He managed to get the first wrapper off very easily, but when he came to the second, he found that the ancient Egyptians knew how to make a strong bandage, for every fold had to be cut with his knife. Under this he found spices, lotos leaves and ears of corn. The latter interested him, for while the grains looked like wheat, the general appearance was that of barley, only there were seven ears on every stalk. “I’ll pocket some of this, and if ever I get back to America I’ll plant it and see if embalmed wheat will grow.” As this thought passed through the mind of the daring young desecrator of the dead, he began to whistle “Yankee Doodle.” The echo kept pace with him, and the louder he whistled the more distinct was the echo. Suddenly stopping, his patriotic soul was stirred to its depths as the thought crossed his mind that men who had been buried there thousands of years before America was known to civilization were, through the echo, joining in the chorus of “Yankee Doodle.” “Old Pharoah was a fine old fellow,” said Max, “but I’d rather be an American citizen than----” “A mummy.” That was no echo. It was a human voice. Max could stand no more. His eyes seemed like coals of fire, his brain was burning, his lips were parched. “Oh, God! I am dying!” he gasped, as he fell on the floor, scattering the dust of centuries and causing the tomb to be filled with a cloud, suffocating and unpleasant. When he recovered consciousness he was still lying on the floor, but his head rested on Girzilla’s knee, and she was fanning him with a palm leaf which she had brought in with her. “You silly boy, did I frighten you?” “Was it you who said ‘a mummy?’” “Of course it was. Who else could it be?” “I thought----” “That these dead-and-gone people had suddenly recovered the voice which perished before Isis’ great temple was built. You silly--silly boy. But what were you doing?” There was so much nineteenth century life about Girzilla that Max thought but little of the bygone Pharoahs. He told her about unwrapping the mummy, and she chided him for doing it. “I have looked on that mummy ever since I was so high,” she said, placing her hand about two feet above the floor. “You have!” “Of course I have, and I was going to show her to you.” “You were?” “Did I not say so?” “Yes.” “Then why ask me? What did you do with the writing you found?” “I did not see any.” “I placed some there.” “When?” “The Nile did rise and fall and rise again since I placed it there.” “Where did you find it? What is it about?” “I don’t know; I could not read it.” “Get it for me.” “You silly boy, how can I? Your head is heavy, and holds me down.” “My head resteth on a nice pillow.” “Osiris must have fanned thy cheeks,” she said, using an Egyptian metaphor which in more modern English would mean: “You are a flatterer,” or “You have kissed the blarney stone.”