"
"Leave out the 'leftenant,' my dear Mr. Alibi; and call me
'colonel'--it is shorter," I said, laughing, as I looked at the queer
figure. "And so you have not seen Swartz lately? He made an appointment
to meet Nighthawk here."
"Made an app'intment, did he, leftenant--least ways, colonel?"
"Yes."
"With Mr. Nighthawk?"
"Yes."
"Well, I reckon they are both dead, or they'd 'a' kept their
app'intment."
"Nighthawk dead!"
"He must be, sartain."
"You are mistaken, friend Alibi," said a voice behind him.
And Nighthawk, in person, entered the house.
XXVII.
STARVATION.
Nighthawk had appeared, as was his wont, as if he had risen from the
earth.
But this circumstance disappeared from my mind at once. I was looking
at his face. It had completely lost its benignant expression; was pale,
and bore marks of great fatigue. Something of the old clerical
benignity came to the eyes as he greeted me cordially; but sitting down
in the nearest chair, as though completely wearied out, he became as
dispirited as before.
"And what mout be the matter with you, Mr. Nighthawk?" said Mr. Alibi:
"you look 's if the night hags had been a-riding of you with spurs on."
And Mr. Alibi flapped his wings, stretched out his neck, and seemed
about to cackle.
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