"Thank you."

Mr. Grimm was just turning away, when there came the sharp, vibrant
cra-a-sh! of a revolver, somewhere off to his left. The president! That
was his first thought. One glance across the room to where the chief
executive stood, in conversation with two other gentlemen, reassured
him. The choleric blue eyes of the president had opened a little at the
sound, then he calmly resumed the conversation. Mr. Grimm impulsively
started toward the little group, but already a cordon was being drawn
there--a cordon of quiet-faced, keen-eyed men, unobstrusively forcing
their way through the crowd. There was Johnson, and Hastings, and Blair,
and half a dozen others.

The room had been struck dumb. The dancers stopped, with tense,
inquiring looks, and the plaintive whine of the orchestra, far away,
faltered, then ceased. There was one brief instant of utter silence in
which white-faced women clung to the arms of their escorts, and the
brilliant galaxy of colors halted. Then, after a moment, there came
clearly through the stillness, the excited, guttural command of the
German ambassador.

"Keep on blaying, you tam fools! Keep on blaying!"

The orchestra started again tremulously. Mr. Grimm nodded a silent
approval of the ambassador's command, then turned away toward his left,
in the direction of the shot. After the first dismay, there was a
general movement of the crowd in that direction, a movement which was
checked by Mr. Campbell's appearance upon a chair, with a smile on his
bland face.