"A doctor," he repeated. "That's good. We need the services of a good doctor around here."
Rocky smiled feebly.
"I ... er ... I'm afraid you don't understand, sir. I'm not an M.D., you know. I'm an ... er ... D.M."
"D.M.?" repeated Graham wonderingly. "What's that?"
"A Doctor," explained Rocky, "of Mythology. It's an archeological degree, rather than a medical one. I'm what ... er ... might be called a research student. I gather folk tales and ancient legends, study them, analyze them, and attempt to determine their underlying meanings." He beamed happily from behind his thick-lensed glasses. "A most fascinating hobby," he said. "Oh, goodness, yes ... most fascinating!"
Colonel Graham stared at him incredulously.
"Legends! Folk tales! But why on earth—?"
Red of face, he spluttered into silence. Lynn tried to bridge the awkward moment.
"What Daddy means, Doctor Roswell, is—why do you hunt down these ancient fables? Does your work have any practical value?"
Rocky's eyebrows arched as if the query caused him a physical pain.