IX

this interview and come out sane or alive, we must have some code of signals between us that this brute will not see. I have made a rough alphabetical cipher corresponding to the five fingers⁠—like this, see,” and he rippled with his fingers on the wooden table⁠—“B A D, bad, a word we may frequently require.”

Syme poured himself out another glass of wine, and began to study the scheme. He was abnormally quick with his brains at puzzles, and with his hands at conjuring, and it did not take him long to learn how he might convey simple messages by what would seem to be idle taps upon a table or knee. But wine and companionship had always the effect of inspiring him to a farcical ingenuity, and the Professor soon found himself struggling with the too vast energy of the new language, as it passed through the heated brain of Syme.

“We must have several word-signs,” said Syme seriously⁠—“words that we are likely to want, fine shades of meaning. My favourite word is ‘coeval.’ What’s yours?”

“Do stop playing the goat,” said the Professor plaintively. “You don’t know how serious this is.”

“ ‘Lush,’ too,” said Syme, shaking his head sagaciously, “we must have ‘lush’⁠—word applied to grass, don’t you know?”

“Do you imagine,” asked the Professor furiously, “that we are going to talk to Dr. Bull about grass?”

“There are several ways in which the subject could be approached,” said Syme reflectively, “and the word introduced without appearing forced. We might say, ‘ Dr. Bull, as a revolutionist, you remember that a tyrant once advised us to eat grass; and indeed many of us, looking on the fresh lush grass of summer⁠ ⁠…’ ”

“Do you understand,” said the other, “that this is a tragedy?”