His parody of the low comedian was so apt and his voice had such a delicious roll that Mendel could not help laughing, and he began to feel very happy with the man.
Logan swung back to his serious mood and gripped Mendel’s arm tighter as he said:—
“You have a big future before you. Only stick to it. Don’t listen to the fools who want you to paint the same picture over and over again with a different subject. There’s more stuff in that one little picture of yours than in all the rest of the exhibition put together.”
“Do you think so?” said Mendel, fluttering with excitement.
“I was amazed when I heard you had been to the Detmold with its Calthrop and all the little Calthrops.”
Both the youngsters were silent on that. They had often abused the Detmold, but with a profound respect in their hearts, and both had done their full share of imitating Calthrop.
When they reached the studio Mitchell suggested going, but Logan would not hear of it. He dragged them in and produced whisky and soda, and kept them talking far into the small hours. His bouncing energy kept Mendel awake and alert, but Mitchell was soon exhausted and fell asleep.
“Shall we put him out of the way?” said Logan suddenly. “No one would know, and the river is handy. He is too clean, too soft, and there are too many like him. They are in the way of real men like you and me.”
Mendel was appalled to find that he could not defend his friend. All the discontents of his waning friendship came rushing up in him and he began to babble violently.
“He is a liar and a coward, and he will never be an artist because he is too weak. He is not true. He is not good. I have trusted him with my secrets and he tells. He is always ashamed of me because of my clothes and because I have not been to Public School, and he is jealous because when we meet women they like me. He is soft and deceitful with them, but I am honest, and they like that. I wanted him to be my friend, but it is impossible.”