As the music pealed forth, Dick Prescott knew, for the first
time in his life, the full meaning of the dance in Cullum Hall.
There were many other newly betrothed couples on the floor that
happy night of the graduation ball. The air was fragrant with
flowers, but there was more---the atmosphere of new-found happiness
on all sides.
Outside, in the shadow of the moonless night, a stoop-shouldered
figure prowled in the near vicinity of Cullum Hall. This was
Jordan, intent on guessing when would be the most favorable moment
for sending in the message that should call Prescott out to his
doom.
One of the watchmen, a soldier, in the quartermaster's department,
belted, and with a revolver hanging therefrom in its holster,
passed by and noted Jordan.
"Are you waiting for anyone, sir?" asked the watchman, halting
a moment, though only in mild curiosity.
"I'm going to send a message in, after the music stops, for my
cousin," replied Jordan, who knew that he must give some account
of himself.
"Your cousin? A cadet?" asked the watchman.
"Oh, yes. Mr. Atterbury, of the first class," responded Jordan,
giving the name of his former roommate at a venture.
"Very good, sir," replied the watchman, and passed on.
Mr. Atterbury, however, at that very moment, chanced to be standing
on the further side of a tree not far distant, and with him were
two other first classmen.
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