in it. He looked up at her with a puzzled air. “There is something,” he said. “I can feel it, but it’s transparent.”
Irene touched the surface of the stuff. It had a curious, velvety texture, not smooth like glass, so that it did not reflect the light well. This made it hard to see.
Danny tried tapping the bottom of the crucible to get the plastic out. Then he took a hammer and hit the clear material as hard as he could.
The hammer bounced up as if it had struck stone.
“Perhaps you’d better leave it alone,” Irene suggested. “You might break the crucible.”
Danny pursed up his lips. “Let’s just try the electric drill,” he said. “That ought to do it.” He got out a power drill and fitted a high-speed bit into it. He started the motor and pressed the bit against the mysterious substance. The point of the bit skittered off and chipped a small piece out of the edge of the crucible.
“There,” said Irene. “Now you’d better leave it alone.”
Danny was examining the plastic. “This stuff isn’t even scratched,” he said. He picked up the crucible and carried it back to the furnace.
“What are you going to do?” Irene asked.
“Only one thing to do. I’ll heat it up again.”
“Danny!” said Irene warningly. “You’ve forgotten your promise.”
Danny turned to a pair of wide, perfectly innocent blue eyes on her. “I have not,” he answered. “This isn’t experimenting. Professor Bullfinch told me to throw the stuff away, didn’t he? And I can’t throw it away when it’s solid, can I? I’ll have to heat it up to make it liquid so that it’ll throw.”
Irene thought about that for a moment and then said, “I guess you’re right.”
Danny put the crucible back in the furnace, and they both watched until curls of white steam began to rise from the plastic. Danny took a steel poker and touched the material. It rippled thickly, like molasses.
The crucible had two handles, and he got a pair of metal hooks and hooked them into the handles. He took one and Irene took the other, and they carefully lifted the melting pot out of the furnace.
“Now it’s too hot to pour into the trash bin,” Danny said. “Let’s take it over to the window sill and let it cool for a minute or two.”
Just as they were lifting it to the sill, there came a loud whistle. A thin dark boy with a mournful expression on his face had come into the garden. Under one arm he carried a football.
“Hi, Dan,” he called. “Hello, Irene. Come on out.”
“Can’t Joe,” Danny replied, resting his elbows on the sill. “We’re busy.”
Joe Pearson, who was Danny’s closest friend, eyed the crucible. “What’s that thing?” he said. “A cooking pot? Or a chemical pot?”
“Both,” Danny grinned. “We’re cooking some chemicals.”
Joe paused, and a wary look came over his face. “Oh—oh,” he said. “Another experiment, eh? When is this one going to explode?”
“It isn’t,” said Danny. “This is Professor Bullfinch’s experiment. I have to throw it away.”
“Won’t he mind?”
“Oh, Joe, don’t be a glop,” said Irene. “He wants us to throw it away.”
“Why? Doesn’t he like it any more?”
“It was an experiment that didn’t work out.”
“I see,” Joe sighed. “There are lots of things about this I will never understand. Just tell me one thing. What’s a glop?”
Irene laughed. “It’s what you are when you talk foolishly.”
“I get it. Looks to me as if we’re all glops together. Well, when are you going to be finished with the throwing away? Because I just got this neat football from George Cahill in a trade. I swapped him my boxing gloves for it.”
They could see, now, that one of Joe’s eyes was swollen and discolored.
“July is a little early for football, isn’t it?” Danny asked.
“Oh, I’m doing my Christmas shopping early,” said Joe airily. “Anyway, I didn’t want the boxing gloves any more. Come on out, and we’ll have a game.”
“Looks like a pretty good ball,” Danny commented.
“In perfect condition.” Joe tossed it up and caught it a few times. The sight was too tempting for Danny.
“Pitch it here,” he said. “Let’s see it.”
Joe drew back his arm.
“Danny,” said Irene. “I really think that’s—”
Joe threw the ball. Danny reached out for it. It hit his fingers and bounded sideways. With a soggy kind of splash, it fell directly into the crucible.
“—not a very good idea,” Irene finished with a sigh.
CHAPTER THREE
“The Answer to All Your Problems!”
Professor Bullfinch led his friend, Dr. A. J. Grimes, into the front hall. They made an amusing pair—the Professor short, plump, and rosy, and Dr. Grimes tall and craggy, with a lean face that looked as if he were perpetually tasting something sour. He put his suitcase down and looked about the hall. In a harsh voice, he said, “Good to be here, Bullfinch.”
The Professor smiled. He could tell—although no one else would have guessed—that Dr. Grimes was laughing heartily, for there were two tiny wrinkles at the corners of his mouth.
“Good to have you here, old man,” said the Professor. “Let’s go into the lab before we get you settled. There’s something I must check on.”
Dr. Grimes rubbed his hands together. “One week of rest,” he said, “and then to work. My deep-diving ship, Bullfinch, is going to be the most perfect undersea laboratory ever seen. All I have to do is work out a few—hrmph!—minor details.”
“Yes, so you wrote me,” said the Professor. “Minor problems! The type of metal to use to resist pressure, the question of space inside the vehicle, the problem of observation—”
“All very minor,” Dr. Grimes interrupted. “Nothing to them. Within the year I’ll be diving into the Pacific Ocean.”
“I certainly hope you’ll have the ship ready by the time you dive,” murmured the Professor. “As I remember it, you’re not a very good swimmer. However, I may have the plastic for the observation window ready for you.”
Dr. Grimes put a lean hand on the Professor’s shoulder. “Now look here, Bullfinch,” he said. “You keep
