They are
waiting for me to deliver my corpse to them--and they are very restless
about it because I haven't given up sooner, I'm full of foolish hopes.
I'm going to adjourn them until we can get a message of some kind----"
He returned in half an hour and sat in silence for a long time listening
to the steady, sharp click of the telegraph keys.
Betty was too blue to talk--too heartsick to move.
At last the tall figure rose and walked back among the operators. They
knew that he was waiting for the magic call, "Atlanta, Georgia." It had
been three years and more since that heading for a message had flashed
over their wires. Every ear was keen to catch it.
The President bent over the table of Southern wires and silently
watched:
"You can't strain a little message through for me, can you, my boy?"
The operator smiled:
"I wish I could, sir."
The President returned to the front room and shook his head to Betty:
"Nothing."
"He entered Atlanta a spy, didn't he?" she said despairingly.
"Yes--of course."
"They couldn't execute him without our knowing it, could they?"
"If they trap him--yes--but he's a very intelligent young man. He'll be
too smart for them. I feel it. I know it----"
He stopped and looked at her quizzically:
"I've a sort of second sight that tells me such things.
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