Mendel shivered, and his eyes suddenly felt dry and hot, as though they were being pushed out of his face. His throat went dry, and when he tried to call the waiter he could make no sound. The waiter met his eyes and came.
“Champagne!” said Mendel.
“Very good, sir. One bottle?”
“Half-a-bottle,” said Morrison.
“One bottle,” roared Mendel.
A young artist, who knew them both slightly, hearing the order, came and sat with them.
The dancing began.
“Come and dance,” said Morrison.
“No, I don’t want to dance. That was Logan who came in. He hasn’t seen me yet.”
“Which is Logan?” asked the young artist. “He’s done some good things. Someone told me the other day he had softening of the brain.”