was sallow and unfresh; and the reddish rims of the eyes, and the
coarsely self-indulgent mouth, contrasted strikingly with the general
youthfulness of his appearance. He had the true musician's head: round
as a cannon-ball, with a vast, bumpy forehead, on which the soft
fluffy hair began far back, and stood out like a nimbus. His eyes were
either desperately dreamy or desperately sharp, never normally
attentive or at rest; his blunted nose and chin were so short as to
make the face look top-heavy. A carefully tended young moustache stood
straight out along his cheeks. He had large, slender hands, and quick
movements.

The air of the room was like a thin grey veiling, for all three puffed
hard at cigarettes. Without removing his from between his
teeth, Schilsky related an adventure of the night before. He spoke in
jerks, with a strong lisp, intent on what he was doing than on what he
was saying.

"Do you think he'd budge?" he asked in a thick, spluttery way. "Not
he. Till nearly two. And then I couldn't get him along. He thought it
wasn't eleven, and wanted to relieve himself at every corner. To
irritate an imaginary bobby. He disputed with them, too. Heavens, what
sport it was! At last I dragged him up here and got him on the sofa.
Off he rolls again. So I let him lie. He didn't disturb me."

Heinrich Krafft, the hero of the episode lay on the short,
uncomfortable sofa, with the table-cover for a blanket. In answer to
Schilsky, he said faintly, without opening his eyes: "Nothing would.
You are an ox. When I wake this morning, with a mouth like gum arabic,
he sits there as if he had not stirred all night. Then to bed, and
snores till midday, through all the hellish light and noise."