[VIII
THE MERLIN’S CAVE]
LOGAN had cajoled twenty pounds out of Mr. Tysoe, who stood on his doorstep, dangling his long hands, while his admired guests crept into a taxi-cab. He swung from side to side:—
“I have had a most delightful evening—most charming, most inspiring.”
Inside the cab Logan waved the cheque triumphantly and Oliver tried to snatch it from him. They had an excited scuffle, which ended in a kiss.
“What’s the matter with the man?” asked Mendel.
“He’s just a fool,” replied Logan, “a padded fool. His only virtue is that he does really think me a wonderful fellow, and he is kind. But how I hate such kindness, the last virtue, the last refuge of the decrepit! It is a perfume, a herb with which they are embalmed.”
“I thought he was a very nice old gentleman,” said Oliver.
“He seemed to me,” said Mendel, “the kind of man who thinks of nothing but women all day long.”
“Hit it in once!” cried Logan. “A parrot will not do more for an almond than he will for a commodious drab. He could take a nun and by force of living with her and surrounding her with every luxury turn her into a whore, because she would in time become only another luxury. That is what men grow into if they lose the spirit of freedom. . . . Where are we going to?”