butter requires all the nephew's energies for single combat with it, and
the uncle is so absorbed in a dreamy effort to make a salad with his
hash and all the contents of the castor, that he can attend to nothing
else. At length the cloth is drawn, EDWIN produces some peanuts from his
pocket and passes some to Mr. BUMSTEAD, and the latter, with a wet towel
pinned about his head, drinks a great deal of water.

"This is Sissy's birthday, you know, JACK," says the nephew, with a
squint through the door and around the corner of the adjoining apartment
toward the crude picture over the mantel, "and, if our respective
respected parents hadn't bound us by will to marry, I'd be mad after
her."

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.