_The Little House on Duke of Gloucester Street; and the Beginning
of Various Feelings, Sensibilities, and Attitudes between two
Lonely Men._
One instant thought the news of the Colonel's death struck from nearly
everybody's mind: _He'll miss the Reunion_. For within a few days the
city was to witness that yearly gathering of broken armies which, of all
assemblages among men, the Colonel had loved most dearly. In thirty
years, he had not missed one, till now. They buried the old warrior with
pomp and circumstance, not to speak of many tears, and his young
assistant in the sanctum came home from the graveside with a sense of
having lost a valued counselor and friend. Only the home to which the
assistant returned with this feeling was not the Third Hall Back of Mrs.
Paynter's, sometimes known as the Scriptorium, but a whole suite of
pleasant rooms, upstairs and down, in a nice little house on Duke of
Gloucester Street. For Nicolovius had made his contemplated move on the
first of May, and Queed had gone with him.
It was half-past six o'clock on a pretty summer's evening. Queed opened
the house-door with a latch-key and went upstairs to the comfortable
living-room, which faithfully reproduced the old professor's
sitting-room at Mrs. Paynter's. Nicolovius, in his black silk cap, was
sitting near the open window, reading and smoking a strong cigarette.
"Ah, here you are! I was just thinking that you were rather later than
usual this evening."
"Yes, I went to Colonel Cowles's funeral. It was decidedly impressive."
"Ah!"
Queed dropped down into one of Nicolovius's agreeable chairs and let
his eyes roam over the room. He was extremely comfortable in this house;
a little too comfortable, he was beginning to think now, considering
that he paid but seven dollars and fifty cents a week towards its
support. He had a desk and lamp all his own in the living-room, a table
and lamp in his bedroom, ease and independence over two floors. An old
negro man looked after the two gentlemen and gave them excellent things
to eat. The house was an old one, and small; it was in an unfashionable
part of town, and having stood empty for some time, could be had for
thirty-five dollars a month. However, Nicolovius had wiped out any
economy here by spending his money freely to repair and beautify. He had
had workmen in the house for a month, papering, painting, plumbing, and
altering.
"Dozens of people could not get in the church," said Queed. "They stood
outside in the street till the service was over."
Nicolovius was looking out of the window, and answered casually. "I
daresay he was an excellent man according to his lights."
"Coming to know him very well in the past year, I found that his lights
stood high."
"As high, I am sure, as the environment in which he was born and raised
made possible."
"You have a low opinion, then, of ante-bellum civilization in the
South?"
"Who that knows his history could have otherwise?"
"You know history, I admit," said Queed, lightly falling upon the side
issue, "surprisingly, indeed, considering that you have not read it for
so many years."
"A man is not likely to forget truths burned into him when he is young."
"Everything depends," said Queed, returning to his muttons, "upon how
you are going to appraise a civilization. If the only true measure is
economic efficiency, no one can question that the old Southern system
was one of the worst ever conceived."
"Can you, expert upon organized society as you are, admit any doubts
upon that point?"
"I am admitting doubts upon a good many points these days."
Nicolovius resumed his cigarette. Talk languished. Both men enjoyed a
good silence. Many a supper they ate through without a word. The old
man's attitude toward the young one was charming. He had sloughed off
some of the too polished blandness of his manner, and now offered a
simpler meeting ground of naturalness and kindliness. They had shared
the Duke of Gloucester Street roof-tree for a month, but Queed did not
yet accept it as a matter of course. He was decidedly more prone to be
analytical than he had been a year ago. Yet whatever could be urged
against it, the little house was in one way making a subtle tug upon his
regard: it was the nearest thing to a home that he had ever had in his
life, or was ever likely to have.
"And when will the _Post_ directors meet to choose his successor?"
"I haven't heard. Very soon, I should think."
"It is certain, I suppose," said Nicolovius, "that they will name you?"
"Oh, not at all--by no means! I am merely receptive, that is all."
Queed glanced at his watch and rose. "There is half an hour before
supper, I see. I think I must turn it to account."
Nicolovius looked regretful. "Why not allow yourself this minute's rest,
and me the pleasure of your society?"