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"Are you a taxidermist, then?" I asked.
She hastily set down the cup that she was raising to her lips and broke
into a ripple of quiet laughter.
"I am afraid my father has misled you with his irreverent expressions.
He will have to atone by explaining."
"You see, Doctor," said Mr. Bellingham, "Ruth is a literary searcher--"
"Oh, don't call me a 'searcher'!" Miss Bellingham protested. "It
suggests the female searcher at a police-station. Say investigator."
"Very well, investigator or investigatrix, if you like. She hunts up
references and bibliographies at the Museum for people who are writing
books. She looks up everything that has been written on a given subject,
and then, when she has crammed herself to bursting-point with facts, she
goes to her client and disgorges and crams him or her, and he or she
finally disgorges into the Press."
"What a disgusting way to put it!" said his daughter. "However, that is
what it amounts to. I am a literary jackal, a collector of provender for
the literary lions.


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