yes, I seem to have heard of those experiments,” said the Professor. “Very interesting. You said you wanted my help. Do you want me to get you some live fish?”
“Nothing like that, Professor.” Danny leaned forward earnestly. “Here’s my theory. I’ve been listening to the different sounds, and I think there’s a definite pattern to them. If we could figure it out, we might be able to understand the language of fish!”
The Professor drew in a mouthful of smoke and let it trickle slowly between his lips. “My dear boy,” he said at last, “mere patterns of sound don’t make a language. We must be sure they go along with specific actions or meanings. For instance, all the songs of birds may or may not be language. But crows do communicate with each other by means of certain cries. They warn each other; they tell when an owl is present—these cries might perhaps be called a language of a sort.”
Danny said, “I see. Well, listen to this.”
Again he turned on his recorder. This time there came a series of short barks.
“That’s a sea catfish,” he explained.
“Sounds as though he’s imitating a sea dogfish,” the Professor remarked.
“He’s being held in someone’s hand,” said Danny. “So that might be a fear sound or a threatening sound.”
“The sounds seem to fall into groups,” Irene put in. “Some are clicks; some are grunts; some are soft whistles or beeps—”
“She can hear tones I can’t make out at all,” Danny said admiringly. “She has a better ear than I have.”
“Let us apply the scientific method,” said the Professor, putting his fingertips together. “To begin with, we ought to classify the sounds. Suppose you play them, Dan. And Irene, you repeat them and tell me what they are. Then we can sort them out.”
He took a sheet of paper and drew several columns on it. At the tops of the columns he wrote CLICKS, BEEPS, CHIRPS, WHISTLES, GRUNTS.
“That’s enough to start with,” he said. “Go on, Danny—begin.”
A short time later, Danny’s mother, Mrs. Dunn, entered the lab with a tray of oatmeal cookies and lemonade. “I thought you might—” she began, and stopped short, with her mouth still open.
Irene, sitting on a laboratory bench, was going, “Quirp? Pleeoop! Quirp!”
Professor Bullfinch, rubbing his chin, said, “Quirp?”
Danny, dancing about excitedly, cried, “No, no. More like this: Wheerp! Wheerp!”
“Professor,” said Mrs. Dunn.
He nodded absently and said, “Perhaps, queerp?”
“Danny!” Mrs. Dunn said.
“Yes, Mom?” said Danny. “Queerp, queerp!”
“Dear me,” said Mrs. Dunn. “If you’re all feverish, you’d better not eat anything. I’ll just take these cookies back to the kitchen.”
Danny ran to her and threw his arms around her. “No!” he shouted. “You couldn’t be so cruel. I’m sorry. We were working on fish sounds.”
“Ah, so that’s what it was,” said Mrs. Dunn, her blue eyes twinkling. “Fish sounds? Well, here’s one for you: Crkl-crkl-crkl!”
“I give up,” said Danny. “What is it, Mom?”
“Frying fish,” laughed his mother.
“Splendid,” said the Professor. “That’s one your friend Joe Pearson would like, Dan. Isn’t he an expert on food?”
“Speaking of food,” said Mrs. Dunn, “don’t I smell something burning? I don’t think I have anything in the oven…”
The Professor sprang to his feet, clapping a hand to his rosy, bald head. “Great heavens!” he cried. “My plastic! I forgot all about it!”
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,
