Home at last, Brevityman — everyone’s succinctest 19th-century superhero! — took off his supersuit, tousled his perfect hair, and once again became long-winded poet Walt Whitman. Nobody had ever suspected his disguise, and no one ever would.

Suddenly, a single raven cawed across the night. “The Brevity-signal!” he cried, and briefly reassembled himself as Brevityman. He ran for a few brief moments to his brief rendezvous.

“I’m here,” said Brevityman.

“Nevermore,” quoth the raven.

“It’s true,” said Commissioner Poe. “Your days as everyone’s succinctest superhero are over.”

”What?” said Brevityman. “Why so?”

Commissioner Poe nodded gravely. “Herman Supermelvillain has uncovered — & widely disseminated — your secret identity.”

“Well call me Ishmael!” exclaimed Brevityman. “He can do that?”

“Indeed he can, Brevityman,” said Commissioner Poe, his voice suddenly changed, “or should I say: Walt.”

Walt Whitman gasped. “But how—?”

“It was not difficult,” said Herman Supermelvillain — for it was he! — “I had but to recognise that Brevityman is the soul of Whitman.”