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call me Joseph Pearson, Boy Financial Wizard. As soon as he gets back, we’ll tell him about it. I can see it now—Pearson, Dunn, and Miller: Home Rainstorms. Oh—and Bullfinch, I guess.”
    Danny laughed. He raised his hand, then held it motionless in the air.
    â€œOh, Joe,” he said. “Do me a favor.”
    â€œSure. What?”
    â€œPat the machine for me, will you? I want to keep my resolution not to touch it.”
    â€œOkay,” said Joe. “By the way, what did the Professor call this thing?”
    â€œAn ionic transmitter.”
    â€œThat’s too long. Let’s shorten it to I.T.” And Joe leaned over and solemnly patted the metal case. “Good old IT,” he chuckled.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    An Eye for an Eye
    Hopkins’ Drugstore was a favorite meeting place of the three friends—when they had any money. On the afternoon following the rainstorm in the kitchen, Irene and Danny sat at the soda fountain waiting for Joe, who had a dollar, a windfall from a visiting uncle. Danny had just changed his mind for the third time and decided to have a triple mint fudge marshmallow banana bonanza, when he became aware of a warm breath on his cheek.
    â€œCut it out, Joe,” he began and, turning, saw a pair of large, sad, brown eyes peering into his own.
    â€œVanderbilt!” he exclaimed.
    At the same time, a deep voice said, “Well, well, this is a surprise. Danny Dunn, isn’t it? And Irene Miller?”
    The two cringed away, uncertain whether to run for the door or wait it out. Mr. Elswing, however, looking perfectly friendly and jolly, seemed to notice nothing wrong.
    He sat down on one of the stools, and Vanderbilt padded heavily round to Irene and put his chin on her arm.
    â€œSweet little pup,” she murmured, patting him. The big dog smiled foolishly, rolled up his eyes, and sank down to the floor where he lay panting.
    â€œWhy haven’t you come to the weather station to visit me?” Mr. Elswing asked. “I’ve been expecting you.”
    Danny relaxed a little. He had been quietly unscrewing the top of the pepper shaker, planning, if Mr. Elswing made any sudden moves, to dip a soda straw in the shaker and, using it as a blowgun, pepper the weatherman with pepper. But Mr. Elswing seemed so normal that Danny put down his weapon and began to breathe again.
    â€œWe—we’ve got our own weather station now,” Dan said.
    â€œThat’s fine,” Mr. Elswing beamed. “Maybe you can give people better forecasts than I can. Nobody seems to like me these days, just because I have to keep telling them that the weather will be dry and hot.”
    â€œWe know,” Irene said. “Our own forecast this morning was for fair weather.”
    â€œYes? I hope people don’t start blaming you the way they blame me. You’d think I was responsible.” Mr. Elswing rubbed his chin. “I’m in the same boat with everyone else. I’ve had to save water, and use it carefully.”
    He bent forward confidingly. “Maybe you notice how bristly my chin is? I’ve been shaving only twice a week, and using the water I save that way for my tea.”
    â€œTea?” Danny snorted, and shrugged. “We’ve solved that problem. You can drink all the tea you like.”
    â€œWhat? How’s that?”
    â€œWhy, with our new rainstorm ray you can condense the steam from your teakettle and use it over again for the next cup of tea.”
    There was a long moment of stunned silence. Then Irene burst out, “Oh, Danny ! How could you?”
    Mr. Elswing had a most peculiar look on his face. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and shut it again.
    Danny bit his lip. Then he said, “Gosh, I didn’t mean to let that out. The ray is still a secret.”
    â€œWell, I—” Mr. Elswing began. “The ray, eh?” He cleared his throat to cover a smile of disbelief, and went on,