" She beat time with a pink and rhythmic finger as she
chanted:--
"Scarab, tarantula, doodle-bug, flea."
The beggar rapidly made the sign that protects one from the
influence of the malign and supernatural. The scientist scowled.
"Repeat it!" she commanded.
"There is no such insect as a doodle-bug," he protested feebly.
"Isn't there? I thought I heard you mention it in your
conversation with Mr. Carroll the other night."
"You put that into my head," he accused.
"Truly? Then life is indeed real and earnest. To have introduced
something unscientific into that compendium of science--there's
triumph enough for any ambition. Besides, see how beautifully it
scans."
Again she beat time, and again the beggar crooked defensive
fingers as she declaimed:--
"SCAR-ab, tar-ANT-u-la, DOO-dle-bug, FLEA!"
Homeric, I call it. Perhaps you think you could improve on it."
"Would you mind substituting 'neuropter' in the third strophe?" he
ventured. "It would be just as good as 'doodle-bug,' and more--
more accurate."
"What's a neuropter? You didn't make him up for the occasion?"
"Heaven forbid! The dragon-fly is a neuropter.
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