the American John Fiske. By
chance I have _The Wealth of Nations_. Here is a fine old book, Sir
Henry Maine's _Ancient Law_. You know it, of course?"

"All--all! I know them all," murmured the little Doctor, standing with
two books under his arm and plucking out a third. "I look back sometimes
and stand amazed at the immensity of my reading. Benjamin Kidd--ha! He
won't be in so many libraries when I get through with him. You are
rather strong on political economy, I see. Alfred Marshall does very
well. Nothing much in philosophy. The _Contrat Social_--absurd."

"Do you care for these?" asked Nicolovius, pointing to a row of
well-worn works of Bible criticism. "Of course the Germans are far in
the lead in this field, and I am unhappily compelled to rely on
translations. Still I have--"

"Here! Look here! I must have this! I must take this book from you!"
interrupted Queed, rather excitedly dragging a fat blue volume from a
lower shelf. "Crozier's _Civilization and Progress_. What a find! I need
it badly. I'll just take it with me now, shall I not? Eh?"

"I shall be only too happy to have you take it," said Nicolovius,
blandly, "and as many others as you care for."

"I'll have another look and see," said Queed. "My copy of Crozier
disappeared some time before I left New York, and so far I have been
unable to replace it. I am showing him up completely.... Why, this is
singular--extraordinary! There's not a history among all these
books--not a volume!"

Nicolovius's expression oddly changed; his whole face seemed to tighten.
"No," he said slowly, "I have some reason to dislike history."

The young man straightened sharply, horrified. "Why don't you say at
once that you hate Life--Man--the Evolution of the Race--and be done
with it?"

"Would that seem so dreadful to you?" The old man's face wore a sad
smile. "I might say even that, I fear. Try one of those chairs by the
fire. I shall not mind telling you how I came by this feeling. You don't
smoke, I believe! You miss a good deal, but since you don't know it, how
does it matter?"

Nicolovius's haughty aloofness, his rigid uncommunicativeness, his
grand ducal bearing and the fact that he paid eighteen dollars a week
for a suite had of course made him a man of mark and mystery in the
boarding-house, and in the romancings of Miss Miller he had figured as
nearly everything from a fugitive crown prince to a retired
counterfeiter. However, Queed positively refused to b