Logan smacked his lips as they entered the grimy streets near Spitalfields.
“Pah!” he said; “that’s life, that is, good dirty life. I was littered in a farm-yard myself and I like a good smell. . . . Can you put me up to-night? I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”
“You can have my bed,” said Mendel, “and I will sleep downstairs on my brother’s sofa. Please—please. Do sleep in my bed.”
Logan accepted the offer and asked Mendel to stay with him while he undressed. He was unpleasantly fat, but strong and well-built.
He stayed for a long time in front of the mirror.
“See that bulge on the side of my head?” he said as he turned.
Mendel looked, and sure enough his head had a curious bulge on its right side.
“I had rickets when I was young,” said Logan, “and my skull must have got pushed over. I expect that’s what makes me what I am—lop-sided. I need you to balance me.”
He got into bed, and Mendel, reluctant to leave him, sat at his feet and devoured him with his eyes.