“Miss B-B-Brewster—”
“Wait until I’ve finished. You must turn your thoughts firmly upon your science, until you’ve recovered equilibrium and the power of human speech.”
“But when you jump at me that way, I c-c-can’t think of anything but you.”
“That’s where the charm comes in. As soon as you see me or hear me approaching, you must repeat, quite slowly, this scientific incantation.” 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.