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Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander), 1862-1919

"The Hosts of the Air"


"I was just talking to the air," replied John a little uncertainly.
"Fine mornings appeal to me, and I was telling this one that I'd soon
come out into it"
Jacques continued to awaken. He was a big man who worked hard and who
slept heavily. Rousing from sleep was a task accomplished by degrees and
it took some time. He had heard John with one ear and now he heard with
the other. His right eye opened slowly and then the left. The blood
became more active in his brain and in a minute or two he was awake all
over.
"Telling the morning air that you're coming out into it, eh Castel?" he
said as he put one foot on the floor. "You're a poet, I see. You don't
look it, but being French, as you Lorrainers are, it makes you fond of
poetry."
"I do believe you have it right, Jacques," said John, "but if I can get
my breakfast now I mean to go upon the road at once."
"Oh, you can get it, Castel. The whole kitchen has fallen in love with
you. I found that out last night after you had gone away. That little
Annette told me so."
"It was to tease you," said John, who understood at once and who was
willing to fib in a good cause. "I saw her watching through a window a
fine big fellow, exactly your size, age and appearance, and with the
same name. I said something about his being a hulking hostler and she
turned upon me like a hawk.


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