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.

"By all means. You won't mind my slipping out for half a minute to the
Alms House to leave a few gum-drops for Sissy? Rather spoony, JACK."

Mr. BUMSTEAD almost loses his balance in an imprudent attempt to wink
archly, and says, "Norring-half-sh'-shweet-'n-life." He is very thick
with EDWIN DROOD, for he loves him.

"Well, let's skedaddle, then."

Mr. BUMSTEAD very carefully poises himself on both feet, puts on his hat
over the wet towel, gives a sudden horrified glance downward toward one
of his boots, and leaps frantically over an object.

"Why, that was only my cane," says EDWIN.

Mr. BUMSTEAD breathes hard, and leans heavily on his nephew as they go
out together.

(_To be Continued._)