The Dean coughed, and turned back to the pamphlets before him. “Remains have been discovered,” he began in quite the tone he used in Assembly, “of the lost tribe of the Nemi. When the Greeks, my dear, obtained a foothold in Carthage and along the Mediterranean coast, the Nemi remained unconquered and retreated to the mountain fastnesses, west of the source of the Nile.”
“Well, I know all about that,” Kit answered, perching herself on the arm of a chair, across from him. “Just see,” and she counted off on her fingers, “Livingstone-Stanley—Victoria Falls—Zambesi—and Kipling wrote all about the people in Fuzzy-Wuzzy.”
“No, no, no, not a bit like it,” the Dean exclaimed. “My dear child, learn to think in centuries and epochs. The long and short of it is, there have been some very wonderful remains of the Nemi recently discovered, and I have been honored by a commission from the Institute to write a complete summary of the results of the expedition and its historic significance.”
“Don’t you wish you’d been there when they dug them up? That’s what I’d love, the exploring part. I should think it would be dreadfully dry trying to make bones sit up and talk, when you are so far away from it all.”
“They are not sending me bones,” replied the Dean with dignity, “but they are sending me the Amenotaph urn, and a sitting image of Annui. I believe with these two I shall be able to establish as a fact the survival of the Greek influence in ancient Egypt. My dear, you have no idea,” he added warmly, “how much this explains if it is true. There may be even Phoenician data before I finish investigating.”
“Phoenicians,” thought Kit, although she said nothing. “Yes, I do remember about them, too. Tin—ancient Britain—and something about Carthage.” Then she said aloud very positively and earnestly, “I know I can help you a lot with this, Uncle Bart, if you will only let me, because history is my favorite subject, and the reason I came to speak to you tonight is this. We girls are going to have a Founders’ Tea, Saturday afternoon. Just a little informal affair, but I’d like to give it a—” She hesitated for the right word, and the Dean nodded encouragingly, being in a better mood.
“Semblance of verity? Are you preparing a treatise?”
“No. I want something they can look at. And I knew if I told you about it, you’d let us take a few of the old things out of that cabinet in your room at the college. All I need would be—well, say a few portraits of any of the founders of Hope, and any of the relics of the Indians or French explorers.”
The Dean graciously detached a key from the ring at one end of his watch chain.
Kit left with it as though she bore a trophy. The next day the last preparations were completed for impressing on the girls of Hope College the honor of having a Founder’s granddaughter in their midst.