“Ah, well!  Forgive the saddening reminiscences of an old man—­not a common weakness with me, I assure you.  May I say, Mr. Queed, how much your intellect, your culture, your admirable—­ah—­poise—­amazing they seem to me in so young a man—­have appealed to me among a population of Brookes, Bylashes, and Klinkers?  You are the first man in many a day that has inspired me with an impulse toward friendship and confidence.  It would be a real kindness if you’d come in sometimes of an evening.”

At the word “friendship” the young man flinched uncontrollably.  Was the whole diabolical world in league to spring out and make friends with him?

“Unfortunately,” he said, with his iciest bow, “my time is entirely engrossed by my work.”

But as his eye went round the pretty, dim-lit room, he could not help contrasting it with the bleak Scriptorium above, and he added with a change of tone and a sigh:—­

“You appear wonderfully comfortable here.”

Nicolovius shrugged.  “So-so,” he said indifferently.  “However, I shall make a move before long.”

“Indeed?”

“I want more space and independence, more quiet—­surcease from meeting fellow-boarders at every step.  I plan to move into an apartment, or perhaps a modest little house, if I can manage it.  For I am not rich, unhappily, though I believe the boarders think I am, because I make Emma a present of a dollar each year at the anniversary of the birth of our Lord.”

Queed ignored his little pleasantry.  He was struck with the fact that Nicolovius had described exactly the sort of living arrangement that he himself most earnestly desired.

“I should have made the move last year,” continued Nicolovius, pulling at his auburn mustaches, “except that—­well, I am more sensitive to my loneliness as I grow older, and the fact was that I lacked a congenial companion to share a pleasanter home with.”

The eyes of the two men met, and they moved away from each other as by common consent.  Apparently the same thought popped simultaneously into both their minds.  Queed dallied with his thought, frankly and with the purest unaltruism.

Though this was the first time he had ever been in the old professor’s pretty room, it was the third or fourth time he had been invited there.  Nothing could be clearer than that Nicolovius liked him enormously,—­where on earth did he get his fatal gift for attracting people?—­nothing than that he was exactly the sort of congenial companion the old man desired.  Why shouldn’t he go and live with Nicolovius in his new home, the home of perfect quiet and immunity from boarders?  And unbroken leisure, too, for of course Nicolovius would bear all expenses, and he himself would fly from all remunerative work as from the Black Death.  Nay more, the old chap would very likely be willing to pay him a salary for his society, or at least, see that he was kept well supplied with everything he needed—­books to demolish like this one under his arm, and ...