reaked out very slowly, "Did I understand you to
ask the following question, to wit?" and so forth; for I was quite
out of my depth, and only know that he repeated the Master's somewhat
complex inquiry, word for word.

--That was exactly my question,--said the Master,--and I hope it is not
uncivil to ask one which seems to me to be a puzzler.

Not uncivil in the least,--said the Scarabee, with something as much
like a look of triumph as his dry face permitted,--not uncivil at all,
but a rather extraordinary question to ask at this date of entomological
history. I settled that question some years ago, by a series of
dissections, six-and-thirty in number, reported in an essay I can show
you and would give you a copy of, but that I am a little restricted in
my revenue, and our Society has to be economical, so I have but this
one. You see, sir,--and he went on with elytra and antennae and tarsi
and metatarsi and tracheae and stomata and wing-muscles and leg-muscles
and ganglions,--all plain enough, I do not doubt, to those accustomed
to handling dor-bugs and squash-bugs and such undesirable objects of
affection to all but naturalists.

He paused when he got through, not for an answer, for there evidently
was none, but to see how the Master would take it. The Scarabee had had
it all his own way.

The Master was loyal to his own generous nature. He felt as a peaceful
citizen might feel who had squared off at a stranger for some supposed
wrong, and suddenly discovered that he was undertaking to chastise Mr.
Dick Curtis, "the pet of the Fancy," or Mr. Joshua Hudson; "the John
Bull fighter."

He felt the absurdity of his discomfiture, for he turned to me
good-naturedly, and said,

"Poor Johnny Raw! What madness could impel
So rum a flat to face so prime a swell?"

To tell the truth, I rather think the Master enjoyed his own defeat. The
Scarabee had a right to his victory; a man does not give his life to the
study of a single limited subject for nothing, and the moment we come
across a first-class expert we begin to take a pride in his superiority.
It cannot offend us, who have no right at all to be his match on his
own ground. Besides, there is a very curious sense of satisfaction
in getting a fair chance to sneer at ourselves and scoff at our own
pretensions. The first person of our dual consciousness has been
smirking and rubbing his hands and felicitating himself on his
innumerable superiorities, until we h