Punchinello, Vol. 1, No. 13, June 25, 1870

PUNCHINELLO

SATURDAY, JUNE 25, 1870.

PUBLISHED BY THE

PUNCHINELLO PUBLISHING COMPANY,

83 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.

THE MYSTERY OF MR. E. DROOD.

AN ADAPTATION.

BY ORPHEUS C. KERR.

CHAPTER V.

MR. MCLAUGHLIN AND FRIEND.

JOHN BUMSTEAD, on his way home along the unsteady turnpike—upon whichhe is sure there will be a dreadful accident some day, for want ofrailings—is suddenly brought to an unsettled pause in his career by thespectacle of Old Mortarity leaning against the low fence of the pauperburial-ground, with a shapeless boy throwing stones at him in themoonlight. The stones seem never to hit the venerable JOHN MCLAUGHLIN,and at each miss the spry monkey of the moonlight sings "Sold again,"and casts another missile still further from the mark. One of these goesviolently to the nose of Mr. BUMSTEAD, who, after a momentary enjoymentof the evening fireworks thus lighted off, makes a wrathful rush at theplayful child, and lifts him from the ground by his ragged collar, likea diminished suit of Mr. GREELEY'S customary habiliments.

"Miserable snipe," demands BUMSTEAD, eyeing his trophy gloomily, andgiving him a turn or two as though he were a mackerel under inspection,"what are you doing to that gooroleman?"

"Oh, come now!" says the lad, sparring at him in the air, "you justlemme be, or I'll fetch you a wipe in the jaw. I ain't doing nothink;and he's werry good to me, he is."

Mr. BUMSTEAD drops the presumptuous viper, but immediately seizes him byan ear and leads him to MCLAUGHLIN, whom he asks: "Do you know thisinsect?"

"SMALLEY," says MCLAUGHLIN, with a nod.

"Is that the name of the sardine?"

"Blagyerboots," adds MCLAUGHLIN.

"Shine 'em up, red hot," explains the boy. "I'm one of them fellers."Here he breaks away and hops out again into the road, singing:

  "Áina, maina, mona, Mike,
  Bassalona, bona, strike!
  Hay, way, crown, rack,
  Hallico, ballico, we—wo—wack!"

—which he evidently intends as a kind of Hitalian; for, simultaneously,he aims a stone at JOHN MCLAUGHLIN, grazes Mr. BUMSTEAD'S whiskersinstead, and in another instant a sound of breaking glass is heard inthe distance.

"Peace, young scorpion!" says Mr. BUMSTEAD, with a commanding gesture."JOHN MCLAUGHLIN, let me see you home. The road is too unsteady to-nightfor an old man like you. Let me see you home, far as my house, atleast."

"Thank you, sir, I'd make better time alone. When you came up, sir, OldMortarity was meditating on this bone-farm," says Mr. MCLAUGHLIN,pointing with a trowel, which he had drawn from his pocket, into thepauper burial-ground. "He was thinking of the many laid here when theAlms-House over yonder used to be open as a Alms-House. I've patchedup all these graves, as well as them in the Ritual churchyard, and know'em all, sir. Over there, Editor of Country Journal; next, Stockholderin Erie; next, Gentleman who Undertook to be Guided in His Agricultureby Mr. GREELEY'S 'What I Know about Farming;' next, Original Projectorof American Punch; next, Proprietor of Rural Newspaper; next, anotherProjector

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