e been fifty-five or he
might have been seventy, and his clothes had long been the secret envy
of Mr. Bylash. He leaned against the mantel at his ease, blowing blue
smoke.

"You find this a fairly pleasant place to sit of an evening, I daresay!"
he purred, presently.

The back of the young man's head was uncompromisingly stern. "I might as
well try to write in the middle of Centre Street."

"So?" said Nicolovius, not catching his drift. "I should have thought
that--"

"The interruptions," said Queed, "are constant."

The old professor laughed. "Upon my word, I don't blame you for saying
that. The gross communism of a boarding-house ... it does gall one at
times! So far as I am concerned, I relieve you of it at once.
Good-night."

The afternoon before Nicolovius had happened to walk part of the way
downtown with Mr. Queed, and had been favored with a fair amount of his
stately conversation. He shut the door now somewhat puzzled by the young
man's marked curtness; but then Nicolovius knew nothing about the
turpentine.

The broken evening wore on, with progress slower than the laborer's in
Problem 71, when he decided to build two rods less a day. At eleven,
Miss Miller, who had been to the theatre, breezed in; she wanted a drink
of water. At 11.45--Queed's open watch kept accurate tally--there came
Trainer Klinker, who, having sought his pupil vainly in the Scriptorium,
retraced his steps to rout him out below. At sight of the tall bottle in
Klinker's hand Queed shrank, fearing that Fifi had sent him with a
second dose of turpentine. But the bottle turned out to contain merely a
rare unguent just obtained by Klinker from his friend Smithy, the
physical instructor at the Y.M.C.A., and deemed surprisingly effective
for the development of the academic bicep.

At last there was blessed quiet, and he could write again. The city
slept; the last boarder was abed; the turpentine had become a peace out
of pain; only the ticking of the clock filtered into the perfect calm of
the dining-room. The little Doctor of Mrs. Paynter's stood face to face
with his love, embraced his heart's desire. He looked into the heart of
Science and she gave freely to her lord and master. Sprawled there over
the Turkey-red cloth, which was not unhaunted by the ghosts of dead
dinners, he became chastely and divinely happy. His mind floated away
into the empyrean; he saw visions of a far more perfect Society; dreamed
dreams of the ascending spir