Danny Dunn and the Homework Machine (7 page)

“Danny's not a little child,” the Professor said, quietly. “He's my assistant. He has lived in this house almost all his life, and he's learned a great deal more than most adults know about science. Of course I trust him.”

Danny gulped miserably, but couldn't say anything.

The Professor moved to the console. His foot struck something on the floor. He bent and picked it up; it was a scout knife.

“Is this yours, Dan?” he asked.

“I guess so,” Danny said, taking the knife.

“Hm. It's careless to leave tools lying about,” said the Professor. “Put it away, my boy.”

Danny dropped it into his back pocket.

Dr. Quibberly had stepped forward to examine the console. “Very interesting,” he said. “As long as we're here, Bullfinch, perhaps we could begin with a few simple tests.”

But just at that instant, Mrs. Dunn looked in round the door. “Everything's hot!” she called. “Come to the table.”

Danny blew out a long breath of relief. His fate had been postponed—at least till after dinner.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A Dismal Dinner for Danny

They all sat down around the long, oak dining table. Mrs. Dunn had invited Irene to stay for dinner, and when the girl had run across and secured permission from her parents, she returned and sat next to Danny. The two tried to eat, although neither of them had much of an appetite.

But, fortunately, the adults were so busy with their own eating and talking that they hardly noticed the young people.

Dr. Grimes, his vinegary face wrinkled in a smile, said, “Ah, Mrs. Dunn, this roast beef is delicious.”

“Thank you. Have some more dumplings, Dr. Grimes. I remembered how much you liked them.”

“I must make a point of coming down to visit more often.”

“Good!” cried the Professor. “After a month or two of Mrs. Dunn's cooking and my music, you'll be a different man.”

“Really? Who will he be?” asked Dr. Quibberly, absent-mindedly.

“Oh, he'll still be Dr. Grimes—but a fat and jolly-looking Dr. Grimes,” laughed the Professor.

Dr. Quibberly raised his head and peered at Dr. Grimes. “I find it impossible to imagine such a thing,” he said.

“Nothing is impossible to imagine,” said the Professor. “To a scientist, all things are possible. And the next step is to make them happen.”

“Like your computer, eh, Bullfinch?” Dr. Grimes said. “That is, if it really works.”

“I think I may confidently say that you will be surprised,” said the Professor.

Danny groaned.

“What did you say, Dan?” his mother asked.

“Er—I said—uh—please pass the data.”

“The what?”

“I mean, the dumplings.”

Dr. Quibberly was saying, “And do you mean that you can really give instructions to your computer by simply speaking to it?”

“Exactly. You know that the large digital computers—like International Business Machines' large computer Number 705, for instance—have push buttons for the memory address selector. However, my machine can receive instructions and addresses by the voice pattern coming through the microphone—”

“And does it reply with a voice?” asked Dr. Grimes.

“No, no. By means of an electric typewriter. I have also eliminated punch cards, because of my new magnetic tape.”

“Fantastic.”

“Yes, it is. Danny can tell you about it. He's seen it in operation and has been keeping it up to date for me while I've been away. Haven't you, Dan?”

“Eep!” said Danny. He managed a faint shadow of a smile. “I—I sure have, Professor,” he got out, at last.

Mrs. Dunn served dessert—fresh, hot peach pie—and Danny could not manage to eat more than two pieces. Then he leaned over and whispered something to Irene.

The Professor pulled a number of sheets of ruled paper from his jacket pocket. “Now, gentlemen,” he said, as Mrs. Dunn cleared the table and brought out the coffee, “before we go in for the first tests, let us program our material. I have blanks right here on which we can set down the necessary operations and addresses.”

“Is your programming similar to that used for other computers?”

“In general, yes.”

They drew their chairs close together and began to work. An hour went by and then the Professor gathered together the papers.

“I think,” he said, “we're ready to begin.”

He pushed back his chair and rose. “Danny, my boy,” he said, “you may lead the way…”

He pulled off his glasses and looked round the dining room.

“Where is the boy?” he asked.

“He has probably run out to play with his little friend,” said Dr. Quibberly.

“Hmm. That's strange. I was sure he'd want to see this,” said Professor Bullfinch. “Well, we will have to commence without him. Please follow me.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Sabotage!

Danny and Irene were not playing. They had slipped out to the laboratory, where Danny once again tried to find out what was wrong with the computer. He examined the social studies report carefully in the hope of finding a clue, and once more checked over all the parts of the machine. He stood up, at last, wiping his forehead, and said, “I give up.”

“Perhaps we'd better just tell the Professor,”

Danny drew a deep breath. “Gosh!” he said. “I don't know how to.”

“Just tell him.”

“Sure. It's not so easy. You know how grownups are when you try to explain anything.”

“Even the Professor?”

“No… but he trusted me, and this is such an important thing, and—” Danny looked helplessly at the console. “I've tried everything I can think of. If only I could get some kind of hint. How could it have happened? What went wrong?”

“Well, you'll have to make up your mind right now whether to tell him or not,” Irene said. “Because I hear them coming.”

Almost as she spoke, the three men entered the laboratory.

“Ah,” said the Professor. “Here you are, Dan. I knew you wouldn't miss this. All warmed up?”

“Yes, Professor,” Danny said, wretchedly. Then he straightened up, and said, “I want to—”

But the Professor was not listening. He and his two companions grouped themselves purposefully at the console, and spread out their papers.

Dr. Grimes said, “Now for this first test, we have already worked out the course of a rocket traveling at 9273 miles per hour. It only remains to check the procedures and steps on your computer.”

“And we'll want a time check, also,” said Dr. Quibberly.

“Listen, I want to—” Danny began again.

Dr. Quibberly turned and frowned at him. “Shh!” he said.

The Professor had already cleared the machine's memory and had tapped the key marked INSTRUCTIONS. He was reading a set of figures into the microphone, while Dr. Grimes made notations.

Danny cleared his throat. Once again, Dr. Quibberly gazed at him, his enormous eyebrows waggling angrily. Danny shrugged helplessly and was silent.

The computer hummed and clucked, and the tiny lights twinkled, marking the location in its memory o£ each step of its instructions. Then the typewriter began to chatter.

“Aha!” cried the Professor. “How was that? Only ninety-three seconds.”

“Not bad,” Dr. Quibberly said. “Let's look at the results.”

The Professor, with a broad smile, pulled the paper from the typewriter.

“Here we are,” he said. “Ah…oh-oh-oh-ikk! Mgrf sizippl b-b-b-brr! ”

“What?” cried Dr. Grimes.

The smile faded from the Professor's face. Hastily, he took off his glasses and wiped them. Then he picked up the paper again. “Oogl blerp,” he read.

“I beg your pardon?” said Dr. Quibberly. “Blerp?”

“Dear me,” said the Professor. “I don't understand. Something must have happened to…” His voice died away, and slowly he turned. His usually jovial face took on a serious look.

“Danny!” he said.

Danny sighed. “I tried to tell you, Professor,” he said. “Honest, I wanted to. But you were in such a hurry, and I was sort of scared, and anyway I'm sure it wasn't anything I did, and anyway…”

“Ha!” Dr. Quibberly exclaimed. “Very interesting. Very interesting indeed. You allow this little boy to play with your computer as if it were a—a game of marbles. You needn't be surprised if it can only produce noises like blerp.”

Dr. Grimes was looking very sour. “On the other hand,” he said, “it is possible that the computer wasn't very good to begin with. I must say, Bullfinch, there have been times when your theories have run away with you, and perhaps this is one of them.”

“One moment,” said the Professor. He never lost his air of calm. He took out his pipe and began to fill it slowly, and in a mild voice said, “All right, Dan. Suppose you tell me just what did happen.”

“Well,” Danny said, “to begin with, we used it to help us do our homework.”

The mouths of the two visitors opened wide, and even the Professor looked shaken at this.

Danny went on and told the whole story: how he had come to think of using the computer as a homework machine, how Miss Arnold had objected, and how he had quickly run off Irene's social studies report which had appeared as gibberish. When he had finished, even Dr. Quibberly was looking at him with a certain amount of respect, while Dr. Grimes was almost grinning and the Professor was frankly chuckling with amusement.

“I see,” Professor Bullfinch said. “It's quite a tale, my boy. I don't think we need go into all the details of it right now. There are a couple of points I think I ought to discuss with you later, such as the matter of counting up to a million by thousands—”

“Yes, sir,” Danny said meekly.

“Hmm! Well, never mind that now. I believe the matter is fairly simple, gentlemen. It won't take long to fix.”

“Very well,” said Dr. Grimes.

“But be quick about it,” Dr. Quibberly said, glancing at a big, old-fashioned silver pocket watch. “We've waited long enough already.”

The Professor rolled up his sleeves and went to work. The minutes ticked by, with Dr. Quibberly growing more and more impatient and Dr. Grimes looking grimmer and grimmer. Finally, the Professor straightened up. His round face was flushed, and his bald head shining with perspiration.

“I'm afraid I can't locate the trouble,” he said. “I felt sure it was in the output, or the translating mechanism which operates the typewriter—”

“Perhaps it's those new switches of yours,” Dr. Grimes suggested. “It may be that they don't work quite as well as you thought they did. Or perhaps the temperature isn't right.”

“I thought of that,” said Professor Bullfinch. “But the gauges show that they're operating. And the thermostat is set properly. It's impossible for anything to be wrong there.”

Danny gazed at the Professor as if he were about to say something, but then his attention was caught by Dr. Quibberly, who had snapped the case of his watch shut with a decisive click. He put the watch into his vest pocket and buttoned up his jacket.

“I'm sorry,” Dr. Quibberly said, “but I feel that we've spent quite enough time on this—this miserable demonstration of ineptitude.”

“Really, Dr. Quibberly,” said the Professor, “if you can only wait a little longer—”

“I'm sorry. I can't wait for foolishness.”

Irene, standing next to Danny, looked at her friend with astonishment. “What's the matter? Are you cold?” she asked.

Danny's teeth were chattering and his knees shaking.

“C-c-cold with nervousness,” he muttered. “We can't get him lo. I m-m-mean, we c-c-can't let him go!”

“You sound just like I did when I started to read my report.”

Danny could not help grinning, but it was a weak and sickly grin.

The Professor said, “I'm sure I can repair the computer. I can't imagine what caused the trouble, but I know—”

Dr. Grimes snorted. “Maybe it's sabotage, Bullfinch,” he said jeeringly.

“Good-by, gentlemen,” said Dr. Quibberly. He started for the door.

A cold sweat broke out on Danny's forehead. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief, to wipe his face. There was a loud clatter as two objects fell on the floor. The noise stopped Dr. Quibberly.

Danny looked down. On the floor were two identical boy scout knives.

He grabbed them up. He was red with embarrassment. Something crumbled between his fingers, and he gaped at the knives for a moment; then he raised his eyes to stare first at the Professor, then Dr. Grimes, then at Irene.

Then he shouted, “Sabotage! Cold! Of course—that's it!”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Chilly Computer

For an instant there was a stunned silence. Then Dr. Quibberly said, “The boy's hysterical.”

“Take it easy, Dan,” the Professor said. He went to Danny and took him by the arms. “Control yourself. It really isn't that important.”

“Listen—I'm serious,” Danny cried. “I can prove it. I know what's wrong.”

“Get him some castor oil,” Dr. Grimes commanded. “Or an aspirin.”

“Wait a minute,” said the Professor. “Go on, Danny. What is it?”

“Well, first of all, when you found that scout knife on the floor a while ago and gave it to me, I thought it was mine because it looks just like mine. But here's mine. This one belongs to Sni—to Eddie Philips.”

“Eddie Philips?”

“An international spy, no doubt,” Dr. Grimes said.

“No. A boy in my class. He's the one who sneaked up here and watched us using the machine, and then told Miss Arnold.”

“How do you know it's his knife?” Irene asked. “I mean, if they both look alike—”

“Why, you ought to know, too,” Danny said. “Look at it. The handle's got dried mud all over it.”