And they are not Mongolians."
Farrel's eyebrows arched.
"You have been reading Japanese propaganda," he replied. "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.
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