Danny Dunn and the Weather Machine (6 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Beautiful Rain

“Stop that plane!” Danny blurted, quite without thinking how impossible this was.

“What on earth's the matter?” asked Frank Elswing.

Irene, Danny, and Joe all tried to tell him at once. He held up his hands helplessly, and at last cried, “Quiet! For heaven's sake, one at a time.”

They fell silent. Then, for the first time, everyone could hear Snitcher's plaintive voice. “Hey, get me loose, will you?” he whined.

They swung round on him. Vanderbilt still had a firm grip on his belt and he was unable to free himself, or even to reach round and hit the dog.

“Let you loose?” Danny repeated. “It's all your fault. If anything happens to that machine, you'll pay for it.”

“What machine?” Frank asked.

“You know,” said Danny. “You've seen it. The one I told you about—”

“You mean your invention that makes it possible to condense water out of the atmosphere?” Frank hid a smile, and tried to look grave. “Dear me. That
is
serious.”

“What kind of nonsense is this?” said Ralph Elswing.

“It isn't nonsense,” said Irene. “And even if it were, Snitcher still had no right to try to steal the machine.”

“Snitcher?” Frank looked puzzled.

Before he could go further into the matter, Snitcher blubbered, “Uncle Frank, make Vanderbilt put me down. Stop talking, for gosh sakes, and get me out of this. Uncle Ralph—” Vanderbilt was looking cheerfully from one to the other, waiting for orders. Irene said, “Poor little puppy. Is 'um getting tired from the weight of Snitcher?”

“Poor little puppy,” Joe repeated, with a disgusted air. “Is 'um getting sick from the taste of Snitcher?”

“What is this ‘Snitcher' business?” asked Ralph.

“They evidently don't think too highly of Eddie,” said Frank in a dry tone. “I can't say I blame them, if he really did try to steal their machine.”

“He did,” said Danny angrily. “He was trying to get even—

“I didn't do anything!” Snitcher bawled.

“Oooh! How can you say such a thing?” said Irene.

They all began to talk at once again, arguing, scolding, explaining. In the midst of the noise, there came a loud snapping sound.

Snitcher's belt had broken, and he fell sprawling on the ground. Picking himself up, he ran, holding his pants and weeping with rage and embarrassment, across the field and disappeared behind the hangar.

Vanderbilt uttered a short, quizzical bark, as if to say, “What now?”

“Good boy,” said Irene, patting his head. “No, don't kiss me—you'll get me all wet.”

“Wet?” Danny repeated. “Hey! I just felt a drop.”

There was a sudden, profound silence.

“He's out of his mind,” growled Ralph. “No, he's not,” said Mr. Covey, the farmer. “I felt one, too.”

They all stared at the soft, heavy gray of the clouds. The silence spread over the whole airfield, and everywhere people gazed upward.

There was no doubt about it. Fat drops of rain were falling, spattering on the landing strip and puddling the dust. More and more fell, and suddenly it was really raining.

A deep, heartfelt cheer went up from the crowd.

“It worked!” yelled Mr. Covey. “Oh, you lovely cloud-seeding! It's sprouting! Oh, you beautiful rain!”

Mr. Glenn shouted, “Yippee!” Forgetting his dignity, he tilted his head back to let the drops fall into his mouth.

The president of the bank seized the hands of the town librarian and danced around with her in the rain. Other people shook hands, cheered, capered about, and laughed. It was as if the whole crowd had abruptly gone mad.

The three young people, although they were happy it was raining at last, were more sensible. When it began to pelt down, they ran across to the hangar and stood just inside. From this vantage point, they watched the excitement slowly die down as the others also took shelter.

Danny pointed. Out on the field Frank Elswing still stood, grinning and holding up his umbrella. Next to him sat Vanderbilt, with all but his tail under cover. And close by, with the rain streaming from his head, was Ralph Elswing. He was slowly tearing his hat to shreds, scowling furiously, and stuffing the pieces in his mouth.

As the three friends stared, the roar of a plane's engines came to their ears.

“Here comes Mr. Clark,” said Irene. “I'll bet he's happy the cloud-seeding worked. I hope he doesn't smash the Professor's machine when he lands.”

Danny shook his head miserably. “That's not Mr. Clark. He's flying a Piper Tri-Pacer. What we hear is a twin-engine plane.”

He squinted through the downpour. Out of the clouds swooped a silvery passenger plane. It bounced on the runway, and rolled to a stop, turning in toward the hangar. Its door opened and several people got out and ran for the airport office with their coat collars turned up.

But one of the passengers did not run. He looked about at the rain and at the joyful townspeople, and smiled benevolently. He wiped his glasses, and then started for the office at a deliberate walk, as if he were enjoying the warm, delicious summer shower.

It was Professor Bullfinch, home in time for lunch after all.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Whatever Goes Up—

Joe slumped back against the wall. “Danny,” he said. “Suddenly I don't feel so good.”

Danny was pale. Irene, biting her lip, said, “What shall we do, Dan?”

“That's easy,” said Joe. “Let's go home and hide in a closet. And lock the door. And die.”

Danny straightened, squaring his shoulders. “There's only one thing to do,” he said.

“You mean just die?” said Joe. “And never mind about going home or getting into a closet?”

“No. It'll be my fault if the machine is smashed. I'm going out to tell the Professor.” Danny took a deep breath. He walked out into the rain. After a moment's hesitation, the other two followed him.

He went up to the Professor, swallowed hard, and then said, “Hi, Professor Bullfinch.”

“Why, Danny,” said the Professor happily, “did you come to meet me? That was very thoughtful of you.”

“Yes.” Danny's throat seemed to be plugged up. Then he said, “Er—nice weather we're having, isn't it?”

The Professor chuckled. “Now, that's an interesting statement. On the basis of observation, and without detailed research, it would appear that you're wrong because it's raining. But on the other hand, since the rain is so badly needed, perhaps it
is
nice weather after all.”

“Yes,” said Danny. “Listen, Professor. I wanted to—”

“I know, I know. You're anxious to learn how my meeting with the chairman of the Academy of Scientific Research came out. The results were excellent! I have just time to go home for a bite of lunch, and then I must return to Washington on the first plane I can catch this afternoon. They want to examine my transmitter without delay. Isn't that wonderful?”

Danny simply groaned.

“Dear me,” said the Professor, looking worried. “I appreciate your coming to meet me, but perhaps if you don't feel well—”

“Professor Bullfinch,” Joe put in, clearing his throat. “On the basis of observation and without detailed research, I would say that we're all getting soaked. Can't we go in where it's dry?”

The Professor nodded. “A practical man is always welcome in the field of science.”

Just then, the two Elswings, now both under the umbrella, came by. They had made up their quarrel and they nodded to the Professor, for they both knew him.

“Ah, Frank,” said Professor Bullfinch, “it's good to see you. And you, Ralph. Can we go into the weather station with you, and phone for a taxi?”

“Certainly,” said Frank. “Come along.”

He led them to the weather station. When they got inside and were shaking the rain from their clothing, he turned to his brother with an exclamation of annoyance.

“I do wish you weren't so pessimistic, Ralph,” he said. “You were so sure it wouldn't rain that you left the windows open. Now look at the place. Everything's sopping wet.”

To add to the general wetness, Vanderbilt chose that time to shake himself, and for a moment the room was full of flying spray.

“Get that blasted hound out of here,” Ralph snarled.

“Don't be so mean,” Irene said, putting her arms around Vanderbilt's neck. “How can you send the poor little thing out into the storm?”

Vanderbilt rolled up his eyes, trying to look poor and little. Ralph snorted, and then snapped on an air conditioner that was set into one of the windows.

“All right, all right,” he said. “At least we can cool the place off a little. It's so damp and hot in here, we're likely to die of tropical fever.”

The Professor chuckled. “Well, if you don't mind,” he said, “I'll just phone for a cab. It's urgent that I get home at once.”

Danny stepped in front of him. “Wait, Professor,” he said.

“But Dan, I can't wait—”

“I've been trying to tell you this,” Danny said, in a rush. “It's no good your going home. The transmitter isn't there.”

“Isn't there?” the Professor repeated, looking dazed. “I don't understand. Where is it?” Unable to say another word, Danny pointed upward.

For an instant, the Professor lost his usual calm. “What?” he exploded. “Do you mean it's gone to heaven?”

“Just a moment,” said Frank, stepping forward. “Danny, is this transmitter you're talking about the one that went up on the plane?”

Danny nodded miserably.

“Up on a plane?” stammered the Professor.

“Good heavens!” said Frank. “Then you mean it was a
real
transmitter—an invention of the Professor's?”

“I hate to be stubborn,” said Professor Bullfinch, “but I must insist that you tell me what this is all about.”

Rapidly, Frank explained how Snitcher had tried to run off with the machine, and how the loop of wire on the top of it had caught on the wheel of the plane.

The Professor rubbed the top of his bald head thoughtfully. “Dear me,” he said. “This is very awkward. How are we to get it down safely?”

“Can't we go over to the control tower,” Danny put in, “and have them get in touch with the plane? They must have radio contact.”

“Good idea,” said Frank. “And we needn't go over to the tower. We have an intercom loud-speaker connection with them.”

He led them into the adjoining office where, on the desk, stood a large interoffice communicator. He switched it on and said, “George? This is Frank Elswing.”

They all heard the man in the tower say, “What's up, Frank?”

“Have you got a contact with that Tri-Pacer we have up there, seeding the clouds?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Call him at once. It's urgent.”

“Okay. Stand by.”

They could all hear him quite clearly as he called the plane, and a few minutes later they heard the voice of Mr. Clark, distorted by a slight crackling, saying, “4257-Delta to tower. What is it, George?”

“Hold on, Abe,” said the man in the tower. And on the intercom he said, “What's your message, Frank?”

“Tell him he has a kid's wagon, with a machine attached to it, hanging from the axle of his right wheel.”

Traffic control repeated the message. They heard Clark say, “I thought we felt a little out of trim. That's going to make trouble when we land.”

“Tell him the machine must not be harmed,” the Professor put in.

When this had been told to Clark, he said, “I don't see how we're going to do it. We can't land without smashing up the machine. And we're going to have trouble just getting ourselves on the ground without an accident.”

The man in the tower said, “How about getting a truck to drive along the strip, Abe, and you fly low at the same speed? Then somebody stands up in the bed of the truck, reaches up, and unhooks the machine from your wheel.”

“Oh, yes!” Joe said. “I saw that done on TV. It's easy!”

“Nothing doing,” said Mr. Clark. “I'm not a Hollywood stunt man. It's much too dangerous, especially for the man on the truck.”

There was a long, gloomy silence, which Ralph broke. “The whole thing's impossible,” he said.

The Professor sighed. “You're right. Tell him to land his plane. Men are more important than machines.”

Mr. Elswing was turning to the intercom speaker, when Danny suddenly said, “Wait. How do they throw the dry ice out of the plane?”

Frank raised an eyebrow at him. “Why, they force open the door and just scatter it,” he replied.

“Well,” Danny said, “is it possible that Mr. Clark could slow the plane down, and then maybe the copilot could step right out onto the wheel, reach down, and pull up the machine?” The man in the tower had overheard this.

“I'll ask him,” he said, and they heard him repeating Danny's idea to the pilot.

Then Clark said, “Not a bad suggestion. I think we can do it that way, if the machine isn't too heavy. We'll try. If Harve drops it, watch your heads below.”

There was another silence that lasted for what seemed like hours. They all waited, holding their breaths as the minutes ticked away. And then, at last, Clark said, “Two-five Delta to tower. We've got it, George.”

“Good!” said Frank.

He snapped off the intercom, and they all looked at each other with relief. Ralph eyed Danny with something that almost resembled a smile, and said, “That was pretty smart, boy. Where'd you learn so much about planes?”

“Professor Bullfinch taught me,” answered Danny. “Along with lots of other things.”

The Professor put a hand on Danny's shoulder. “That's true, my boy,” he said, in a gentle voice. “And now, I think I may have to teach you something else. But first, suppose you tell me exactly what happened.”