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?"