"I'm all right, I'm all right," protested Mr. Marvin, somewhat testily,
as he twisted about in his chair to get a good view of the mummy.
"Look out, Harry, don't step on that little bottle."

Harry looked down and picked up the tiny vial which had fallen from the
bandages wrapped about the ancient form.

"Smell of it," his father ordered. Harry sniffed it and remarked that
it smelled musty and passed it to Pauline. The girl carried it to her
nostrils spin and again. She looked perplexed.

"Well, what do you think it is?" asked the old man.

"Why--I can't remember, but I ought to know. I'm sure I do know."

"The devil you do," muttered her faster father.

"What makes you think you ought to know?"

"Why, it is so familiar. I'm certain I've smelled it often before.
Haven't I?"

"Well, if you have, Polly, you are a lot older than I am, older than
anything in this country, as old as the pyramids. That bottle fell out
of the mummy, and I can assure you it has been there some three or four
thousand years. When I smelled of that bottle it had a queer effect on
me. I felt as if I were going to have one of my fainting spells and
was glad to get back to the chair. It's funny about that mummy. I
thought she came out and talked to me."