Blackie chuckled impishly. "Just the, same, try a
pinch of soda bicarb'nate when you get home, Dawn," he
advised. "Well, I'm off to the factory again. Got t'
make up for time wasted on m' lady friend. Auf
wiedersehen!"

And the little figure in the checked top-coat trotted
off.

"But he called you--Dawn," broke from Von Gerhard.

"Mhum," I agreed. "My name's Dawn."

"Surely not to him. You have known him but a few
weeks. I would not have presumed--"

"Blackie never presumes," I laughed. "Blackie's
just--Blackie. Imagine taking offense at him! He knows
every one by their given name, from Jo, the boss of the
pressroom, to the Chief, who imports his office coats
from London. Besides, Blackie and I are newspaper men.
And people don't scrape and bow in a newspaper office--
especially when they're fond of one another. You
wouldn't understand."

As I looked at Von Gerhard in the light of the street
lamp I saw a tense, drawn look about the little group of
muscles which show when the teeth are set hard. When he
spoke those muscles had relaxed but little.