Free Danny Dunn and the Weather Machine by Jay Williams, Raymond Abrashkin Page A

seen it. The one I told you about—”
    â€œYou mean your invention that makes it possible to condense water out of the atmosphere?” Frank hid a smile, and tried to look grave. “Dear me. That is serious.”
    â€œWhat kind of nonsense is this?” said Ralph Elswing.
    â€œIt isn’t nonsense,” said Irene. “And even if it were, Snitcher still had no right to try to steal the machine.”
    â€œSnitcher?” Frank looked puzzled.
    Before he could go further into the matter, Snitcher blubbered, “Uncle Frank, make Vanderbilt put me down. Stop talking, for gosh sakes, and get me out of this. Uncle Ralph—” Vanderbilt was looking cheerfully from one to the other, waiting for orders. Irene said, “Poor little puppy. Is ’um getting tired from the weight of Snitcher?”
    â€œPoor little puppy,” Joe repeated, with a disgusted air. “Is ’um getting sick from the taste of Snitcher?”
    â€œWhat is this ‘Snitcher’ business?” asked Ralph.
    â€œThey evidently don’t think too highly of Eddie,” said Frank in a dry tone. “I can’t say I blame them, if he really did try to steal their machine.”
    â€œHe did,” said Danny angrily. “He was trying to get even—
    â€œI didn’t do anything!” Snitcher bawled.
    â€œOooh! How can you say such a thing?” said Irene.
    They all began to talk at once again, arguing, scolding, explaining. In the midst of the noise, there came a loud snapping sound.
    Snitcher’s belt had broken, and he fell sprawling on the ground. Picking himself up, he ran, holding his pants and weeping with rage and embarrassment, across the field and disappeared behind the hangar.
    Vanderbilt uttered a short, quizzical bark, as if to say, “What now?”
    â€œGood boy,” said Irene, patting his head. “No, don’t kiss me—you’ll get me all wet.”
    â€œWet?” Danny repeated. “Hey! I just felt a drop.”
    There was a sudden, profound silence.
    â€œHe’s out of his mind,” growled Ralph. “No, he’s not,” said Mr. Covey, the farmer. “I felt one, too.”
    They all stared at the soft, heavy gray of the clouds. The silence spread over the whole airfield, and everywhere people gazed upward.
    There was no doubt about it. Fat drops of rain were falling, spattering on the landing strip and puddling the dust. More and more fell, and suddenly it was really raining.
    A deep, heartfelt cheer went up from the crowd.
    â€œIt worked!” yelled Mr. Covey. “Oh, you lovely cloud-seeding! It’s sprouting! Oh, you beautiful rain!”
    Mr. Glenn shouted, “Yippee!” Forgetting his dignity, he tilted his head back to let the drops fall into his mouth.
    The president of the bank seized the hands of the town librarian and danced around with her in the rain. Other people shook hands, cheered, capered about, and laughed. It was as if the whole crowd had abruptly gone mad.
    The three young people, although they were happy it was raining at last, were more sensible. When it began to pelt down, they ran across to the hangar and stood just inside. From this vantage point, they watched the excitement slowly die down as the others also took shelter.
    Danny pointed. Out on the field Frank Elswing still stood, grinning and holding up his umbrella. Next to him sat Vanderbilt, with all but his tail under cover. And close by, with the rain streaming from his head, was Ralph Elswing. He was slowly tearing his hat to shreds, scowling furiously, and stuffing the pieces in his mouth.
    As the three friends stared, the roar of a plane’s engines came to their ears.
    â€œHere comes Mr. Clark,” said Irene. “I’ll bet he’s happy the cloud-seeding worked. I hope he doesn’t smash the Professor’s machine when he lands.”
    Danny shook his head miserably. “That’s not Mr. Clark.