He took a pinch of sugar from the bowl and sprinkled it on Scotty's head as an offering to the gods, then bowed like a high priest and chanted:
"Anubis, Horus, Amon-Ré,
Are you near or far away?
If you're tuned in close at hand,
Clean up the H-emission band."
The piece of hard Egyptian bread thrown by Scotty caught him just behind the ear. Rick picked it up and threw it back, grinning.
"The things I have to put up with," Scotty exclaimed hopelessly. "I'm sorry I brought the whole thing up."
"It didn't help," Rick admitted. "But it gave me an idea. How about going to the Egyptian Museum this morning?"
"With Hassan?"
"It's right across the park. Hassan can take the morning off and come back after lunch to drive us to the project."
"I'm your boy," Scotty agreed. "If you keep your chants to yourself, that is. Try one on those old statues at the museum and they'd fall on you."
"Oh, I don't know," Rick said loftily. "Maybe those old Egyptians had a better ear for poetry than you have."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Scotty returned. "If it sounds so terrible to me, think what it would sound like to a poetry lover. Go on and make your phone call."