"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.