For a time after Randolph had taken his accustomed seat--an old chair in an ingle-nook of the fireplace--he was silent, possibly through physical disability, for there was no elevator at night, and nine flights of stairs is not provocative of conversation; or he may have been awed into silence, for he often told Steve that he was nearer heaven than he would ever be again in all probability. Be that as it may, he sat there enjoying his thoughts and the restful atmosphere of the room. Quite unlike a bachelor's apartment, this; as unlike as many another belonging to that particular branch of the _genus homo_--rooms in which we would probably receive a mild shock and be compelled to rebuild our entire structure of theories on the subject of the helplessness, uncomfortableness, and general miserableness of that specimen known as bachelor. To be sure, Steve Loveland was fortunate in the selection of his rookery, but that might be called an outcome of his genius--a genius with which bachelors are not supposed to be blessed. At first glance, one who had no such gift for situation would not have considered such a spot favorable for the construction of a home--if this word may, for a moment, be snatched from the wedded portion of the human race--but the artist in Steve recognized its possibilities. Carnot Fonnac, who originally reared and owned the building under discussion, was himself a wretched, reprehensible bachelor, but being also a Frenchman he possessed some taste; and intending to make his abode in the sky-parlor of his structure, he so planned it that there was a hint of grace and beauty in its arches and dimensions, as well as of expanse. An English friend suggested the fireplace, and he had the good sense to act upon this most sensible advice. After Fonnac's death his building went into retirement, so to speak; fashion minced off in another direction and left it to its grief, so now, at the remove of some fifteen years, Steve Loveland obtained the rental of the attic for a mere song, and here he cast his lot, for he was his own housekeeper. A few screens skillfully arranged reduced the apparent size of the apartment; some old-fashioned furniture his mother spared him made it homelike and comfortable; an air-tight stove on the one side (there were two chimneys) held Boreas at bay, while on the other a little basket grate of coals, setting like a ruddy gem in the center of the ample fireplace, was at once an element of good cheer and a respecter of the law of economy. On this particular evening the cronies sat in their accustomed places within the fireplace, one on either side; a little stand, on which were set a couple of plates of crackers and cheese, stood near by, and a pot of oysters, cheerily simmering, hung from the crane above the fire.