For a while he felt too
utterly despondent to make a movement, but after a little, very cautiously,
he began again to feel carefully with his beak around the box in search of
some crack. There was not one to be found. Next he tried with all his power
to enlarge the tiny airholes. It was impossible, and he gave himself up to
blackest despair.
When his captor returned he opened the box, took out the bird, at the same
time placing some kernels of corn and a saucer of water before him. Chico
had no appetite for food, but parched with thirst drank feverishly.
"Eat! can't you?" The man spoke roughly. What on earth was the matter with
the pigeon to be so obstinate? "Hang it, if he won't eat," he exclaimed
aloud, "he'll starve to death before I can get him to the War Department."
With that he fairly forced the spiritless head into the pile of kernels on
the floor, but without avail; the bird, heart-broken, refused to open his
beak. His tail feathers drooped more mournfully than ever, and his captor,
thoroughly out of patience, angrily thrust him back into his prison. So the
rest of the day and night passed.
The Austrian rose early the next morning and hastily throwing his
belongings together was soon on his way to the station, suitcase in one
hand and the black box in the other.
At the depot there was more than the usual delay in procuring his ticket.
There was a crowd of men and women before him, and, impatiently enough, he
was obliged to wait his turn.
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