"EDWINS!" cries the unhappy organist, starting to his feet with a wild
reel. "Th' pride of'suncle'sheart! I see 'm now,
in'sh'fectionatemanhood, with whalebone ribs, made 'f alpaca,
andyetsoyoung. 'Help me!' hiccries; 'PENDRAGON'sash'nate'n me!'
hiccries--and I go!"

While uttering this extraordinary burst of feeling, he has advanced
towards the door in a kind of demoniac can-can, and, at its close,
abruptly darts into the street and frantically makes off.

"The cross of the holy fathers!" ejaculates the woman, momentarily
bewildered by this sudden termination of the scene. Then a new
expression comes swiftly over her face, and she adds, in a different
tone, "Odether-nodether, but it's coonin' as a fox he is, and it's off
he's gone again widout payin' me the schore! Sure, but I'll follow him,
if it's to the wurruld's ind, and see f'hat he is and where he is."

Thus it happens that she reaches Bumsteadville almost as soon as the
Ritualistic organist, and, following him to his boarding-house,
encounters Mr. TRACEY CLEWS upon the steps.

"Well, now!" calls that gentleman, as she looks inquiringly at him, "who
do you want?"

"Him as just passed in, your Honor."

"Mr. BUMSTEAD?"

"Ah. Where does he play the organ?"