"Yes!--You're crushing me!" panted Mr. CLEWS.

"Th' umbrella!" cried Mr. BUMSTEAD, suddenly withdrawing his hands and
swaying before his visitor like a linen person on springs--"This's what
there's 'bout 't: _Where th' umbrella is, there is Edwin also!_"

Astounded by, this bewildering confession, and fearful that the uncle of
Mr. DROOD would be back in his chair and asleep again if he gave him a
chance, the excited inquisitor sprang from his chair, and slowly and
carefully backed the wildly glaring object of his solicitation until his
shoulders and elbows were safely braced against the mantel-piece. Then,
like one inspired, he grasped a bottle of soda water from the table, and
forced the reviving liquid down his staring patient's throat; as quickly
tore off his straw hat, newly moistened the damp sponge in it at a
neighboring washstand, and replaced both on the aching head; and,
finally, placed in one of his tremulous hands a few cloves from a saucer
on the mantel-shelf.

"You are better now? You can tell me more?" he said, resting a moment
from his violent exertions.

With the unsettled air of one coming out of a complicated dream, Mr.
BUMSTEAD chewed the cloves musingly; then, after nodding excessively,
with a hideous smile upon his countenance, suddenly threw an arm about
the neck of his restorer and wept loudly upon his bosom.

"My fr'en'," he wailed, in a damp voice, "lemme confess to you. I'm a
mis'able man, my fr'en'; perfectly mis'able. These cloves--these
insidious tropical spices--have been thebaneofmyexistence. On Chrishm's