Getting the fish was easy: We just went to the nearest pet shop, and picked out three goldfish. The girl at the counter even complimented me on my hair.
Back at the laboratory (Dad's use of the full word was rubbing off on me), we let the fish get acclimated to the temperature in the tank, then released them from the bag. "How do you wish to proceed?" Dad asked.
I gave the question some thought. After a few moments, it came to me. I started mixing chemicals.
Once I was satisfied with the mixture, I opened the container of fish food and prepared to add my little formula.
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
I turned to Dad. "What do you mean?"
"There's one thing mad science has in common with regular science," he replied. Then, he handed me a notebook. "The difference between it and screwing around is writing things down."
Chagrined, I took the notebook and began writing notes. He was right: I should have written everything down from the beginning. Biological night lights may be fun to have; but, if you can't do it again, what good is it?
Once I had my notes up to date, I resumed mixing my formula with the fish food. When that was done, I began to feed the fish. I was relieved that the formula didn't alter the texture of the food; nor did it mix with the water. The fish ate readily, and I noted that.
After about 15 minutes, I turned to Dad. "Could you get the lights, please, Dr. Stein?"
He cocked an eyebrow. "Not 'Dad?'"
"Here," I explained, "I felt the more formal address was called for."
He walked over, and flipped the light switches.
I was rewarded with the sight of three softly glowing goldfish. "It works. It works! Tomorrow, the world!" And I unleashed my second evil laugh.
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