(There is no artistic
merit in this picture; in which, indeed, a simple triangle on end
represents the waist, another and slightly larger triangle the skirts,
and straight-lines with rake-like terminations the arms and hands.)
"Called to ask how you are, and offer Father DEAN'S compliments," says
the Gospeler.
"I'm allright, shir!" says Mr. BUMSTEAD, rising from the rug where he
has been temporarily reposing, and dropping his umbrella. He speaks
almost with ferocity.
"You are awaiting your nephew, EDWIN DROOD?"
"Yeshir." As he answers, Mr. BUMSTEAD leans languidly far across the
table, and seems vaguely amazed at the aspect of the lamp with his hat
upon it.
Mr. SIMPSON retires softly, stops to greet some one at the foot of the
stairs, and, in another moment, a young man fourteen years old enters
the room with his carpet-bag.
"My dear boys! My dear EDWINS!"
Thus speaking, Mr. BUMSTEAD sidles eagerly at the new comer, with open
arms, and, in falling upon his neck, does so too heavily, and bears him
with a crash to the ground.
"Oh, see here! this is played out, you know," ejaculates the nephew,
almost suffocated with travelling-shawl and BUMSTEAD.
Mr. BUMSTEAD rises from him slowly and with dignity.
"Excuse me, dear EDWIN, I thought there were two of you.
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