Читать книгу Danny Dunn on the Ocean Floor - Jay Williams - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

Cooking Chemicals

They could all smell it now—a strong, smoky, faintly sweetish odor. Professor Bullfinch sprang to the furnace and pulled open the door.

“Ah, me,” he sighed. “This goose is certainly cooked.”

As the two young people drew closer, he fished the crucible out with a long iron hook. The pot had turned dark brown, and the stuff in it was smoking.

“Is it ruined?” Danny asked.

“I’m afraid so. However, it won’t be too hard to duplicate the mixture.”

The Professor opened the window to let the fumes escape. At that moment the wall telephone rang. Mrs. Dunn answered it and, after speaking for a moment, hung up and said, “That was Dr. Grimes, Professor.”

“Dr. Grimes? Where is he?”

“At the airport.” Mrs. Dunn pulled the corners of her mouth down and, in a good imitation of Dr. Grimes’s gruff tones, said, “Tell Bullfinch to come and fetch me. I don’t trust the careless speeding of taxicabs.”

They all laughed. “That sounds like Grimes,” said the Professor. “He’s planning to explore the bottom of the sea, but he’s afraid of a taxi. I’ll go at once. Dan, you and Irene may eat my share of the cookies.”

He took his jacket from a peg behind the door. As he was putting it on, Danny said, “Professor, may Irene and I stay here in the lab and work on our list of fish noises?”

Professor Bullfinch stopped with one arm in a sleeve. “Danny,” he said gently.

The boy blushed. “I know just what you’re going to say,” he protested. “You don’t want me to do any experimenting while you’re gone.”

“We-e-ell,” said the Professor, “the last time I left you alone in the lab you tried to launch a CO2 rocket through the window without opening the window. It isn’t that I don’t trust you, my boy. It’s just that you do have a habit of acting, sometimes, without thinking.”

“I won’t this time, Professor,” said Danny.

“And I’ll see that he does exactly what you tell him,” Irene promised.

“Very well. As a matter of fact, there is something you can do for me,” said Professor Bullfinch. “When the crucible is cool, you can throw the mixture out. Don’t bother to clean the crucible; just leave it on the bench.”

He bustled off, and Mrs. Dunn went back to her housework. Danny and Irene sat down once more with the tape recorder, the cookies, and the lemonade, listening to the strange sounds and trying to list them under the proper columns.

Every now and then Danny checked the crucible, and after fifteen minutes or so he decided that it was cool enough to handle. He was able to pick it up easily, and he carried it to the trash can. He tilted it and then he said, “Hey, Irene! This thing’s empty.”

She hurried to his side. “How can it be empty? I don’t think plastic would evaporate.”

“Look at it. It doesn’t look as if there’s anything in the pot.” As he said this, he put his hand in it. He looked up at her with a puzzled air. “There is something,” he said. “I can feel it, but it’s transparent.”

Irene touched the surface of the stuff. It had a curious, velvety texture, not smooth like glass, so that it did not reflect the light well. This made it hard to see.

Danny tried tapping the bottom of the crucible to get the plastic out. Then he took a hammer and hit the clear material as hard as he could.

The hammer bounced up as if it had struck stone.

“Perhaps you’d better leave it alone,” Irene suggested. “You might break the crucible.”

Danny pursed up his lips. “Let’s just try the electric drill,” he said. “That ought to do it.” He got out a power drill and fitted a high-speed bit into it. He started the motor and pressed the bit against the mysterious substance. The point of the bit skittered off and chipped a small piece out of the edge of the crucible.

“There,” said Irene. “Now you’d better leave it alone.”

Danny was examining the plastic. “This stuff isn’t even scratched,” he said. He picked up the crucible and carried it back to the furnace.

“What are you going to do?” Irene asked.

“Only one thing to do. I’ll heat it up again.”

“Danny!” said Irene warningly. “You’ve forgotten your promise.”

Danny turned to a pair of wide, perfectly innocent blue eyes on her. “I have not,” he answered. “This isn’t experimenting. Professor Bullfinch told me to throw the stuff away, didn’t he? And I can’t throw it away when it’s solid, can I? I’ll have to heat it up to make it liquid so that it’ll throw.”

Irene thought about that for a moment and then said, “I guess you’re right.”

Danny put the crucible back in the furnace, and they both watched until curls of white steam began to rise from the plastic. Danny took a steel poker and touched the material. It rippled thickly, like molasses.

The crucible had two handles, and he got a pair of metal hooks and hooked them into the handles. He took one and Irene took the other, and they carefully lifted the melting pot out of the furnace.

“Now it’s too hot to pour into the trash bin,” Danny said. “Let’s take it over to the window sill and let it cool for a minute or two.”

Just as they were lifting it to the sill, there came a loud whistle. A thin dark boy with a mournful expression on his face had come into the garden. Under one arm he carried a football.

“Hi, Dan,” he called. “Hello, Irene. Come on out.”

“Can’t Joe,” Danny replied, resting his elbows on the sill. “We’re busy.”

Joe Pearson, who was Danny’s closest friend, eyed the crucible. “What’s that thing?” he said. “A cooking pot? Or a chemical pot?”

“Both,” Danny grinned. “We’re cooking some chemicals.”

Joe paused, and a wary look came over his face. “Oh—oh,” he said. “Another experiment, eh? When is this one going to explode?”

“It isn’t,” said Danny. “This is Professor Bullfinch’s experiment. I have to throw it away.”

“Won’t he mind?”

“Oh, Joe, don’t be a glop,” said Irene. “He wants us to throw it away.”

“Why? Doesn’t he like it any more?”

“It was an experiment that didn’t work out.”

“I see,” Joe sighed. “There are lots of things about this I will never understand. Just tell me one thing. What’s a glop?”

Irene laughed. “It’s what you are when you talk foolishly.”

“I get it. Looks to me as if we’re all glops together. Well, when are you going to be finished with the throwing away? Because I just got this neat football from George Cahill in a trade. I swapped him my boxing gloves for it.”

They could see, now, that one of Joe’s eyes was swollen and discolored.

“July is a little early for football, isn’t it?” Danny asked.

“Oh, I’m doing my Christmas shopping early,” said Joe airily. “Anyway, I didn’t want the boxing gloves any more. Come on out, and we’ll have a game.”

“Looks like a pretty good ball,” Danny commented.

“In perfect condition.” Joe tossed it up and caught it a few times. The sight was too tempting for Danny.

“Pitch it here,” he said. “Let’s see it.”

Joe drew back his arm.

“Danny,” said Irene. “I really think that’s—”

Joe threw the ball. Danny reached out for it. It hit his fingers and bounded sideways. With a soggy kind of splash, it fell directly into the crucible.

“—not a very good idea,” Irene finished with a sigh.