the beloved scarabeus, and he advanced to shake hands as though
she had just entered the room. Mrs. Jasher--knowing his ways--
rose to extend her hand, and the two small, stout figures looked
absurdly like a pair of chubby Dresden ornaments which had
stepped from the mantelshelf.

"Dear lady, I am glad to see you. You have--you have"--the
Professor reflected, and then came back with a rush to the
present century--"you have come to dinner, if I mistake not."

"Lucy asked me a week ago," she replied tartly, for no woman
likes to be neglected for a mere beetle, however ancient.

"Then you will certainly get a good dinner," said Braddock,
waving his plump white hands. "Lucy is an excellent housekeeper.
I have no fault to find with her--no fault at all. But she is
obstinate--oh, very obstinate, as her mother was. Do you know,
dear lady, that in a papyrus scroll which I lately acquired I
found the recipe for a genuine Egyptian dish, which Amenemha--
the last Pharaoh of the eleventh dynasty, you know--might have
eaten, and probably did eat. I desired Lucy to serve it
to-night, but she refused, much to my annoyance. The
ingredients, which had to do with roasted gazelle, were oil and
coriander seed and--if my memory serves me--asafoetida."

"Ugh!" Mrs. Jasher's handkerchief went again to her mouth. "Say
no more, Professor; your dish sounds horrid. I don't wish to eat
it, and be turned into a mummy before my time."

"You would make a really beautiful mummy," said Braddock, paying