the gander down outside,
staggered into the room, appearing to be very drunk and brandishing a
knife, which he had rubbed against the fowl's bleeding neck. "Old P."
and the visitor from North Barracks, too frightened for words, sat as
though rooted to their chairs, while "the Bard" sprang to his feet and
in a horror-stricken voice, exclaimed,

"Heavens, Gibs! What has happened?"

"Joe Locke--Joe Locke--" gasped "Gibs."

"Well, what of Joe Locke? Speak man!"

"He won't report me any more. I've killed him!"

"Pshaw!" exclaimed "the Bard," in disgust. "This is another of your
practical jokes, and you know it."

"I thought you would say that, so I cut off his head and brought it
along. Here it is!"

With that he quickly opened the door and picked up the gander and,
whirling it around his head, dashed it violently at the one candle which
was thus knocked over and extinguished, leaving the room in darkness but
for a few smouldering embers on the hearth, and with the gruesome
addition to the company of what two of those present believed to be the
severed head of Lieutenant Locke.

The visitor with one bound was out of the room through the window, and
made good his escape to his own quarters in North Barracks, where he
spread the astounding news that "Gibs" had murdered Joe Locke; it was
certainly so, for his head was then in Number 28, South Barracks.

"Old P." nearly frozen with fright, did not move from his place, and it
was with some difficulty that "the Bard" and "Gibs" brought him back to
a normal condition and induced him to assist in preparing the fowl which
had played the part of Joe Locke's head, in the little comedy, for the
belated feast--which was merrily partaken of, but without the guest of
honor.

* * * * *

Edgar Poe had entered West Point in July, but hardly had its doors
closed behind him when his optimism gave place to wretchedness and he
began to feel that his appointment was a mistake. He had taken a fine
stand in his classes, but he recognized at once a state of things most
unpleasant for him for which he had not been prepared. As in his
schooldays in Richmond and at the University, a number of the boys had
withheld their intimacy from him on account of caste feeling, so now at
West Point he found history repeating itself, but with a difference. In
Richmond and at the University it had been as the child of the stage and
as a dependent upon charity, that the li