On the afternoon of Nov. 10, 1871, Stanley at last met Livingstone. Out of that meeting came a famous anecdote of civility, manners and decorous restraint. More to the point, out of that meeting emerged today’s column on words and their penumbras – or their penumbrae, take your choice.

The tale has been told many times. David Livingstone (1813-1873) was a famous Scottish explorer and missionary. Henry M. Stanley (1841-1904) was a reporter for The New York Herald. On a dull day in 1869 the Herald’s proprietor, James Gordon Bennett, had a great idea – the kind of idea more publishers ought to have more often. Livingstone had disappeared somewhere in darkest Africa. Bennett ordered Stanley to find him.

It was a reporter’s dream assignment – an unlimited expense account, no deadlines, no city editor reading over one’s shoulder. Only Johnny Apple of The New York Times has such a carte blanche today. Stanley sailed off to Africa, filed occasional dispatches, and wound up two years later in the village of Ujiji in Tanganyika. There he heard of an aging white man – the only white man for miles around – who was ministering to the natives.

As Stanley told the tale – he told it many times for the next 30 years – he was at first incredulous, but the tip sounded promising. In Ujiji a throng of a hundred natives turned out to inspect him. They confirmed the rumor and led him to a hut where the white man lived. The doctor emerged, white-haired, trembling with the ailments of age.

Stanley stumbled toward him, wondering what to say. He wanted to dance with joy. He suppressed a shout of victory, lest the natives think him demented. Wrapping himself in dignity for the occasion, he held out his hand.

Then he said, “Dr. Livingstone, I presume.”

So much for Livingstone. He died two years later. Stanley became a knight and eventually disappeared into Google. Stout fellow.

Now: Today’s portentous question is, did Stanley use the wrong verb? Let us ponder.

The intrepid reporter might have said, “Dr. Livingstone, I believe.” Or, “Dr. Livingstone, I hope.” Or he might have said, “Dr. Livingstone, I assume.”

A case certainly can be made for “I presume.” Merriam-Webster defines the verb: “to anticipate, to undertake without leave or clear justification; to expect or assume with confidence, to suppose to be true without proof; to take for granted.”

Pause in discussion. Every serious writer learns in the cradle that words have metaphorical color; there are lavender words and crimson words, somber brown words, black words. Many words also have a metaphorical penumbra, “a shaded region surrounding the dark central portion of a sunspot.”

Back to the subject: Would Stanley more accurately have said, “Dr. Livingstone, I assume”? In the sense under consideration, Merriam-Webster says “to assume” is “to take as granted or true; suppose.” The example of usage is, “I assume he’ll be there.” American Heritage defines “to assume” as “to accept something as existing or being true without proof or on inconclusive grounds.” Four other dictionaries are to the same effect.

Let us love our penumbras. The problem with “Dr. Livingstone, I presume,” is that “to presume” casts unwanted shadows. Its first cousins are “presumption” and “presumptuous,” with their dark hints of “arrogance, effrontery, offensive behavior or language.”

If I had been editing a script for Stanley as he met Livingstone, I believe I would have opted for “Dr. Livingstone, I assume.” Stanley, speaking ad lib and unrehearsed, chose not to assume, but to presume. It was his line, and it will live in Bartlett’s forever as a way of expressing hopeful expectation. That’s the very best kind.

James Kilpatrick is a syndicated columnist.

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