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PDF---+ | | | Henry L. Stephens, | | | | Artist, | | | | No. 160 Fulton street, | | | | new York. | | | +-----------------------------------------------------------
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The mystery of Mr. E. Drood.
An adaptation.
By Orpheus C. Kerr.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Mr. CLEWS at his Novel.[1]
Thrown into Rembrandtish relief by the light of a garish kerosene lamp upon the table: with one discouraged lock of hair hanging over his nose, and straw hat pushed so far back from his phrenological brow that its vast rim had the fine artistic effect of a huge saintly nimbus: Mr. Bumstead sat gynmastically crosswise in an easy-chair, over an arm of which his slender lower limbs limply dangled, and elaborately performed one of the grander works of Bach upon an irritable accordion. Now, winking with intense rapidity, and going through the muscular motions of an excitable person resolutely pulling out an obstinate and inexplicable drawer from somewhere about his knees, he produced sustained and mournful notes, as of canine distress in the backyard; anon, with eyes nearly closed and the straw nimbus sliding still further back, his manipulation was that of an excessively weary gentleman slowly compressing a large sponge, thereby squeezing out certain choking, snorting, guttural sounds, as of a class softly studying the German language in another room; and, finally, with an impatient start from the unexpected slumber into which the last shaky pianissimo had momentarily betrayed him, he caught the untamed instrument in mid-air, just as it was treacherously getting away from him, frantically balanced it there for an instant on all his clutching finger-tips, and had it prisoner again for a renewal of the weird symphony.
