Danny Dunn and the Anti-Gravity Paint (3 page)

CHAPTER SIX

An Odd Duet

The next day began badly for Danny.

In the first place, he was so excited by the events of the night before that, once he got his eyes properly open, he didn't want to go to school, knowing what would be happening at home. It was with difficulty that Mrs. Dunn bundled him out of the house. When he got to school, he was ten minutes late.

Then, as if that weren't enough, he discovered that he had forgotten his hundred sentences. He couldn't even remember where he had left them. Miss Arnold did her best to be patient, but in the end she said, “I'm sorry, Dan, but you'll have to learn to take assignments like that more seriously. Tomorrow—no, tomorrow is Saturday—very well, Monday, I want to see those sentences and another fifty saying, ‘I must remember to bring in my work.' ”

When he started for home at three o'clock, Danny felt as if all the sorrows of the world rested on his shoulders. Joe Pearson's first words did nothing to make him feel better.

“Gosh,” Joe muttered, as they walked up a tree-shaded alley together, “that Miss Arnold—where some people have a sense of humor, she's got a sense of gravity.”

“Gravity?” Danny said with a start. The word reminded him at once of the Professor's discovery.

“You know what I mean, she always takes everything so seriously.”

“Oh, sure, sure.” Danny bit his lip, remembering his solemn promise to keep silence.

Joe moodily kicked at a stone. “Of course, it's your fault too, Danny. You always have your feet off the ground.”

“Huh?”

Joe nodded. “Take it easy. Remember, what goes up must come down.”

“Urp!” said Danny.

“Look at that, now. A hundred and fifty sentences! And on a weekend too.”

“Listen, Joe,” Danny began. “I—listen, suppose—”

“Suppose what?”

Danny gulped. He had given his word, after all, on his honor as a scientist.

“Nothing,” he said.

Joe looked sideways at him. “Boy, you're really dizzy. See that? Nothing but trouble. It all started with that spaceship stuff yesterday—”

“Eep!” Danny couldn't help himself. Then he clamped his lips shut. Luckily Joe wasn't paying attention.

“—and this is where you wind up. What's the matter? Did you get into trouble last night when you got home?”

“Trouble? Oh—I—why—” The effort of trying not to talk about the anti-gravity fluid, when every word brought it to mind, made great beads of sweat stand out on Danny's forehead.

“Hey, I gotta run,” he blurted at last. “My mother promised to bake me if I didn't get home.”

“What?”

“I mean, she's going to lick a cake. I mean—anyway, I've just
got
to go. I have to do about a thillion mings—I mean a million thills—”

He wiped his face. “So long, Joe. See you tomorrow, maybe,” he gasped.

Then he ran for home, leaving Joe staring, openmouthed, after him. But for once Danny couldn't spare the time to worry about what his friend thought; he was too busy wondering what was going on in the laboratory.

The lab, when he poked his head cautiously in at the door, was a peculiar sight.

Almost half of the equipment was stuck to the ceiling. To some of the pieces long wires leading to rows of batteries on the tables were attached, so that the place looked as if it were decorated with balloons and streamers for a party. The floor was littered with broken glass. A long ladder stood in the center of the room. Professor Bullfinch and Dr. Grimes sat in the middle of the room in their shirt sleeves, with their neckties hanging loose. They looked exhausted.

The Professor was saying, “We have tried every possible experiment. You must admit that the liquid cuts off gravity.”

Dr. Grimes was hoarse. “I will admit only that it
appears
to do so,” he said stubbornly. “Nothing else has been proved. The whole effect may be caused by—by sunspots, for instance.”

“Come, come, Grimes,” said the Professor patiently. “We have found that, unless the electrical charge is constantly renewed in an object, the effect is temporary—”

“Ha!” Grimes said. “And we do not yet know that it can ever be permanent.”

At that moment a glass flask which was clinging to a corner of the ceiling suddenly fell to the floor with a crash. The two scientists paid no attention to it but went on arguing as if nothing had happened.

“Time will tell,” said the Professor. “If we keep a small charge passing through some of these objects and observe them constantly during the next few weeks—”

He broke off, seeing Danny for the first time.

“I think it's time we took a rest,” he said. “Hello, Dan. As you came in, did you happen to notice whether my shoe is still on the living-room ceiling?”

“Yes, it is, Professor.”

The Professor rose to his feet. “Come, Dr. Grimes,” he said, “let's declare a truce. I know I'm tired, and you have climbed up and down that ladder so often this afternoon that you must be quite worn out.”

“Not at all,” said Grimes. “I feel very fresh.”

But when he stood up, he was so tired that he staggered and had to steady himself on the back of the chair.

They went into the living room. As they entered, the Professor's shoe dropped from the ceiling. It landed at his feet with a thump. He picked it up.

Danny said, “Professor! Maybe your other shoe will come falling back into the front yard!”

“I'm afraid not,” Professor Bullfinch replied. “If it has not flown completely outside the zone of earth's gravity and should come falling back, it would probably be burned up as it passed through the earth's atmosphere, just as a meteorite is.” He shook his head. “Some people give their bodies to science. I have given a shoe. They were good shoes too.”

Mrs. Dunn brought in some tea and toast, and some milk and cookies for Danny.

“Mom, have you seen those sentences I wrote yesterday for school?” Danny asked.

“Oh, oh!” his mother said. “I forgot and tucked them up on a shelf in the kitchen. Did you get into hot water over them?”

Danny nodded. “I'm supposed to write fifty more saying, ‘I must remember to bring in my work.' ”

“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Dunn patted her son's shoulder. “We were so confused and excited last night that it's a wonder we didn't all forget our heads. I'll phone Miss Arnold and explain that it was my fault. Perhaps she'll let you off.”

Professor Bullfinch was saying earnestly to Dr. Grimes, “How do you feel about music?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, my favorite relaxation is the bull fiddle. I was wondering if you'd mind if I played some music.”

For the first time since his arrival Dr. Grimes's face softened. The angry look disappeared, his eyebrows rose, and slowly, as if it hurt him to do so, he smiled.

“Well!” he said. “As it happens, I am very fond of music.”

“Good,” said the Professor. “I'll get my fiddle.”

“I hope,” Dr. Grimes said, “that you will allow me to play along with you.”

“On the fiddle? I'm afraid there isn't room,” said Professor Bullfinch. “Only one at a time—”

“No, no. I didn't mean that.” Dr. Grimes reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and brought out a small leather case. “I play the piccolo for relaxation, as it happens.”

“Splendid!” cried the Professor.

He went to a closet and brought out his bull fiddle. He tuned it and played a few notes. Meantime Dr. Grimes had fitted together his piccolo, and now he blew a few runs on it. They looked very odd together: Dr. Grimes, tall and portly and red-faced, with the tiny piccolo at his lips, and Professor Bullfinch, round and fat, straining up to reach the neck of the bull fiddle, which was much taller than he was.

Then they began to play. They started with a lively dance, the piccolo squealing shrilly, the bull fiddle zoom-zooming darkly. The combination reminded Danny of a small and active kitten racing round a big Saint Bernard.

When they had finished, they mopped their foreheads and began a slower piece. Then they played a quick melody. Louder and faster they played, tapping their feet and nodding their heads. Suddenly they were interrupted by a loud crash.

“What was that?” asked the Professor.

Mrs. Dunn, who had been listening with a smile from the doorway, hastened into the room.

“Your lovely glass vase!” she clucked sympathetically. “How on earth did it happen? It was standing on the edge of the sideboard.”

She began to collect the pieces of broken glass.

“I wonder,” said the Professor, “if possibly a high note from the piccolo broke the glass.”

“How could it do that?” Danny asked.

“Well, the vibration of a high note can cause glass to vibrate in sympathy.”

“Nonsense!” Dr. Grimes began to bristle.

“It is much more likely that the vibrations from a low note on the bull fiddle caused the sideboard to vibrate, and shook the vase off.”

“My dear Grimes,” said the Professor, “it's a matter of pitch. And a shrill note can shatter glass.”

Dr. Grimes glared. “Are you suggesting that my piccolo is shrill?”

“It is certainly not low-toned,” said the Professor mildly. “But the bull fiddle—”

“The bull fiddle is only fit for accompaniment,” said Dr. Grimes. “The pitch is so low—”

“Yes, but the pitch of the piccolo is so high—” the Professor interrupted.

Luckily, at that instant the doorbell rang. The two scientists stopped their quarrel, while Mrs. Dunn went to the door. They heard Mr. Willoughby's voice greeting her, and next moment he came into the room.

“Good afternoon!” he cried, beaming at them. “A happy little concert party, eh? I am delighted to see that you two gentlemen have become so friendly. No more arguments, eh? Good, good!”

Dr. Grimes began to put his piccolo away. “Well, what's the news, Willoughby?” he said.

“I won't keep you in suspense. The news is good. Washington has decided to give priority to experiments with the—er—the anti-gravity fluid. And if—mind you, I say
if
—it appears that we have something suitable for space travel, then funds will be provided for the construction of a spaceship.”

“Excellent!” Professor Bullfinch looked very pleased.

“I am to be in charge of the project,” Mr. Willoughby continued. “That is, I will have to make regular reports on progress. Dr. Grimes, we shall retain you as advisor. And now, Professor Bullfinch, the rest is up to you.”

And solemnly, although his blue eyes were sparkling behind his glasses, he held out his hand.

Professor Bullfinch shook it. “This time,” he remarked, “I hope we can finish our handshake without my bumping against the ceiling.”

Mr. Willoughby looked round at the rest.

“One more point,” he said, and suddenly his expression became very grave. “I have mentioned this before, but now we are official. There is one word you must live with from now on: secrecy. Secrecy is our watchword, night and day!”

CHAPTER SEVEN

It's Tomorrow

Secrecy is our watchword
. The words rang in Danny's ears, and for the next three months or so he was both more happy and more miserable than any other boy in the land. Happy, because he was on the inside of one of the most thrilling projects ever begun by man, and miserable, because he had to keep a constant watch over himself to be sure he never let anything slip out about it.

Professor Bullfinch, with his constant companion, Dr. Grimes, spent more and more time in the laboratory testing and analyzing the anti-gravity liquid. It became clear that whatever was painted with the liquid resisted gravity and would fly out away from the earth. As long as the paint was charged with electricity, the liquid continued to operate. The speed of the object could be controlled by regulating the strength of the electrical charge in it.

Dr. Grimes and the Professor argued for hours over how an anti-gravity ship would look and what it would carry. At last the day came when Danny, sitting on a stool with his elbows on the lab bench and his chin on his hands, was allowed to look at the large charts and drawings they had prepared.

“You see,” the Professor explained, “this ship will not look like most people's idea of a spaceship. In the first place, we won't have to worry about either friction or acceleration.”

“I don't understand, Professor,” Danny said.

“Well, a rocket ship needs to get away from the pull of gravity, and so it must go very fast until it's free. But the heat caused by the friction of the atmosphere might burn it up. That's the first problem. Second, that great starting speed means that the men in the ship will have to undergo tremendous pressure.

“We, however, can go just as fast or as slowly as we like, since the anti-gravity paint overcomes the earth's pull. Our ship will have an automatic governor, so that when we start it it will automatically travel very slowly, and then gradually gather speed as it goes higher. There will be almost no sense of movement, no pressure, and we can go slowly enough so that air friction will be no danger.”

Danny nodded. “I see. But then what will drive the ship in space?”

“Inertia,” the Professor replied. “When we charge the paint, gravity itself will push us away from earth. That push will keep the ship—well,
coasting
would be one way to explain it.”

“How fast will it go? As fast as light?”

“Oh, no, I don't think so. Actually it's hard to say, but since it will be the force of the earth's mass pushing the ship away, its speed will certainly be immense.”

He tapped the plans with the stem of his pipe.

“We won't need any fuel to speak of, and so most of our space in the ship will be used for supplies, living quarters, and our garden.”

“Garden?” Danny exclaimed. “I thought you'd get food from cans.”

“So we will, to a certain extent.” The Professor smiled. “But fresh food and flowers are important to men cooped up in a limited amount of space like this. Anyway, that's what I think. And this garden will also act as an important extra air supply.”

“How can it do that?”

“Well, plants under light, when they are making food for themselves, release a great deal of oxygen. Now, we'll make most of our oxygen from chemicals, but the garden will produce a certain amount of fresh air and will absorb a certain amount of the carbon dioxide breathed out by the passengers.”

Danny grinned. “Then most of your space will be taken up by a load of dirt.”

“No, no. The plants will grow in water to which certain chemicals have been added that will give the plants all they need to feed on.”

“Gosh,” Danny murmured. “I never thought a spaceship would be a flying back yard. And what's that thing sticking out of the top of the hull?”

“That's a solar battery. Since we only need a small amount of current for charging the antigravity paint, we are going to draw it from the sun. That way we'll never run out of electricity, and there'll be no danger of our suddenly falling back to earth, or onto the Moon.”

“The Moon?”

“Yes, Danny. After a couple of test flights, the first trip will be to the Moon and back—nonstop.”

Danny drew a deep breath. Then the question which had been simmering inside him for a long time popped out: “I—I don't suppose,” he said, “you'd want to take a—a boy along on your trip?”

The Professor had been lighting his pipe. He began to cough and choke. When he could catch his breath, he said, “Danny, my boy! You don't think I'm going on that first flight, do you?”

“Aren't you?”

“No indeed. I'm a physicist, not a test pilot. I wouldn't have the slightest idea what to do in an emergency.” He shook his head. “I must say, I wouldn't mind going. But the government has decided that the first flight will be piloted by a man who is an expert in the field. He's a rocket pilot named Joseph Beach, a lieutenant colonel in the Air Force.”

“Oh,” Danny said in a subdued voice. “And I guess he wouldn't want a copilot, huh?”

“He'll have a copilot. A major named Albert Baum.”

Danny shook his head sadly.

The Professor put an arm around his shoulders. “Some day, my boy,” he said. “Just be patient.”

“All right,” said Danny, making the best of it. “Anyway, I should at least get through junior high school first.”

It began to look as if Danny would not only get through junior high but be an honor student as well. To keep his mind off his problems, he concentrated on schoolwork with more energy than ever before. And one day in class even Miss Arnold commented on it.

“You certainly have come a long way in the last few months, Danny,” she said. “You have been very steady and attentive, and this last theme you wrote on ‘My Favorite Pet' was one of the best in the class. Only, I have one question to ask. Do you
really
have a pet firefly?”

There was no reply. Miss Arnold looked more closely at Danny. His eyes were fixed on the blackboard, and they were glazed as if he were in a trance.

“Daniel Dunn!” Miss Arnold said sharply. Danny jumped. “Huh? What?” he gasped.

Miss Arnold frowned. “Danny,” she said, “I'm afraid you weren't listening to me.”

Danny gulped. With a sinking heart he said, “No, ma'am.”

“You were daydreaming again, weren't you?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“About space flight?”

Silently he nodded. He had the best excuse in the world, but he couldn't give it, for in truth secrecy had been his watchword. Keeping the secret was his first thought each morning and his last at night.

Miss Arnold was looking angry. “Really, Danny, you don't leave me any alternative but to punish you. I was just telling you how much better you have been behaving, and you didn't even hear me because you were back in outer space. This time I think we'll have to make it three hundred sentences. You will please write, ‘Space flight is a hundred years away.' ”

“Hey!” All the secrecy Danny had bottled up exploded out of him at these words. “But it isn't. It's
tomorrow
!”

Miss Arnold's eyebrows slowly rose. “What?” she said.

Danny felt like biting off his tongue.

“What did you say?” Miss Arnold asked.

“Nothing,” he said sullenly.

“I'm afraid we'd better make that five hundred sentences,” said Miss Arnold. “I really don't think I can bring myself to believe that the first space flight will take place
tomorrow
”