BUMSTEAD indicates a bottle of lemon tea, with some
glasses, on the table, accidentally places the lamp so that it shines
directly upon EDWIN'S triangular sketch of FLORA over the mantel, and,
taking his umbrella under his arm, smiles horribly at his young guests
from out his sun-bonnet.
"Do you recognize that picture, PENDRAGONS?" he asks, after the two have
drunk fierily at each other. "Do you notice its stereoscopic effect of
being double?"
"Ah," says MONTGOMERY, critically, "a good deal in the style of
HENNESSY, or WINSLOW HOMER, I should say. Something in the school-slate
method."
"It's by EDWINS, there!" explains Mr. BUMSTEAD, triumphantly. "Just look
at him as he sits there both together, with all his happiness cut out
for him, and his dislike of Southerners his only fault."
"If I could only draw Miss PENDRAGON, now," says EDWIN DROOD, rather
flattered, "I might do better. A good sharp nose and Southern complexion
help wonderfully in the expression of a picture."
"Perhaps my sister would prefer to choose her own artist," remarks
MONTGOMERY, to whom Mr. BUMSTEAD has just poured out some more lemon
tea.
"Say a Southern one, for instance, who might use some of the flying
colors that were always warranted to run when our boys got after yours
in the late war," responds EDWIN, to whom his attentive uncle has also
poured out some more lemon tea for his cold.
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