Did
they prove as bad as you feared?"
"Worse. I've hardly forgotten yet what you look like. Your kind of
face is bad for business."
"What is business?"
"Haven't I told you? I'm a scientist."
"Well, I'm a specimen. No beetle that crawls or creeps or hobbles,
or does whatever beetles are supposed to do, shows any greater
variation from type--I heard a man say that in a lecture once--
than I do. Can't I interest you in my case, O learned one? The
proper study of mankind is--"
"Woman. Yes, I know all about that. But I'm a groundling."
"Mr. Beetle Man," she said, in a tremulous voice, "the rock is
moving."
"I don't feel it. Though it might be a touch of earthquake. We
have 'em often."
"Not your rock. The tarantula rock, I mean."
"Nonsense! A hundred tarantulas couldn't stir it."
"Well, it seems to be moving, and that's just as bad. I'm tired
and I'm lonely. Oh, please, Professor Scarab, have I got to fall
on your neck again to introduce a little human companionship into
this conversation?"
"Caesar! No! My shoulder's still lame. What do you want, anyway?"
"I want to know about you and your work.
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