by Jay Williams
Contents
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
THE DANNY DUNN SERIES
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINTEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 1956, 1984
by Jay Williams and Raymond Abrashkin.
Cover art by Ezra Jack Keats.
Used by permission of the Ezra Jack Keats Foundation.
All rights reserved.
*
Published by Wildside Press LLC.
www.wildsidepress.com
THE DANNY DUNN SERIES
Danny Dunn and the Anti-Gravity Paint
Danny Dunn on a Desert Island
Danny Dunn and the Homework Machine
Danny Dunn and the Weather Machine
Danny Dunn on the Ocean Floor
Danny Dunn and the Fossil Cave
Danny Dunn and the Heat Ray
Danny Dunn, Time Traveler
Danny Dunn and the Automatic House
Danny Dunn and the Voice from Space
Danny Dunn and the Smallifying Machine
Danny Dunn and the Swamp Monster
Danny Dunn, Invisible Boy
Danny Dunn Scientific Detective
Danny Dunn and the Universal Glue
DEDICATION
This book is for Bobby and Wendy with our affection.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The authors wish to express their gratitude to Captain T. Scott Welton and Captain Theodore Winzer for advice and information on aeronautical matters. They are also indebted to William A. Burns and Paula Hutchison, whose work, Man and His Tools, provided a valuable reference in the writing of this book.
CHAPTER ONE
The Pie-Snatcher
It was a lovely afternoon during the first week of summer vacation. Birds warbled, a little breeze bent the heads of the dandelions, and on the window sill of Mrs. Dunn’s kitchen a sweet-smelling huckleberry pie lay peacefully cooling in a tin plate. Then slowly and silently, from an upper window, a strange contraption began to descend upon the unsuspecting pie.
It was shaped like a cross of wood, slightly larger than the pie tin. From each of its four points a nail protruded, head down. Around each nail were many turns of fine insulated copper wire. Two copper wires led to batteries above. The whole thing was hung by a hook to a heavy cord.
The nails scraped the pie tin and suddenly froze to it like the powerful magnets they were. Above, there was the humming of a small motor from an Erector set, and slowly the pie began to rise, by a system of gears and pulleys, to the bedroom window over the kitchen.
Danny Dunn reeled in his prize. Carefully he set it on the desk and ran his fingers through his red hair with a grin of triumph. He flipped a switch that turned off the power in his homemade electric crane and removed the electromagnets from the pie tin.
“Ha!” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I ought to patent this invention. Dunn’s Special Super Pie-Snatching Apparatus.”
He smacked his lips in anticipation. He opened the large blade of his scout knife and held it over the pie. But before he could cut himself a slice, a voice from the doorway broke in on him.
“Reach for the ceiling!” it said. “And if you drop that knife in my pie, you’re a goner, podner.”
Danny jumped guiltily and swung round. Then he said sadly, “Gee, Mom. How did you find out?”
“That,” answered Mrs. Dunn firmly, taking up the pie, “is one of the trade secrets of being a mother.”
“Are you going to take the whole thing away?” Danny wailed.
“I am.”
“But I’m hungry.”
“Nonsense!” said his mother. “You’re just plain bored. That’s what’s turned you into a pie pirate. I’m not surprised, either. Sitting indoors on such a beautiful day!”
Mrs. Dunn shook her head. “Why don’t you call Joe,” she suggested, “and have a nice game of—well, of croquet?”
“I’ve played fifty games of croquet this week, and twenty-five games of ping-pong, and I went swimming and rode my bike and played baseball, and now I haven’t got anything to do,” Danny blurted, scowling.
“That will soon change,” said Mrs. Dunn, smiling. “You see, this is really a birthday pie.”
“What do you mean? My birthday is past.”
“I’ll tell you a secret,” his mother said. “Other people have birthdays, too. And tonight we’re going to have a birthday party for Dr. Grimes.”
“But Dr. Grimes is in Washington. Didn’t Professor Bullfinch go there to visit him?”
“They’re on their way back right now, together,” said Mrs. Dunn. “The Professor called early this morning.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” cried Danny.
“You were very busy working on an important scientific device,” Mrs. Dunn twinkled.
“Not any more,” said Danny. “The Professor’s coming home! Yippee! Now there’ll be some excitement around here.”
Professor Euclid Bullfinch was Danny’s hero. Ever since the boy could remember, he had wanted to become a scientist like the Professor. Mrs. Dunn, whose husband had died when Danny was a baby, was Professor Bullfinch’s housekeeper. She ran the house on the edge of the campus of Midston University with a firm but gentle hand. And the Professor had been Danny’s first guide and teacher, and returned the boy’s interest with pride and affection.
As for Dr. Grimes, he was an old friend of the Professor’s, and a scientist, too. Like many close friends the two found great pleasure in arguing together over many issues.
“Well,” said Mrs. Dunn, turning to the door, “I must get the guest room ready. Dr. Grimes is going to spend his vacation with us.”
“Fine,” Danny crowed. “I want to talk to him about my idea for a pocket electronic computer.”
“You just stay out from under their feet,” said Mrs. Dunn severely. “I’m sure they have important things to discuss. And I do hope they get here pretty soon.”
“Are you worried, Mom?”
“Oh, not really. After all, the Professor has flown his plane a great many hours.”
“It’s Dr. Grimes’s plane, too. They bought it together.”
“I know. But I can imagine what arguments they have with those dual controls.”
Mrs. Dunn broke off. There was a roar in the sky. Both she and Danny ran to the window. It overlooked a flat meadow near the house, on which a landing strip shone in the afternoon sun. On the far side of the meadow was a small hangar. As they stared from the window, a silvery airplane, a twin-motored, five-place Cessna, dropped toward the runway.
Suddenly it seemed to hesitate. Then, abruptly, it rose and banked to the left.
“It’s the Professor and Dr. Grimes,” Danny yelled. “And I’ll bet they’re arguing over the landing.”
The plane shuddered, and just as suddenly banked to the right. Then it rose again,
circled, and at last dropped to the runway with less than a foot to spare. It taxied a little way, swinging first to one side and then the other, before coming to a stop.
“Thank goodness that’s over,” Mrs. Dunn sighed. “Someday those two are going to argue themselves into real trouble.”
But Danny wasn’t listening. He was already halfway down the stairs, on his way to welcome the two scientists.
CHAPTER TWO
“I Challenge You…”
A few hours later, Professor Bullfinch and Dr. Grimes had stopped arguing, and for a very good reason—their mouths were full of huckleberry pie. Danny looked around at the familiar faces with a smile.
The Professor, bald and plump and jolly-looking, was patting his stomach, while his eyes twinkled merrily behind their black-rimmed glasses. Next to him sat Dr. Grimes, tall and bony, with a long deeply wrinkled face which usually wore a sour expression but which tonight looked full of contentment. Joe Pearson, Danny’s best friend, a thin boy with a rather sad face, was next to Danny; he was staring glassy-eyed at the remains of his third helping of pie. Mr. Pearson, Joe’s father, a neat, blond man, was discussing rocket motors with Dr. Grimes, while Mrs. Pearson talked over recipes with redheaded Mrs. Dunn, Danny’s mother.
Danny nudged his friend. “Now’s the time, Joe,” he whispered.
Joe got up slowly, pulling a sheet of paper from his pocket.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “Can I have your attention?”
There was silence around the table.
“I’d like to read a poem I wrote,” Joe went on. “It’s a birthday poem for a good scientist and a fine friend. I guess it doesn’t say everything it ought to—”
“Oh, Joe, stop worrying so much,” Danny said. “Just read it.”
Joe cleared his throat, and began:
“Even though he tries to look stern and angry at all times,
Deep in his heart he is soft and sweet—my pal, Dr. Grimes.
Just as a cowboy loves his horse and a criminal loves his crimes,
That is how I feel about my pal, Dr. A. J. Grimes.
For he is true blue—a friend through and through,
And when it comes to science there is very little he cannot do;
Oh, gold is where you find it, and silver is found in dimes,
And I am very lucky to have found him, my pal, Dr. Grimes.”
There was loud applause, and the Professor said, in mock horror, “Soft and sweet? You make him sound like a piece of fudge.”
“Come, come Bullfinch,” Dr. Grimes said. “Don’t run down my poem. After all, it isn’t everyone who has a birthday poem written for him.”
“Oh, well, it’s just a little thing,” Joe began.
“Not at all.” Dr. Grimes spoke gruffly, but it was clear he was very pleased. “It was a splendid poem, Joe, and I’m grateful.”
Mr. Pearson, who was an engineer, said with a chuckle, “You should have said, Joe, that when it comes to science there is very little he cannot do theoretically. After all, Dr. Grimes is a theoretician, not a practical scientist.” Mr. Pearson considered himself to be extremely practical.
Dr. Grimes raised his eyebrows. “If you were talking about my friend Bullfinch,” he said, “I could understand your point. But I, sir, am a most practical man.”
Professor Bullfinch took his pipe out of his mouth. “The way you tried to land our plane this afternoon almost made us both practical angels.”
“Tut! You may be the nation’s foremost authority on relativity, but I’m afraid you have an exaggerated notion of your flying ability, Bullfinch,” Dr. Grimes retorted.
“Perhaps so—”
“You are nothing but a dreamer, as I’ve often told you.”
“Oh, I’d hardly go that far,” the Professor said quietly. “What about the hangar I built from a do-it-yourself kit?”
Danny and Joe looked at each other with smothered amusement. They remembered the Professor’s struggles with the shed-like building.
Professor Bullfinch was unaware of their smiles. He leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands together. “It’s not my aim to take over the functions of an engineer,” he said, with an apologetic glance at Mr. Pearson. “However, I think a scientist ought to have a certain foundation in practical matters. If I were free to tell you why I went to Washington, you’d see that I am well on the way to applying theory to practice.”
Dr. Grimes interrupted. “I have more than a foundation. As president of the Academy of Scientific Research, I’ve made extensive studies in electricity, carpentry, plumbing, construction, mechanics, and half a dozen other fields. I dare say I could manage to make myself comfortable even on a—well say, on a desert island. And with less to start with than Robinson Crusoe had.”
“You couldn’t use plumbing on a desert island,” Mr. Pearson said thoughtfully. “Unless it was a desert island with a good hotel on it.”
The Professor laughed. “My dear Grimes, I’m much too fond of you to want to see you perish on a desert island.”
“Even one with a hotel on it?” asked Mr. Pearson.
“Even then. Whenever you decide to go,” the Professor went on, “I’ll go along with you, for I’m afraid you wouldn’t last more than a day.”
Dr. Grimes sat up straight. “Rubbish!” he exclaimed. “You go with me? Why, you’re incapable of making your own bed.”
“On a desert island,” the Professor pointed out, “there’d be no need for making beds. Besides, that doesn’t change the fact that in practical matters I have a little more experience—”
“Ha!” shouted Dr. Grimes. “Is that why you wanted to land the plane practically on top of the hangar?”
“Tut, tut! Who actually landed it?”
“That’s beside the point!” roared Dr. Grimes, pounding on the table. “Why, on a desert island you’d starve to death.”
“I don’t think so,” said the Professor, slowly. “Being practical only calls for a clear head and a calm mind—”
Dr. Grimes sprang to his feet in a rage. “Are you inferring that I ever lose my temper?” he shouted, red-faced. Then he stopped.
“This is too much,” he said.
Deliberately, he threw down his napkin. “Euclid Bullfinch,” he said, in a grating voice, “I challenge you to a duel.”
The others at the table, who had begun by smiling at the scientists’ quarrel, now stared at Grimes in horror.
“What?” Professor Bullfinch fell back in his chair.
“A duel,” repeated Dr. Grimes, “of desert islands!”
CHAPTER THREE
“Just Like Robinson Crusoe”
For a moment there was a stunned silence. Then Mr. Pearson, in his sharp, precise voice, said, “What would you do—throw them at each other?”
Dr. Grimes snorted. “Don’t be absurd.”
“But how—?” Mr. Pearson began.
“Very simple. I will go ashore on one desert island, and Bullfinch on another. After a time—say, a month—we’ll see which of us has made himself more comfortable.”
Danny and Joe stared at each other. “Oh, boy,” whispered Danny, with shining eyes, “what an adventure!”
“Yeah,” said Joe. “Ugh!”
Mrs. Dunn giggled. “I have an image in my mind of Mr. Bullfinch dressed in skins, like Robinson Crusoe, and with an umbrella made of leaves over his head. But I couldn’t possibly send hot meals all the way to a desert island.”
Professor Bullfinch looked meditatively into the bowl of his pipe. “I suppose,” he said, “that you don’t think I’d be capable of managing for myself? When I was younger I used to go on camping trips every summer.”
“When you were younger, you used to have a full head of hair,” sneered Dr. Grimes.
The Professor grinned, passing a hand over the few strand
s of hair that lay across his pink scalp. “Oh, that was an unkind cut, Grimes,” he said. “I don’t know…the idea sounds fairly attractive. I could do with a change of air, and a rest, and some solitude in which to think. Are you serious about this?”
“Never more serious in my life,” said Dr. Grimes. “But you’d better put the idea of rest out of your mind. You’d be flying about like a split atom, just trying to keep alive.”
“I don’t think so. You might have a little trouble—”
Mr. Pearson shook his head. “In my opinion you’d both have trouble. It might be very dangerous.”
“Why, Robinson Crusoe was shipwrecked,” squeaked little Mrs. Pearson. “Would you have to start by being shipwrecked, too?”
“My reference to Robinson Crusoe a while ago,” said Dr. Grimes, “was a figure of speech. Naturally, we wouldn’t want this to be dangerous. For instance, we could arrange for someone to check on us every day. And we’d have to take certain basic supplies.”
“Yes,” said the Professor, “we would have to start with enough equipment for our camps. Well, Grimes, if you really want to go through with this—”
“Are you trying to back out?”
“Not at all. We can each afford a month’s vacation.”
The Professor stood up and held out his hand. “I accept the challenge,” he said.
“Oh, dear,” cried Mrs. Pearson. “Are you going this minute?”
“Heavens! I hope not,” said the Professor. “I was looking forward to a little music.”
“We can settle the details tomorrow,” Dr. Grimes agreed. “This is a birthday party, after all.”
He clapped the Professor on the shoulder. “It’ll be a pleasure to beat you, my dear Bullfinch,” he growled. “Just as it is a pleasure to play music with you.”
The two were enthusiastic amateur musicians. They left the table and went into the living room where Professor Bullfinch got his big bull fiddle from a closet and tuned it, and Dr. Grimes took out his piccolo, fitted it together, and played a few practice trills. The ladies sat down on the couch to listen, and Mr. Pearson made himself comfortable in an armchair and shut his eyes so that he could listen better.
