There ought to be word from Paris before noon, and it
might come earlier. He kept pretty close to the wireless operator's
office, and was particularly attentive to the spitting crackle of the
instrument.
About eleven o'clock an incomprehensibly long message began to rattle
out of the air. He contained himself in patience for the matter of
half an hour or longer, and then, as the clatter continued without
cessation, he got up and made his way to the door of the operator's
office.
"What is it? The history of England?" he demanded sarcastically.
"Message for you, Mr. Blithers. It's a long one and I'm having a hard
time picking it up. Everybody seems to be talking at once. Do you
want the baseball scores, Mr. Blithers?"
"Not unless they come in cipher," said Mr. Blithers acidly.
"Some of 'em do. Six to nothing in favor of the Giants, two to
nothing--Here we are at last. I've picked up the _Mauretania_ again.
She's relaying."
Mr. Blithers sat down on the steps and looked at his watch. It would
be five o'clock in Paris.
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