Danny Dunn and Heat Ray

by Raymond Abrashkin

  “Danny is here because he lives in this house, Mr. Pippit,” said the Professor. “I’m sure that whatever happened this morning, he meant no harm.”

  “You said yourself that you can’t resist short cuts, Mr. Pippit,” said Danny. “That’s how you got into that field, with all those—”

  “Never mind that,” Mr. Pippit broke in, getting a little pink. “Admit it was partly my own fault. Can’t say more. Forget the whole thing. Get to business.”

  Professor Bullfinch ushered them into the laboratory. Mr. Richards said, “Mr. Pippit is very anxious to see the laser, Professor. I have been able to explain it only very sketchily, naturally.”

  “I have it all ready,” said Professor Bullfinch. “If you will step this way, I’ll be glad to demonstrate its action.”

  “Good,” said Mr. Pippit. “But chase the kids out. Don’t want them breathing down my neck.”

  The Professor said mildly, “These two young people are very interested in science. They know how the laser works in theory, and I’m sure they’d like to see the demonstration. They are both very well behaved and I know they won’t be in the way.”

  “Don’t care about behavior. That boy carries disaster around with him. If he’s here, the thing’s liable to explode.”

  “That’s impossible. The laser cannot explode,” said the Professor, stiffly.

  It was clear to Danny, who knew him well, that the Professor was beginning to be a little annoyed with Mr. Pippit’s high-handed manner.

  “Professor Bullfinch, I’ve made enough trouble already,” the boy said, quickly. “I don’t mind going. Maybe Mr. Pippit is right. Come on, Irene.”

  He caught her by the hand and dragged her to the back door. As soon as they were outside, he whisked her around the angle of the building.

  “Why’d you do that?” she demanded. “The Professor would have insisted, and we could have stayed. I’d like to see how the laser operates.”

  “You will,” said Danny. “But listen. That Pippit man is rich and important, and I’ll bet he’s here because they want him to give some money to the university. Maybe it has something to do with the Professor’s research. If they got into a fight because of me, I’d—I just wouldn’t know what to do. Nobody would say anything, but they would all know it was my fault. This way, we can watch the demonstration anyway and nobody will know about it. We’ll go in through the window of the other room where the Professor keeps his books. If we keep quiet, we can see everything from the doorway.”

  As silently as an Indian, Danny pushed up the window and wriggled over the sill. Irene followed him. He closed the window softly so that not even a breeze would betray them. They tiptoed to the door which was open and peered round the corner.

  The Professor had covered his machine again, and had set up in front of it a wooden rack holding a row of framed white squares, one behind the other and about a foot apart. Mr. Pippit, with his hands in his pockets, stood with his head on one side and his eyes half closed. Mr. Richards kept nodding and smiling, but he was watching Mr. Pippit instead of Professor Bullfinch or the machine.

  “…so that in effect,” the Professor was saying, “we will have a tight beam of concentrated red light, traveling at the speed of light.” He pointed to the white squares. “When I throw the power on, you will be able to see the nature of the beam because it will burn perfectly round holes of the same diameter as the beam through each of these plastic squares. There will be no spreading as there would be in a beam of reflected light, from a flashlight, say.”

  “Won’t the squares go up in flames?” asked Mr. Pippit.

  “No. They have been treated so that the beam will simply melt them away where it touches.”

  The Professor glanced at the dial on his power supply. Then he thumbed a switch. There was a sharp pop! Dan and Irene saw a flash leap from the tube of the laser. It lasted for a fraction of a second. The Professor indicated the plastic squares.

  “You may examine them for yourself, Mr. Pippit,” he said.

  Mr. Pippit took two or three of the squares out of the long rack that held them. Through the center of each was punched a neat hole about the diameter of a pencil.

  “Hmm. Very interesting,” he said.

  “Now,” the Professor continued, “I will operate the laser continuously for a few seconds, instead of in one short burst.”

  He removed the plastic squares. On a stone-topped lab bench at the other end of the room he put a block of wood painted white.

  “This will demonstrate the fact that the beam also transmits the energy involved, in the form of heat,” he said.

  He aimed the laser at the block, squinted along it, and snapped the switch. This time, the machine hissed like a snake. The young people, from their hiding place, could clearly see a pale reddish rod of light that sprang from the laser and struck the block of wood. A smell of burning filled the air and a plume of smoke went up from the wood. The Professor shut off the laser. There was a charred black hole in the center of the white block.

  Professor Bullfinch smiled and took out his old briar pipe. He began to fill it. “Any questions?” he asked, as if he were addressing a classroom.

  “A remarkable device, my dear Bullfinch,” said Mr. Richards. “Very impressive indeed. Don’t you agree, Mr. Pippit?”

  “Quite a trick,” grunted Mr. Pippit. “What good is it?”

  “Eh?” The Professor stopped in the act of lighting his pipe. “What good? Well, I—I’m afraid we haven’t actually decided that yet. I’m sure there will be many uses for the laser. Dr. Schawlow, one of those who developed the optical maser, suggests that it may be used to synthesize wave lengths that cannot be produced directly—”

  “Don’t understand all that fancy stuff,” said Mr. Pippit. “Could it be used in war?”

  “In war?” The Professor’s voice grew frosty. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Very simple. It’s a kind of heat ray, isn’t it? Could you set fire to an enemy missile with it?”

  The Professor’s normally jolly face darkened. He was silent for a moment, and then he said, “Mr. Pippit, science is concerned with making man’s life better, not ending it. The aim of research is to learn—to learn more about ourselves, about matter, about man’s place in the universe. The laser is a valuable and interesting tool in learning more about the properties of light. Engineers working with it will undoubtedly develop it further and apply it in a variety of useful ways. But I hope with all my heart they never turn it into a weapon.”

  “A good sentiment,” said Mr. Pippit. He tightened his lips, thrusting his big head forward at the Professor, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. “However, I’m a practical man. Not interested in theories. Planning to give a million dollars to Midston for a Research Center. Don’t want ’em researching hair-brained schemes or throwing the money away on highbrow nonsense.”

  “The laser is not a hair-browed scheme,” said the Professor. He was, by now, so angry that he stumbled over his words. “I mean it is not high-brained.” He caught himself and took a deep breath. Then he said more calmly, “I’m afraid we don’t see eye to eye on the question of scientific research, Mr. Pippit.”

  Mr. Pippit glanced at his watch. “No. Want to talk to you again, Professor. Got to go, now. Must send a couple of telegrams, and want to see the work of some of your other men. We’ll discuss this further in a few days. Pleasure to meet you. Coming, Richards?”

  “I—I’ll be with you in a moment, Mr. Pippit,” Mr. Richards said, in a worried voice. “I—um—must just discuss something in private with the Professor. It will only take a minute—”

  “I’ll wait for you in the car. Sixty seconds precisely.”

  Mr. Pippit nodded his head at the Professor, and left the room.

  Mr. Richards sighed. “My dear Bullfinch,” he said, “I want you to know that I quite understand your position. But for heaven’s sake, be cautious. A million dollars! That’s an enormous amount of money. For
the sake of the university, try to pocket your pride.”

  “Pride?” said the Professor. “It has nothing to do with pride. That man is a monster!”

  “Perhaps he is. But the Research Center is more important than your feeling about science. We must fight fire with fire. We must be moderate. Please try to think of some practical uses for the laser. I’m sure that will satisfy Mr. Pippit.”

  Mr. Richards hurried out. The Professor sank into a chair. Then he snorted, and lit his pipe.

  “Fight fire with fire indeed!” he said aloud. “Shame on you, Bullfinch. That’s the first time you’ve lost your temper in ten years.”

  He sighed, tossed away the match, and puffed out a huge cloud of smoke to relieve his feelings.

  CHAPTER 7

  Snitcher Asks for Help

  Danny gave a last turn of the screw driver to the last of the bolts which held a sheet of metal to a wooden framework, and stepped back.

  “There,” he said. “Done. And not a bad job, if I say so myself.”

  Since Sunday afternoon, he and Irene—with occasional help from Joe—had worked on the wind tunnel, using what time they could after school, sandwiched in between homework and other attractions. Now, on Wednesday, they had finished the job. The tunnel was about four feet long and a foot square, and open at both ends. Three sides were solid, but the fourth contained a long window made of thick, transparent plastic. They had bought this from a hardware store since it was lighter and less fragile than glass. The top of the tunnel was hinged and fastened with a hook, so that they could reach the inside easily.

  “The only thing it needs now,” said Irene, “is a coat of paint on the outside to make it look trim. Then we can start on the model airplane wing.”

  “We’ll have to figure out how to support it so that it will move easily, lift up and drop, but still won’t blow away,” said Danny. “I’ll work on that part if you’ll make the wing. You’re better than I am on delicate jobs.”

  “Okay,” Irene agreed. She began to stir the can of blue paint with which they had already painted the inside of the tunnel.

  Danny took up a brush and cocked an eye at Joe, who was lounging on a crate in a corner of the basement workshop, eating an apple.

  “You don’t have to look at me like that,” Joe protested. “I’ve already worked hard on this thing. I put in two bolts and painted one whole panel of the inside.”

  “Come on, Joe, don’t be so lazy,” Irene coaxed.

  “I’m not lazy,” he said. “Work makes me hungry, and then the smell of paint spoils my appetite. It’s a vicious circle.”

  Nevertheless, he pitched away the core of his apple and took the brush. “The things I do for my friends,” he grumbled. “I could be writing a famous poem that would go down through the ages, instead of slaving away at this gruesome job.”

  Danny began collecting the tools. “I’m worried about Professor Bullfinch,” he said, moodily.

  “Still no word from Mr. Pippit?” Irene asked.

  “No. He’s still here in town, but he hasn’t met with the Professor again. I heard the Professor talking to Mr. Richards on the phone this afternoon, and he said he’s ‘thinking about the matter.’ I wish we could help him.”

  “Well, just get that wish out of your head,” Joe said, swabbing away with his paint brush. They had described the laser to him, and told him about the disagreement between Professor Bullfinch and Mr. Pippit. “Every time you decide to help somebody, I begin looking for a table to crawl under.”

  “You sound like Mr. Pippit,” Danny said.

  “Maybe I am Mr. Pippit,” said Joe. “Wouldn’t that be nice? I’d have my butler do this paint job, while I took a little spin in the country in my Rolls Royce.”

  “It shouldn’t be that difficult to think of practical uses for the laser,” Irene put in. “For instance, I should think you could use it as a kind of welding machine.”

  “Sure, but that isn’t so practical,” said Danny. “It wouldn’t do anything a regular welding machine couldn’t do. Oh, maybe you could weld something after it had been sealed up inside a glass tube. But that isn’t what Mr. Pippit is after. He wants an idea he can make lots of money with.”

  “How about a long-range cigarette lighter?” Joe suggested.

  “Huh? How would that work?”

  “Easy. Say there are two men working in a big room. The first man takes out a cigarette and hollers over to the other, ‘Got a light?’ The second man takes out his laser and shoots a beam across the room—”

  “And if he misses the cigarette he sets fire to the first man’s head,” said Danny. “I don’t think that’s what Mr. Pippit has in mind.”

  “You’re hard to satisfy,” said Joe. “I give you a perfectly good idea and you turn it down. Okay, how about using it to punch holes in something at long distance?”

  “Punch holes in what, for instance?” asked Danny.

  “How should I know? I just make theory. It’s up to you to figure out the details,” Joe grinned.

  The basement door opened, and Mrs. Dunn called down the stair, “Dan? Are you still down there?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “One of your school friends is here to see you. Shall I send him down, or will you come up?”

  “Send him down,” said Danny.

  “Who on earth—?” Irene began.

  Down the stairs, making a clatter like a galloping horse, came Snitcher Philips.

  He stood looking around him with a curious, half-sheepish, half-defiant expression. At last he said, “Hi.”

  “Hello,” said Danny, without moving.

  “I suppose you’re pretty surprised to see me here,” Eddie said.

  “Well, yeah. Sort of.”

  Joe and Irene said nothing at all. Eddie had come to Danny’s house, and that made it Danny’s problem.

  Eddie stuck his hands in his trouser pockets, and hunched his shoulders. “Well, the fact is,” he said, “I need some help. We’ve never been exactly what you’d call friends, but you know a lot about science. More than I do. I want to make a display for the Science Fair, and I’m—I guess I’m sort of stuck. I want to make a model showing how two atoms of hydrogen combine with one atom of oxygen to make a molecule of water. But I can’t find a diagram anywhere that shows how the oxygen atom looks.”

  Danny stared at him. There was silence, for a while.

  At last, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, Eddie said, “Oh, well, if you’re gonna hold it against me that we had a few fights—”

  “No,” Danny said, hastily. “Not at all. It’s just that I’m kind of dazed. That’s all. I didn’t expect—well, sure I’ll help you. You know how an atom of hydrogen looks?”

  “’Course. That one’s simple: one electron revolving around one proton in the nucleus.”

  “Uh-huh. How are you going to make it?”

  “I’ll use a marble for the nucleus, or maybe a Ping-pong ball, and show the path of the electron with a wire circle.”

  “Okay. Well, an atom of oxygen has eight protons and eight neutrons in the nucleus. And it has eight electrons shooting around it.”

  “I see. And the electrons would circle the nucleus?”

  “Sure. Nobody knows what the atom really looks like anyway, so your guess is as good as anybody’s.”

  Eddie nodded. “Gee, thanks a lot. That’s real swell of you.”

  His gaze wandered to the wind tunnel. “You building something for the Fair?” he asked.

  Irene shot Danny a warning glance. But Dan was feeling warm and friendly, and saw no need to be cautious. “Yes, that’s going to be our display,” he said. “You remember when we had that argument about what makes a plane fly?”

  “Oh, that. I remember. What of it?”

  “We did some research and found out what does hold a plane up in the air.”

  “I said it was the engine.”

  “Yes, but you were wrong. The engine helps, but a glider doesn’t have an engine. Right? It
’s the shape of the wing. When the plane moves forward, the air rushing at the wing takes longer to pass over it than under it. This means the air pressure is less on top of the wing than underneath. Come over here and I’ll show you how this thing will work.”

  He and Eddie walked across the basement, and Danny explained the wind tunnel’s operation.

  “Say, that’s neat,” Eddie said, with admiration shining on his face. “Yes, sir, I gotta hand it to you. That’s a real clever idea.”

  “Thanks,” said Danny. “Of course, Irene is partly responsible for it. We’re sharing it.”

  “Yeah. Well, I’ve got to go,” Eddie said. “So long. And thanks a lot for the help.”

  He waved a hand at the other two, and climbed the stairs to the basement door.

  When he had gone, Danny said, “Well, I guess I was wrong. Eddie’s not such a bad sort of guy after all.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Irene agreed. “But I hope our project didn’t give him any unexpected ideas.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “It’s Our Wind Tunnel!”

  Friday the thirteenth was the day of the unpleasant surprise.

  When the Science period began, Miss Arnold said, “Class, I have an important announcement to make. You will remember that I asked you to bring your exhibits for the Science Fair to school as soon as you could. And I also said that I’d invite our principal, Mr. Standish, to visit us when the first exhibit arrived. Well, that day has come. I must say, it’s come a good deal sooner than I expected and the boy who has his project ready deserves a good deal of credit.”

  A buzz went round the classroom, as people turned and stared at each other and whispered, “Who is it?” “Do you know?” “No, do you?”

  The classroom door opened for Mr. Standish and Mrs. Roth, who was the assistant principal. The class grew still, and Miss Arnold led the guests to the chairs which had been set out for them.

  Before sitting down, Mr. Standish cleared his throat and said, “We are very pleased to be here, Miss Arnold. I knew your class would turn in some exciting material, and we’re looking forward to seeing this first display. I want to remind the young people that science is more than just a school subject. It is a way of looking at life and trying to understand it. Now, I won’t give a long speech today so you needn’t start fidgeting around. I merely wish to offer my congratulations to the student who worked so hard to get this exhibit ready so quickly.”