Crack. On EDWIN DROOD'S part.
Hic. On Mr. BUMSTEAD'S part.
"Nobody's dictated a marriage for you, JACK. You can choose for yourself. Life for you is still fraught with freedom's intoxicating—"
Mr. BUMSTEAD has suddenly become very pale, and perspires heavily on the forehead.
"Good Heavens, JACK! I haven't hurt your feelings?"
Mr. BUMSTEAD makes a feeble pass at him with the water-decanter, and smiles in a very ghastly manner.
"Lem me be a mis'able warning to you, EDWIN," says Mr. BUMSTEAD, shedding tears.
The scared face of the younger recalls him to himself, and he adds: "Don't mind me, my dear boys. It's cloves; you may notice them on my breath. I take them for nerv'shness." Here he rises in a series of trembles to his feet, and balances, still very pale, on one leg.
"You want cheering up," says EDWIN DROOD, kindly.
"Yesh—cheering up. Let's go and walk in the graveyard," says Mr. BUMSTEAD.