ring the growing dependence of the
old man with a growing sense of responsibility toward him, and
discovering in the process a curious and subtle kind of compensation.

What troubled Queed about Nicolovius--as the world called him--was his
money. He, Queed, was in part living on this money, eating it, drinking
it, sleeping on it. Of late the old man had been spending it with
increasing freedom, constantly enlarging the comforts of the joint
menage. He had reached, in fact, a scale of living which constantly
thrust itself on Queed's consciousness as quite beyond the savings of a
poor old school teacher. And if this appearance were true, where did the
surplus come from?

The question had knocked unpleasantly at the young man's mind before
now. This morning he faced it, and pondered deeply. A way occurred to
him by which, possibly, he might turn a little light upon this problem.
He did not care to take it; he shrank from doing anything that might
seem like spying upon the man whose bread he broke thrice daily. Yet it
seemed to him that a point had now been reached where he owed his first
duty to himself.

"Come in," he said, looking around in response to a brisk knock upon his
shut door; and there entered Plonny Neal, whom Queed, through the
Mercury, knew very well now.

"Hi there, Doc! Playin' you was Horace Greeley?"

Mr. Neal opened the connecting door into West's office, glanced through,
found it empty, and shut the door again. Whether he was pleased or the
reverse over this discovery, his immobile countenance gave no hint; but
the fact was that he had called particularly to see West on a matter of
urgent private business.

"I was on the floor and thought I'd say howdy," he remarked pleasantly.
"Say, Doc, I been readin' them reformatory drools of yours. Me and all
the boys."

"I'm glad to hear it. They are certain to do you good."

Queed smiled. He had a genuine liking for Mr. Neal, which was not
affected by the fact that their views differed diametrically on almost
every subject under the sun.

Mr. Neal smiled, too, more enigmatically, and made a large gesture with
his unlighted cigar.

"I ain't had such good laughs since Tommy Walker, him that was going to
chase me out of the city f'r the tall timber, up and died. But all the
same, I hate to see a likely young feller sittin' up nights tryin' to
make a laughin' stock of himself."

"The last laughs are always the best, Mr. Neal. Did you ever try any of
t