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Sunday, Kathlyn and Julius, poking around in Branton Hills’ suburbs, occasionally found an odd formation of fossilization, installing it amidst our Hall of Natural History’s displays. Shortly following such an installation, a famous savant on volcanic activity noting a most rock formation amongst Julius’ groups, thought of cutting into it; for ordinary, most prosaic rocks may contain surprising information; and, upon arriving at Branton Hills’ railway station, ran across old Pat Ryan, czar of its trunk room.

“Ah, my man! I want to find a .”

“A what?”

“It isn’t a ‘what,’ it’s a lapidary.”

“Lapidary, is it? Lapidary, lapidary, lapi—lapi—la—. No, I”

Now this savant was in a hurry, and said, snappily:—

“But a city as big as Branton Hills has a lapidary, I trust!”

“Oh, Branton Hills has a lot of things. But, wait a bit! It ain’t a what you want, is it?” [ 162 ]