Of course
they are Mongolians. Everybody who has reached the age of reason knows
that. One does not have to be a biologist to know that they are
Mongolians. Indeed, the only people who deny it are the Japanese, and
they do not believe it. As for southern Europeans, have you not
observed that nearly all of them possess brachycephalic skulls,
indicating the influence upon them of Mongolian invasions thousands of
years ago and supplying, perhaps, a very substantial argument that, if
we find the faintly Mongoloid type of emigrant repugnant to us, we can
never expect to assimilate the pure-bred Mongol."

"What do you mean, 'brachycephalic'?" Parker queried, uneasily.

"They belong to the race of round heads. Didn't you know that
ethnologists grub round in ancient cemeteries and tombs and trace the
evolution and wanderings of tribes of men by the skulls they find
there?"

"I did not."

Kay commenced to giggle at her father's confusion. The latter had
suddenly, as she realized, made the surprising discovery that in this
calm son of the San Gregorio he had stumbled upon a student, to attempt
to break a conversational lance with whom must end in disaster. His
daughter's mirth brought him to a realization of the sorry figure he
would present in argument.

"Well, my dear, what are you laughing at?" he demanded, a trifle
austerely.

"I'm laughing at you. You told me yesterday you were loaded for these
Californians and could flatten their anti-Japanese arguments in a
jiffy."

"Perhaps I am loaded still. Remember, Kay, Mr. Farrel has done all of
the talking and we have been attentive listeners. Wait until I have
had my innings."

"By the way, Mr. Parker," Farrel asked, "who loaded you up with
pro-Japanese arguments?"

Parker flushed and was plainly ill at ease. Farrel turned to Kay.

"I do not know yet where you folks came from, but I'll make a bet that
I can guess--in one guess."

"What will you bet, my erudite friend?" the girl bantered.

"I'll bet you Panchito against a box of fifty of the kind of cigars
your father smokes."

"Taken. Where do we hail from, Don Mike?"

"From New York city."

"Dad, send Mr. Farrel a box of cigars."

"Now, I'll make you another bet. I'll stake Panchito against another
box of the same cigars that your father is a member of the Japan
Society, of New York city."

"Send Mr. Farrel another box of cigars, popsy-wops. Don Mike, how
_did_ you guess it?"

"Oh, all the