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In an instant he was dripping with beer thrown at him glass and all by the irate Quell. A whistle sounded, two other waiters rushed out, and the battle began. Arved, aroused by the sight of his friend on the ground with three men hammering his head, gave a roar like the trumpeting of an elephant. A chair was smashed over a table, and, swinging one-half of it, he made a formidable onslaught.
There are, I have noticed, three stages in the career of a revolutionist: destruction, instruction, construction. He begins the first at twenty, at forty he is teaching, at sixty he believes in society especially if he has money in the bank." Quell regarded the speaker sourly. "You are a wonder, Arved. You fly off on a wild tangent stimulated by the mere sound of a word.
Arved continued: "Nor was Nietzsche insane when he went to the asylum. His sanity was blinding in its brilliancy; he voluntarily renounced the world of foolish faces and had himself locked away where he would not hear its foolish clacking. O Silence! gift of the gods, deified by Carlyle in many volumes and praised by me in many silly words!
At full length, hands under heads, brains mellowed by brandy, the men summed up the situation. Arved was the first to speak. He was tall, blond, heavy of figure, and his beard hung upon his chest. His dissatisfied eyes were cynical when he rallied his companion. A man of brains this, but careless as the grass. "Quell, let us think this thing out carefully. It is nearly six o'clock.
If I had never tried to write lunar poetry the tone quality of music combined with the pictorial evocation of painting I might be in the bosom of my family now instead of " "Drinking with a crazy painter, eh?" Quell was very angry. He shouted for drinks so rapidly that he alarmed the more prudent Arved; and as they were now the last guests, the head waiter approached and curtly bade them leave.
Arved began to be interested in the sound of his own voice. He searched his pockets and after some vain fumbling found a half package of cigarettes. "Take some and be happy, my boy. They are boon-sticks indeed." Quell suddenly arose. "Arved, what were you sent up for, may I ask?"
Arved grumbled, "Yes, I've noticed that when a man in an asylum begins to suspect his keepers of madness he's mighty near lunacy himself." "You have crazy blue eyes, Arved! Where's that flask I'm dry again! Let's sleep." They drained the bottle and were soon dozing, while about them buzzed the noon in all its torrid splendour. When they awoke it was solid night.
"Look here, Quell!" Arved exclaimed crustily, "you said I had crazy blue eyes. What about your own red ones? Crazy! Why, they glow now like a rat's. Poets may be music-mad, drunk with tone " "And other things," sneered the painter. " but at least their work is great when it endures; it does not fade away on rotten canvas."
He went to bed dead full last night, so his humour won't be any too sweet when he hears that several of his boarders have vanished. He'll miss you more than me; I'm not at the first table with you swells." Quell ended his speech with so disagreeable an inflection that Arved was astonished. He looked around and spat at a beetle. "What's wrong with you, my hearty?
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