"Dot-dot-dot! Dash! Dash-dash-dash! Dot-dot-dash! Dash!"
"S—t—5—u—t," Mr. Grimm read in Morse. He laughed pleasantly at some remark of his companion.
"Dash-dash! Dot-dash! Dash-dot!" said the fan.
"M—a—n," Mr. Grimm spelled it out, the while his listless eyes roved aimlessly over the throng. "S—t—5—u—t m—a—n!" Was it meant for "stout man?" Mr. Grimm wondered.
"Dot-dash-dot! Dot! Dash-dot-dot!"
"F—e—d," that was.
"Dot-dot-dash-dot! Dot-dash! Dash-dot-dash-dot! Dot!"
"Q—a—j—e!" Mr. Grimm was puzzled a little now, but there was not a wrinkle, nor the tiniest indication of perplexity in his face. Instead he began talking of Raphael's cherubs, the remark being called into life by the high complexion of a young man who was passing. Miss Thorne glanced at him once keenly, her splendid eyes fairly aglow, and the fan rattled on in the code.
"Dash-dot! Dot! Dot-dash! Dot-dash-dot!"
"N—e—a—f." Mr. Grimm was still spelling it out.