving our lives. Decided to give Midston the grant for the Research Center.”
“That’s very gratifying news, Mr. Pippit,” said Dr. Miller, Irene’s father. As an astronomer teaching at Midston, he had had his own brush with Mr. Pippit, and had been concerned about the Research Center. “I’m sure Mr. Richards will be delighted to hear it.”
“Tell him in the morning,” said Mr. Pippit. “Want to get some rest, now. Thought I’d go back to the hotel.”
“There’s no need to do that,” Mrs. Dunn said. “We have plenty of room here. Heavens, I don’t see any reason for you to pay the terrible prices the Imperial charges when you can stay here for nothing. And you’ll be much more comfortable, too.”
Mr. Pippit regarded her with respect and admiration. “Really want me, do you?” he said.
“Of course we do.”
“Ma’am,” he said, “I’d like nothing better. Best dinner I’ve had since I’ve been in Midston. And you’re right, the hotel was too dratted expensive. Besides—” He cleared his throat, stared thoughtfully at his cigar, and then said firmly, “I was lonely, there. Glad to accept your invitation.”
“And I promise I won’t do anything sudden,” Danny said, in a small voice.
Mr. Pippit grinned widely, looking more than ever like an enormous bullfrog.
“Well,” Joe said, “I’ve got to go. I promised Mom I’d come right home. But before I do, I—um—it’s sort of partly my fault that all this happened. I mean, if I had just held on to the bucket and let the water fly—”
“Forget it,” said Mr. Pippit. “Glad you put me out.”
“Thanks. Well, to sort of make up for hitting you with the bucket, I’ve—I’ve dedicated my poem to you,” Joe said.
Mr. Pippit sat bolt upright. “Eh? Poem?” he said. “To me?”
“I hope you don’t mind,” said Joe.
A most extraordinary look spread over Mr. Pippit’s face, an expression in which astonishment, pleasure, and embarrassment were blended. He grew very red. “Mind?” he said, at last. “First time it ever happened to me. Ridiculous. Don’t know what to say. Mind? Certainly not. Very pleased.”
“Fine. Then I’ll recite it to you,” said Joe.
And fixing his eyes on the ceiling, he began:
If I only had a laser
I’d be happy as a fish;
I would never need a razor,
&nb
sp; I would melt my beard off—swish!
“Of course,” he added, as an aside, “I haven’t got a beard yet, and a fish isn’t terribly happy, but this is what we poets call poetic license.”
“Go on,” said the Professor, vastly amused.
If I had a laser handy
I would weed my garden so,
Work would be as sweet as candy
And I’d never need a hoe.
In the woods in brisk November
I would warm my chilly toes,
I would use it in December
As a shovel when it snows.
To be neat and clean I’d choose it
For to empty out my pockets;
Independence Day I’d use it
On the fuses of my rockets.
I’d make kindling out of some trees,
Or I’d steam a tasty clam;
I could turn it on the plum trees,
and boil myself some jam.
But for school it’s not the right beam,
’Cause I’m the kind of creature
Who’d forget it’s not a light beam—
And shine it on the teacher!
Everyone applauded. “Well, Pippit, you ought to be very happy with that,” laughed the Professor. “You wanted some practical applications, and Joe has given you a big handful of them.”
Mr. Pippit stood up. With a solemn expression, he said slowly, “It is an excellent poem and shows great talent, and I am proud and happy to have had it dedicated to me.”
This was the longest sentence anyone had ever heard him say, and they were all stunned. Then abruptly he barked, “Ought to give a grant for a Poetry Center. Think about it.”
Joe, with a wide smile, began to say something.
“But not today,” Mr. Pippit added. “Let’s face it. Not practical enough.”
The Professor pushed back his chair. “Isn’t that someone knocking at the front door?”
“I’ll go, Professor,” said Mrs. Dunn, hurrying out.
The Professor beamed around the table. “I just want to say one more thing,” he said. “Sometimes, we only learn by facing dangers. But now, we’re all happily gathered together here, and I am glad matters worked out well and we’re all safe. Our troubles are over at last—”
He checked himself, looking inquiringly at the dining room door. A policeman stood there.
“Mr. Glenway Pippit?” the policeman said.
“That’s me,” said Mr. Pippit.
“Is that your car out in front, sir, the blue Rolls convertible?” asked the policeman.
“Yes, it is. Is it parked in the wrong place? Or what?”
“Oh, no, you’re parked all right. We’ve been looking for you, Mr. Pippit. I’ve got something for you.”
“Ah, a message?”
“No, sir,” said the policeman, with a sigh. “A summons for speeding.”
CHAPTER 15
Snitcher’s Plot
Miss Arnold looked with satisfaction at the exhibits for the Science Fair which were being lined up on a long table under the blackboard. Ronnie Greenfield had set up a display showing the life history of the butterfly, the Gianninoto twins had a large model of an atomic power plant they had made, and Victoria Williams and her friend Robin Glenn had prepared a demonstration on the making of a telescope. Some of the other pupils were carrying in their displays from the hallway.
“This is a splendid beginning,” Miss Arnold said.
The school principal, Mr. Standish, stuck his head into the room. “May we come in?” he said. “I have a distinguished visitor with me today. Please come this way, Mr. Pippit.”
Mr. Pippit followed him in, shook hands with Miss Arnold, and winked at Irene who was standing nearby.
“Can’t stay long,” he snapped. “Promised some friends I’d drop in for a minute and see the displays. Might be some ideas I can use. Always on the lookout for new young talent.”
“Mr. Pippit is the gentleman I told you about,” Mr. Standish said to Miss Arnold. “He is founding a Research Center at Midston.”
“Oh, yes. We’re glad to have you with us, Mr. Pippit,” said Miss Arnold. “I’m very proud of this class. We have some fine young scientists here. And this is only the start. By next month, we expect to have at least a dozen more entries for the fair.”
Danny and Joe brought in the wind tunnel and placed it on a table near the window. They had already greeted Mr. Pippit in the hall, and Danny said, “I hope you can stay long enough to watch the demonstrations and listen to the talks, sir.”
“Going to have any demonstrations of poetry?” Mr. Pippit said.
Joe grinned. “Maybe I can sneak in a quick reading.”
At the back of the classroom, Eddie Philips nudged his friend George Bessel. “Just wait,” he whispered. “That smart-aleck Danny is going to get the surprise of his life.”
“What’d you do?” George asked.
Eddie snickered. “Remember, when class started and all the displays were still out in the hall, I got permission to leave the room for a minute?”
“Yeah. I remember.”
“I stopped at Danny’s wind tunnel and made a little improvement in the electric fan.”
“Improvement?” George looked blankly at Eddie.
“Uh-huh. The blade is held on the shaft by a setscrew. I unscrewed that and took the blade off, and put it on again backward. With the guard covering it nobody will notice anything wrong until he starts the fan.”
“What’ll happen?” said George.
Eddie looked at him in disgust. “Don’t you know anything? Instead of pushing the air, it’ll pull it. Instead of blowing smoke it’ll suck it into the room, and the place will be full of it. Then we’ll see what happens to Mr. Wise Guy Dunn.”
All the displays were in, by now, and Miss Arnold clapped her hands for attention. “If you’ll take your seats,” she said, “we can start. Mr. Standish, you and Mr. Pippit can sit up here in front of my desk. Danny, suppose you make your announcement first.”
“Yes ma’am.” Danny stood up in front of the class. “Well, as some of you know there was a kind of mix-up. Irene and Joe and I made this wind tunnel. It was supposed to be our display. And Sni—Eddie Philips made one, too. Only his got sort of smashed up and wrecked—”
Some of the pupils giggled. Danny’s expression, however, remained solemn.
“Since then, we talked it over—I mean, Irene and I did,” he went on. “We’ve decided that we’re going to make a display showing a new device called a laser. We’re going to explain how it works, and how its beam is different from an ordinary beam of reflected light.” He paused and glanced at Eddie with a wicked smile. “And so we thought we’d give this wind tunnel, which is all finished and ready to go, to Eddie, to take the place of his. Here you are. It’s all yours.”
Eddie sat motionless with a stupefied look on his face.
Miss Arnold said, “I think this is a very generous act on the part of Irene and Danny, considering all the work they have put into this project—”
“And Joe,” said Joe, under his breath.
“When they told me about their decision, I thought we’d make it a little surprise. Now, Eddie, you may come up and demonstrate how the wind tunnel works.”
Eddie got slowly to his feet, looking longingly at the door as if he wished he could make a dash for it. “I—I—” he stammered.
“Well, come along,” said Miss Arnold. “I know you’re surprised, and I’m sure you must be grateful. I know you want to thank Danny and Irene—”
“And Joe,” mumbled Joe.
“Yeah. Sure. Thanks,” said Eddie. Moving like someone wading in a swift stream, he advanced to the front of the room. “Do I have to work the thing?” he said, desperately. “Maybe it doesn’t work the same way mine did.”
“It’s the same idea,” said Danny. “Only the smoke part is different. You see, we were going to use hydrochloric acid and ammonia fumes for the smoke, but then we figured that might
be dangerous so we got one of those Fourth of July smokepots that makes colored smoke. It’s all ready. You just start the fan. I’ll light the smokepot. You know what will happen—I explained the whole thing to you, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. I know what will happen,” said Eddie, miserably.
He stood helplessly with his hand on the fan switch. “I—I don’t feel so well,” he muttered.
“Go on, Eddie,” said Miss Arnold, firmly. “You’re wasting time.”
Danny had touched a match to the fuse of the smokepot. Eddie shut his eyes and snapped the switch. And at the same instant, he hurled himself backward, out of the way.
Mr. Pippit had risen to his feet, the better to see the demonstration. Eddie crashed into him and they both fell back across Miss Arnold’s desk. There was a wild scramble for a moment, and then Mr. Standish pulled Eddie off and helped Mr. Pippit up.
“What on earth is the matter with you, Eddie?” cried Miss Arnold.
“Uh—uh—” Eddie stared at the wind tunnel. Danny stood beside it with an innocent air. The fan was blowing the smoke through the box, and out the partly opened window. Inside the box, the class could see the handsome model of an airplane wing rising on the air current, which was clearly marked by the stream of colored smoke flowing gently around it.
“Maybe he was afraid I didn’t test the model carefully,” Danny said, keeping a straight face. “But you see, I always check and double-check my experiments, Eddie. And I did check over this equipment, including the electric fan, very carefully before I brought it into the room. Somehow, the fan-blade got turned around. But it doesn’t matter, because as long as it’s moving in the same direction, the air will keep flowing in the same direction. It flows a little more slowly, that’s all, and that was a good thing for this model. So you see, there was nothing to worry about.”
Joe gave a loud groan. “No? That’s what you think,” he said. He pointed at Mr. Pippit. In the fall, Miss Arnold’s inkwell had been knocked over. Mr. Pippit’s jacket now had a large, dripping, blue blotch on its front.
He glanced down at it. “Again?” he howled. “Another suit!”
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