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Updated: June 19, 2025
Queed got up, and began strolling about the floor. In his mind was what Sharlee Weyland had said to him two hours before: "All the bitterness nowadays comes from the non-combatants, the camp-followers, the sutlers, and the cowards." Under which of these heads did his friend, the old professor, fall?... Why had he ever thought of Nicolovius as, perhaps, a broken Union officer?
These acts which confer benefits on others," he continued, "so peculiarly commended by your religion, are conceived by it to work moral good to the doer. "Mr. Queed," said Sharlee, briskly interrupting his exegetical words, "I believe you are going off with Professor Nicolovius chiefly because you think he needs you!" He looked up sharply, much surprised and irritated.
At another time West might have been pleased by such candid evidences of confidence and intimacy, but not to-night. He felt that Sharlee, having advertised a delightful gayety by her manner, should now proceed to deliver it: it certainly was not for tired sweetness and disconcerting silences that he had sought this tête-
His articles on taxation read as if they might have been written by a military man. I happened to read one the day before yesterday. It was most amusing " "Excuse me. Colonel Cowles is a friend of mine " "What has that got to do with his political economy? If he is your friend, then I should say that you have a most amusing friend." Sharlee rose, decidedly irritated. "Well that is my suggestion.
He knew that women were extremely unreasonable about these things; they looked at affairs from the emotional point of view, from the point of view of the loose, large "effect." But Sharlee Weyland was highly intelligent and sensible, and he had not the smallest doubt of his ability to make her understand what the unfortunate situation was.
I was very much mortified, Sharlee! As I stood there facing that young man, dunning him like a grocer's clerk, it flashed into my mind to wonder what your great-grandfather, the Governor, would think if he could have looked down and seen me.
"Besides," continued Doctor Queed, "what reason have I for thinking that he expects or desires me to track him down? For all that he says here, that may be the last thing in the world he wishes." Sharlee, turning toward him, her chin in her white-gloved hand, looked at him earnestly. "Do you care to have me discuss it with you?" "Oh, yes, I have invited an expression of opinion from you."
He was staring at her with a conflict of expressions in which, curiously enough, pained bewilderment seemed uppermost. Sharlee laughed, not quite at her ease. "Do you know, I am still hoping that some day you will come to see me, not to talk about anything definite just to talk." "As to that," he replied, "I cannot say. Good-night."
"Since an editorial writer," said Sharlee, seating herself and beginning with a paragraph as neat as a public speaker's, "must be able, as his first qualification, to interest the common people, it is manifest that he must be interested in the common people. He must feel his bond of humanity with them, sympathize with them, like them, love them.
He felt that he ought to say something, to sum up his attitude toward the unexpected event, but for once in his life he experienced a difficulty in formulating his thought in precise language. However, the pause was of the briefest. "I think," said Sharlee, "the funeral will be Monday afternoon.... You will go, won't you?" Queed turned upon her a clouded brow.
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